The Echoes of a Loss

When I started writing about sports and mental health, I just wanted to remind people that athletes are human beings first. Back then, I was only 13 and trying to convince myself that being vulnerable was a strength. Now that I’m in college and hearing other athletes speak out, I see things a little differently. True vulnerability really is a lifesaver or “superpower.” It doesn’t just protect the athlete sharing their story, it helps everyone else by exposing the heavy, silent pressures we all carry.

My drive to openly talk about those pressures comes from a painful place. Behind all my advocacy and past articles is a loss that time has changed, but never erased. Years ago, I lost my teammate and friend to suicide. Only two weeks after that, I lost a soccer mentor.

I spent a long time learning how to push my grief away. It hovered in the background. Slowly, I started moving forward, setting goals, and enjoying my sport again. But I’ve realized healing is messy. As athletes we talk a lot about how development isn’t linear, it’s full of setbacks. Grief is no different. I can feel perfectly fine until a random phone notification brings everything rushing back. Whenever I hear about another athlete taking their own life, the old trauma comes back to the surface.

And grief doesn’t just wait for headlines about suicide to show up. It hits just as hard when I hear about a coach or an athlete dying in a sudden accident, or losing a long fight with an illness like cancer. I know that specific ache well. One of my first coaches passed away from cancer, leaving his family behind to face a life cut entirely too short. Stories like that bring back a distinct, sharp pain and a reminder that a person who helped shape who you are is just gone.

Cancer, accidents, suicide, thedetails of how it happened don’t really matter, the void is identical. Someone is just gone. A teammate, a coach, a friend, a parent, a mentor. Someone who should still be sitting right next to you. When you know what that emptiness feels like, watching another team or family go through it completely rips the tape off wounds you thought had finally closed.

Athletes are taught to lock it in and push through adversity and be unbreakable. That exact same muscle memory makes it terrifying to speak up when athletes feel like we are drowning inside. Losing an athlete to suicide is wake-up call of how heavy the pressure can get and how easy it is to feel completely isolated, even when you are constantly surrounded by teammates, coaches, and fans.

Hearing, seeing, or receiving the news of these stories makes me look back at my own past articles with a completely different perspective. Every single piece I’ve written about mental toughness, vulnerability, and looking out for student-athletes isn’t just something I say because it sounds good. My words are tied to real faces, real friendships, and people who are permanently gone. It’s a constant reminder of why we can never stop talking about the human being behind the jersey.

If you’re reading this and carrying a heavy weight, or feeling the old ache of a past loss creeping back up on you, please know you don’t have to navigate this alone. Real strength means having the guts to speak up, lean on your people, and find support and resources.

988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline

National Suicide Prevention Life Line: Call 800-273-TALK (8255) or chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

National Eating Disorders Hotline 1-800-931-2237 call or text

A jersey is just fabric. We have to start looking out for the actual human being behind the athlete. The games are going to end and seasons will wrap up. What stays with us are the real relationships and the way we supported each other when it mattered most.

Featured Image via Balham Newsie

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