Supporting the Athlete Beneath the Jersey

We cheer when they win. We clap when they hustle. We tell them how proud we are when they push through and give it everything they’ve got. But behind all that effort - behind the goals, the times, the stats, the highlight clips - is a whole person.

And sometimes that person is struggling.

It’s not always obvious. The signs aren’t always loud. But it shows up in little ways: irritability after practice, a shorter fuse, that shift in body language when they talk about their coach, the quiet way they pull back from things they used to love. It’s easy to miss when you’re juggling school schedules, carpool, family dinners, and trying to stay on top of everything else. And truthfully, most athletes get really good at hiding it.

Because they’ve been taught - sometimes directly, sometimes silently - that being tough means pushing through. That asking for help means weakness. That emotions don’t belong on the field or the court or the track.

And yet, emotions are always there. The pressure. The anxiety. The fear of failure. The weight of expectations they put on themselves - or feel from others. The disappointment of a loss, or a benching, or an off day. The comparison, the fatigue, the overwhelming sense that no matter how hard they work, it might not be enough.

Mental health in athletes doesn’t always look like crisis. Sometimes it looks like burnout. Sometimes it looks like perfectionism. Sometimes it looks like staying up too late to get everything “just right.” Sometimes it looks like quitting early and saying, “It doesn’t matter,” when it clearly does.

What they need isn’t just someone to fix it. What they need is someone to see it. To name it. To gently open the door to conversations that go beyond performance.

Sometimes that means just sitting with them on the couch and asking, “How are you really doing?” and being willing to listen longer than usual. Sometimes it means giving them permission to feel frustrated or scared or disappointed, without rushing to solve it. Sometimes it means being brave enough to say, “This seems like more than just a rough patch. Would you want to talk to someone about it?”

They may not say yes right away. That’s okay. What matters is that they know the door is open. That their worth isn’t tied to their performance. That mental health is not a weakness - it’s part of being a person. Part of being a competitor. Part of being strong in ways that go far beyond physical ability.

There’s no blueprint for parenting an athlete through the emotional ups and downs. But showing up with compassion, curiosity, and a willingness to learn with them - that’s more powerful than any pep talk. It’s what creates safety. It’s what allows them to show up to their sport fully, without pretending to be fine when they’re not.

And if what they’re carrying feels heavier than what you can hold as a family, that’s okay too. There’s no shame in reaching out for support - quiet, steady, meaningful support that understands what it means to love a sport and still feel the toll it can take. Help that doesn’t treat them like a problem to solve, but a whole person to care for.

If that’s where your athlete is - or where you are as the one who’s loving them through it—you’re not alone. And when the time is right, there’s help out there that can walk alongside you.

They don’t have to carry it all. And neither do you.