"I Wasn’t Supposed To Say It Out Loud”—Annemarie Wiley On Real Housewives, Waking Up, And Fighting For Women

Before she was a “Housewife,” Annemarie was, and still is, a Nurse Anesthetist, athlete, wife of NFL standout Marcellus Wiley, and a deeply motivated advocate for women and children. Her personal story is remarkable: born to a Nigerian father and Dutch mother, she was adopted into a Dutch-Indonesian family and raised in a small Canadian farm town.

Sports changed her life. They got her through college and ultimately inspired her to speak out about the importance of fairness in women’s athletics.

“I started track when I was five. Played basketball through high school and college. Sports gave me everything,” she says. “And that’s why I care so much. I know what they can do for girls. For their futures. For their self-worth.”

After college, she became a Nurse Anesthetist. She worked long, grueling shifts, often six days a week. “People look at my life now, and they don’t see all of that. They just see the NFL wife, the reality show. But I worked. I saved up for CRNA school, and during my first semester, I met my husband. We got married a year and a half later. We started a family right away.”

A Beautiful Life

“If you look at where I came from, a biracial adopted girl from a small farm town in Canada, I shouldn’t be where I am today. But I worked hard. I trusted God. I built a life. And I want other women to know they can, too.” And as far as being cast in The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?

“It was never on my bingo card,” she says, laughing. “I was already a professional. I wasn’t looking to be famous. I said yes because I thought I could share something different, something positive. I had no idea what I was walking into.”

What she walked into was the belly of a political machine that didn’t know what to do with a woman like her: a confident black mother, raised in a humble town in Canada, who had built a beautiful life through faith, grit, and hard work and who also believed, unapologetically, that men don’t belong in women’s sports.

She didn’t whisper it, either. And that, it turns out, was her unforgivable sin. “I’m just a very open and honest and authentic person. So when it came up, I shared my real thoughts. I didn’t realize I was setting myself up for full character assassination.”

When Reality Isn’t Real

For those who remember Wiley’s controversial run on RHOBH, you probably think you know how this story goes. The cold shoulder, the aggressive edits, the social media mobbing. But what’s most surprising isn’t how Wiley was treated, it’s how blindsided she was.

“I wasn’t into politics,” she says. “Not even six months before the show, I didn’t really think about any of that. I had no idea Bravo and NBC were so woke. It just wasn’t on my radar.” Coming from someone who lives in Los Angeles, that might sound naïve, but Wiley is anything but. She just wasn’t steeped in the games people in entertainment have long learned to play.

“I have friends who are Republican, but they don’t say it out loud. They just don’t talk about politics at all. And then there are the others, the ones who are out there on the [Democrat] campaign trail, trying to get in good with certain people. They’re playing to win careers. I wasn’t doing any of that. I just said what I believed.” And what she believed, to her surprise, got her labeled “problematic.”

“I mean, I filmed so much with my family,” she says, “My husband, our kids, I wanted to show a cohesive, happy black nuclear family. But none of it made it to air. None of it. Not even the moment when my mother told me she had stage four lung cancer. She told me on camera. And they cut it.”

Instead, her edits leaned into conflict and confrontation, neither of which Wiley had anticipated. “I thought it would be more documentary-style. I thought we’d show our lives. But it’s produced. Not scripted, but definitely planned. The producers have an agenda. I learned the hard way: they are not your friends.”

“Truth Is Truth, And Common Sense Is Common Sense”

What Annemarie didn’t realize, what she couldn’t have realized, is that on reality TV, especially in the Bravo-verse, authenticity only works when it fits the narrative. When it doesn’t? It’s scorched earth.

“I thought it was a sisterhood,” she explains. “I thought it was about women who genuinely wanted to support each other. But that’s not what it is. It’s toxic. It’s calculated. At times, it felt satanic. And I don’t say that lightly.”

Wiley had entered the Real Housewives orbit with a clear purpose: to show a different kind of housewife. Not a chaos agent, not a scandal magnet. A professional. A mom. A former athlete. A proud black woman in a loving marriage. “They’d never had a healthcare professional on the show,” she says. “They’d never shown a happy nuclear black family. I wanted people to see that. But that wasn’t their agenda.”

What their agenda was, it seems, became clear the moment a clip of her husband, former NFL player and longtime broadcaster Marcellus Wiley, resurfaced online. In it, he unapologetically stated that he wouldn’t allow their daughters to compete against males in sports.

“That was the moment everything changed,” Wiley says. “Before that, the media loved me. It was all glowing press—nurse, mom of four, fun, smart, athletic, perfect fit for the cast. But once that clip came out, it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, I was transphobic. A bigot. Just for agreeing that women deserve fairness in sports.”

The Scene You’ll Never See

When the topic came up on camera, it wasn’t some offhand comment. It was a deliberate ambush, Wiley says, one led by a castmate with a long reputation for mean-spirited pot-stirring.

“She goes, ‘Isn’t your husband [Marcellus] transphobic?’ And I said no. Absolutely not. We support trans rights. But we also support women. And fairness in sports.” What followed was three hours of what Wiley describes as “harassment,” filmed and never aired, as castmates, many of whom, she points out, have never played a sport or held a real job, tried to shame her for defending women’s sports.

“I know biology. I’ve worked in healthcare for over 20 years. My husband is a professional athlete. This isn’t hate. This is fact. There are biological differences between men and women that make competition unfair. Everyone knows it, they’re just too afraid to say it.”

She lists examples: LeBron vs. Lisa Leslie. Floyd Mayweather vs. Laila Ali. Djokovic vs. Serena Williams, who herself once admitted, years ago, that she’d be “crushed” if she had to play against male athletes. “That clip exists,” Wiley says. “But she’d never say that now. Because the culture changed. And now the truth is controversial.”

Instead of airing that powerful exchange, the kind of moment that could have sparked real conversation, Bravo chose silence. And then retaliation. “They didn’t show the scene. They didn’t show my real life. They edited me into someone unlikable. And when the media caught wind of it, quotes started appearing in The Daily Mail, quotes that one could easily conclude came from two castmates. I won’t say definitively. But anyone with common sense can see what happened.”

Not Backing Down

Wiley could’ve faded out. She wasn’t invited back to Housewives. The door was closed. But instead of shrinking, she stepped forward. “There was a moment where I had to ask myself, am I really going to let this be the thing that defines me? Or am I going to keep standing up?”

She chose to stand. And not just for women’s sports.

In another scene, also cut from the show, Wiley spoke out passionately against pedophilia in Hollywood, particularly in the wake of Balenciaga’s 2021 campaign featuring extremely disturbing imagery of children. What stunned her was how much it bothered her castmates.

“I wasn’t even political at the time,” she says. “I didn’t know who Candace Owens or Tucker Carlson were. But they were the only ones talking about it. So I reshared what they said.”

That, it turns out, was enough to spark more attacks. “Suddenly, I’m a MAGA supporter. A Trump fanatic. Just for being outraged about the exploitation of children. They kept saying, ‘Oh, you’re best friends with Candace Owens.’ I’ve never even met her. I just think she’s brilliant.”

What cut deepest wasn’t the gossip; it was the willful blindness. “I told them, ‘I’m speaking out against child pornography, and you’re mad at me? What does that say about you?”

“This Is the Hill I’ll Die On”

Wiley’s transformation from apolitical reality star to bold women's advocate didn’t happen overnight. It happened in the fire of betrayal. It happened when she realized the price of telling the truth in a political climate that rewards conformity.

“I’ve had people ask me, ‘Is this really the hill you want to die on?’ And I say yes. Absolutely. Because it’s common sense. Because I have daughters. Because I want them to grow up in a world that still values truth.” She says the response from other women, many of them quietly agreeing with her behind closed doors, has been overwhelming.

“They’re afraid. Afraid of what will happen at work. With their friends. Even in their own families. But I’ve had so many women tell me thank you. That they felt seen for the first time.” Wiley never imagined that one conversation about sports would set her entire life on fire. She didn’t plan to become a lightning rod. But now that she is, she’s not flinching.

“I love being the person with the megaphone now,” she says. “So many women don’t have that. They’re afraid to speak. They’re afraid to lose their jobs. I get to speak for them and for my daughters.”

Her voice, calm and warm, sharpens when she talks about her girls. “Two of them are still little. Five and six. But they’re athletic, and they’re going to be in sports. If they ever have to face what we’re seeing in women’s sports today? Trust me, it’s not happening. Not with my kids. And I want to make sure it doesn’t happen to yours either.”

Wiley’s stand is part of a growing movement of women, many of them mothers, who are drawing a line. J.K. Rowling. Riley Gaines. Bethany Hamilton, all women who push the door open just a little more so the next woman doesn’t have to be afraid.

“I was liberal my whole life,” she says. “I voted for Biden. I didn’t even know this was a political issue until I got dragged into it.” But after Bravo iced her out because of her stance on males in women’s sports, she started asking questions.

She remembers her own pivot clearly: “I was crying on the couch when George Floyd happened. I believed everything. I was so emotional. And my husband, he’s always been level-headed, just looked at me and said, ‘You need to get it together.’ He saw through it right away.”

“He’s always been like this,” she says. “He was the first one to expose that BLM’s mission statement literally said they wanted to dismantle the nuclear family. I remember driving past a protest and being like, ‘Honk for them!’ and he was like, ‘No.’ He just saw it all clearly. And when I started waking up, he was like, ‘Welcome, babe.’”

Sorry, She's Not Sorry

There’s a freedom in knowing where you stand. And an even greater freedom in knowing that you’re not standing alone.

“Eventually, I had to look at both parties and ask, ‘What do they actually stand for?’" she explains. "And when I looked at my values, truth, family, common sense, safety, it was obvious. I guess that makes me conservative now. And it happened in reverse for me,” she adds.

“I got the backlash before I realized why. It wasn’t like I came out waving a flag. I just told the truth, and then I was like, ‘Oh, this is what being conservative gets you.’ Got it.”

Wiley doesn’t pretend this shift came without a cost. She’s lost friends, especially in Los Angeles, and especially among black women, who she says were some of the most upset by her decision to speak out and, later, her open support for Trump.

“There’s so much history there,” she explains. “In the black community, it’s ingrained that you vote Democrat. That’s just what you do. So when someone breaks from that, it’s seen as betrayal.” But she couldn’t lie to herself. Not about what she was seeing. Not about what she was living. “I didn’t like where our country was going. Crime. Open borders. Inflation. No integrity. No plan. Just a lot of performance. I couldn’t vote for that.”

And Kamala Harris? “She didn’t give me anything to hold on to. Nothing she ran on spoke to me. I couldn’t imagine another four years of that. She knows what people say, that voting for Trump means you only care about yourself. But Wiley calls that projection. “The idea that wanting truth, safety, financial stability, and merit is selfish? That’s not selfish. That’s good for everyone. I want the culture to get better for everyone. That’s why I vote the way I do.”

She doesn’t believe Trump is perfect. “The man has flaws,” she says, “but calling him a racist? That’s a weapon. It’s a word people use to shut down conversation when they don’t like someone.” And what’s more confusing to her is how many people are willing to overlook the failures of Democratic leaders simply because they’re in the right tribe.

“Look at Newsom. Look at Karen Bass," she adds. "LA is in ruins. Homelessness is exploding. Billions have been wasted. Fires are destroying cities. But no one wants to talk about that. They want to pretend Trump is the problem when we’re living through the consequences of their leadership.”

“They Want You Dependent”

Wiley’s clarity didn’t come just from watching politics. It came from watching the culture and realizing who benefits from keeping people disempowered.

“They don’t want you to thrive,” she says plainly. “They want you to think you need them. That you can’t make it without them. That you have to vote for them or else.”

She compares it to an emotional hostage situation. “If you start to believe that your fate is completely in their hands, you’ll never realize your own agency. You won’t act. You’ll just submit.”

“What I realized is, yes, government has a role. But most of your life? Most of what really matters? That comes down to you. Your choices. Your family. Your mindset.”

“This Isn’t a Loss—It’s an Alignment”

There’s a calm power in the way Annemarie Wiley speaks now. Not because she hasn’t been through chaos, she has. But because she’s come out on the other side knowing exactly who she is. And what she won’t compromise.

“All the backlash? It didn’t come from my family. It didn’t come from my husband,” she says. “It came from people I used to call friends. But you know what? I don’t miss them.”

“I love the quote: Anything you lose from speaking the truth isn’t a loss, it’s an alignment. That’s how I live now. I have peace in my home. I know what I’m teaching my children is true. And I have integrity. That’s everything.”

Common Sense Isn't Controversial

For Wiley, the storm she weathered over her views wasn’t the hardest thing she’s been through. Not even close. “I’ve been through adoption. Public smearing. Losing my mother. I’ve faced things that would break people. This? Speaking the truth? It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

That truth is simple. Uncomplicated. “Men can’t be women. Women can’t be men. Sports should be fair. That’s not hate. That’s biology.”

Wiley knows what critics say, that her views are exclusionary or bigoted. But she pushes back hard on that. “No one is saying trans people can’t compete,” she adds. “We’re saying: compete with your biological sex. That’s how sports work. That’s how fairness works.”

What worries her more is what’s coming. Boys who begin gender transitions in early childhood will eventually blend in with females more easily, with less obvious signs that they're male.

“You won’t be able to tell. They’ll dominate in girls’ sports. And no one will say anything because they’re afraid. That’s why we need testing. Just a simple swab. Nothing invasive. Quick. Done. No shame, no spectacle. Just preserving the integrity of sport.”

She’s frustrated by the way even that idea is portrayed as hateful, invasive, or dangerous. “They say it’s a violation of rights. But what about the rights of girls? What about their safety?"

Modern Feminism’s Disappearing Act

Another thing that shocked her? The silence from self-proclaimed feminists. “I kept asking, ‘Where are the feminists?’ I couldn’t understand it. Why aren’t they standing up for women?”

Eventually, she realized that modern feminism isn’t pro-woman. It’s anti-femininity. “They don’t realize it, but they’re rooting for their own erasure. They’ve been taught to see everything that makes a woman unique, our bodies, our roles, even our biology, as a weakness.” And yet, motherhood is the thing Wiley treasures most.

“Yes, I’m a professional. Yes, I’m an athlete. But my family? That’s the best part of my life. Motherhood doesn’t diminish my accomplishments. It adds to them.” And when she hears people say women can’t have it all, she bristles.

“I do have it all. I work eleven-hour days. I have a great marriage. I have four kids. I wake up at 4 a.m. to train. What am I missing? Tell me.” She’s not saying it’s easy. She’s saying it’s worth it.

“I chose this life. It’s not a trap. It’s the deepest fulfillment I’ve ever known.”

“I’ve interviewed so many accomplished women,” I tell her. “Olympians. Models. Entrepreneurs. And the thing they all say, the thing they all come back to, is that the best thing they’ve ever done is have a family.”

She nods, smiling. “Because it’s true. Motherhood doesn’t take away from my accomplishments. It enhances them. I have it all—not because it’s easy, but because I chose it. And I’m so glad I did.”

Grace, Grit, and God

At the core of everything Wiley believes, beyond politics, beyond sports, beyond media spin. is her faith.

“There’s no way I’ve been through what I’ve been through and ended up here without God,” she says simply. “God had a plan. I made decisions. He made them work. All the moments I thought were rock bottom? They were just steps.”

She’s not blind to the cost. She knows the loneliness that can come when you stop pretending, when you step away from friendships built on performance or political conformity. But she’s lived the alternative. She knows how heavy it is to walk on eggshells.

“I always say to women: better will come,” she says. “When you live in alignment with who you really are—your integrity, your values, it’s freeing. The fear goes away. You stop chasing external validation and realize, I am enough. I’m going to attract my people.”

“You know what hurts more than losing a few friends?" she adds. "Living a life that doesn’t feel like your own.”

To the woman who’s scared to speak up, to lose her job, to face backlash, Wiley’s answer is clear: Be brave anyway. “Life is always evolving. You’re allowed to change. And when you stop evolving, you start dying. I truly believe that. So if you feel that tug in your soul, that desire to speak, to shift, to align, follow it. I promise you, better is waiting.”

More Megaphone, More Mission

Wiley’s not retreating. She’s expanding. With her husband, she continues running Project Transition, a nonprofit focused on empowering underserved youth. But her voice is reaching new audiences and louder stages.

She’s now partnering with XX XY Athletics, ICONS, and the Independent Women’s Forum, organizations championing biological integrity in sports and women’s rights to fair competition. She’ll be speaking this summer at the Black Conservative Federation in Virginia and will be a special guest at Turning Point’s Young Women’s Leadership Summit in Dallas.

“I’m all in,” she says. “This isn’t about me, it’s about what’s right. It’s about building a better world for our kids. I’m just here to tell the truth and encourage others to do the same.”

Her platform isn’t performative in the slightest. It’s real, protective, maternal, and personal.

“When you become a mother, it’s not about you anymore. Your kids are your heart, walking around outside your body. And my job now is to speak up, not just for my children, but for yours, too.”

This is the real legacy Annemarie Wiley is building: not fame or controversy, but courage. And if you ask her what the secret is, how she stays strong through backlash and betrayal, she won’t point to herself. She’ll point higher.

“Everything I’ve overcome? That was God,” she says. “Every time I thought I was at my lowest, He carried me. So when I say better will come, I know it. Because it always has.”