The Lucha Libre Killer: Juana Barraza’s Twisted Double Life

A mask, a motive, and a trail of bodies—this is the chilling truth behind Mexico’s most unexpected serial killer.

She walked into their homes wearing a nurse’s badge, but left behind only silence.

In this haunting episode of GBRLIFE Of Crimes, we uncover the disturbing true story of Juana Barraza—Mexico’s infamous “Little Old Lady Killer.” A woman fueled by rage, trauma, and a lifetime of betrayal. But was she born a monster… or made into one?

This is a case where justice meets psychology.
 Where the mask of kindness hid a dark and violent compulsion.
 And where one woman’s childhood pain turned into a series of cold, calculated murders.

This week, we explore:

• How Juana’s early life was shaped by abandonment, abuse, and neglect
• The complex connection between her past trauma and her crimes
• Why elderly women became her targets—and what their deaths symbolized
• Her double life as a professional wrestler… and a serial killer
• The moment it all came crashing down—and the trial that followed
• A deeper look into the question: Did we create her?

Juana Barraza wasn’t just a murderer.
 She was a manifestation of everything society ignored.

This isn’t just true crime—it’s a psychological reckoning with a woman the world chose not to see.

✨ New episodes every week on GBRLIFE.com or your favorite podcast platform.

Chapters

• 0:07 Introduction to Juana Barraza
• 1:00 Juana's Early Life and Trauma
• 2:54 The Shift to Violence
• 5:16 The Downfall of Juana Barraza
• 6:22 Understanding Juana's Uniqueness
• 7:58 The Question of Nature vs. Nurture

Transcript

Kaitlyn: 0:00

She walked calmly through the neighborhood, her steps steady, her nurse's ID badge shining in the sun. She knocked on the door of an elderly woman living alone. She smiled. She asked if she could come in. A government worker, she said. A nurse? A helper? But what came next wasn't help. It was horror. Welcome to GBRLIFE Transmissions. I'm your host, Kaitlyn, and you're listening to GBRLIFE of Crimes, where we explore not just what happened in crimes committed by women, but why they happened and the psychology behind them. Today, we're stepping into the twisted story, Mexico's infamous little old lady killer, a woman who once wore a cape and mask in the wrestling ring and who would go on to strangle the life out of elderly women behind closed doors. The question that haunted a nation. How does someone become that? Before the headlines, before the blood, there was a girl named Juana Barraza. Juana Barraza was born in 1957 in Hidalgo, Mexico, into a life already laced with tragedy. Her mother was an alcoholic and her father wasn't in the picture. But the real trauma began when Juana was just a child. Her mother reportedly gave her away to a man, well, traded her, in exchange for three beers. Not money. Not safety. Beers. And that man abused Juana for years. He physically harmed her, controlled her, and kept her like she was his own personal satisfaction assistant. By the time the authorities intervened, she was already a teenager and already pregnant by her abuser. Her life had been shaped by betrayal, violence, and abandonment. And her hatred? It took root early. That deep, unrelenting rage toward her mother became a foundational scar. Experts call this attachment trauma. When the person who's supposed to protect you is the one that hurts you. It doesn't just warp your sense of safety, it warps your sense of identity, of justice, of revenge. As she grew up, Juana tried to claw her way out of poverty. She sold snacks, she cleaned houses, and eventually she found her way into the electrifying world of Lucha Libre. Mexican wrestling, under the name La Dama Del Silencio, the Lady of Silence. She became a persona, a powerful figure, one who didn't need to speak to be feared. She loved wrestling, not just for money, but for control. The strength, the mask, it gave her a new face, a new identity, but when she left the ring, she went home to more struggle. A single mother, still poor, still hungry, still invisible. And then, something changed. It started slowly. A whisper in the city, a strange coincidence. An elderly woman found dead in her home. No forced entry, nothing stolen, just dead. Then another, and another. No one noticed a pattern at first. Why would they? These were poor, older women, often forgotten by society. Sometimes the bodies weren't even discovered for days, but the details, they were chilling. The killer used bare hands or stolen objects, telephone cords, pantyhose, stethoscope. There was always strangulation and almost always a sign of trust. The door was open willingly. She wasn't breaking in, she was invited. At first, Juana worked with another woman posing as a social worker, offering fake health checkups. But that changed because she started working alone, and the method evolved. She dressed like a nurse, carried a clipboard, and knocked on doors in working-class neighborhoods. The government sent me to check your blood pressure, she'd say. And once inside, she waited for her moment. Juana didn't always kill immediately. She'd scan the house, watch her target. She needed to feel the shift when the power dynamic flipped. Think horror movies. And then she'd attack. It was up close, physical, rage-driven. The kind of violence that feels personal. She often left behind religious items. An eerie contradiction. As if praying for their soul after stealing their last breath. Some called her a monster, but others, they couldn't believe it. A woman? A serial killer? In Mexico? That was unheard of. It wasn't just a case. it was an identity crisis for an entire culture. And by 2003, there were so many murders, authorities launched a full task force. They interviewed witnesses, created psychological profiles, but they were looking for the wrong person. A man. Always a man. Juana kept killing. And she was almost caught more than once. One woman survived an attack and described her as masculine, broad-shouldered, strong. But still, the police refused to believe it was a woman. Then, in January 2006, it all came crashing down. Juana was leaving the scene of her latest crime. A woman named Ana María de los Reos Alfaro, beaten and strangled with a stethoscope. A neighbor had seen her enter and exit the house. Police were nearby. They chased her down, and when they opened her bag, they found the victim's IDs. It was all over. And she confessed to one murder. Then she confessed to another and another, and eventually, the authorities linked her to at least 17 confirmed victims. But the estimates go as high as 40 or even 49. At trial, she sat calmly. She showed little remorse and just that same silence. The lady of silence living up to her name. The media couldn't get enough. A woman who wrestled by night and murdered by day? It was a story made for the headlines. But behind the spectacle, there was much darker truth. A lifetime of pain had finally erupted into something irredeemable. Let's talk about what makes Juana Barraza different from most Sierra killers, especially female ones. Statistically, women kill for survival or money, and poison is common. Emotional distance is also common, but not Juana. She used her hands, her weight, her strength. This was intimate, as women do, but a visceral murder with power because of her bare hands as the method. And her victims, they all reminded her of, I'm sure you guessed it, her mother. The psychological term here is displacement. Redirecting rage towards symbolic targets. Juana couldn't kill her mother, so she killed her again and again in every woman who looked like her. But there's a warped logic to it. She believed she was punishing women who were cruel. She thought these elderly women didn't deserve sympathy in her twisted moral code. She thought she was doing the world a favor. That's not psychosis, that's personality disorder mixed with deep-seated trauma. Many psychologists believe she displayed traits of antisocial personality disorder, complex PTSD, and borderline tendencies, where abandonment and betrayal trigger violent coping mechanisms. What's most chilling in how ordinary she seemed is that her neighbors said she was quiet and kind and she took care of her children, and yet she had this secret life and a rage so complete it spilled out in blood. She didn't kill for money or lust or revenge in the traditional sense. She killed because something inside of her broke and no one ever tried to fix it. So here's the question we have to ask. Was Juana Barraza born a killer or did we create her? What happens to a little girl who's handed over for three beers? What does that child learn when her mother becomes her first abuser and the world never steps in? Is she evil? Or is the echo of a system that failed her so many times that she stopped believing in anything but her own pain? We may never know how many women Juana killed, but we do know this. She didn't start out that way. And if we're being honest, that should scare us more than anything else. This has been GBRLIFE of Crimes, part of GBRLIFE Transmissions. I'm Kaitlyn, reminding you that understanding the darkness helps us appreciate the light. Join me next time as we uncover another case that challenges everything we thought we knew about the criminal mind.