Sports are a medium for those gifted with extreme athleticism and composure to share their talents with the world on some of the largest stages in history. But those talents do not tell the whole story — behind the scenes, many stellar athletes face the pressure of constant scrutiny and not being able to live up to what others expect of them.
Just recently, United States Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu made history, by becoming the first American to win gold in the women’s single title for figure skating in 24 years. She achieved this after a tumultuous lifelong relationship with figure skating, full of ups and downs. Four years prior, Liu had finished sixth at the Beijing Winter Olympic Games. At just 16 years old, many would take this as a tremendous achievement, but for her, this represented failure.
Rather than being proud of the accomplishment, Liu felt a sense of burnout after having a life filled with relentless practice and living up to others’ expectations after becoming the U.S. champion at both 13 and 14 years old. So after the Beijing Games, she walked away from figure skating entirely, embarking on a journey filled with everything except for the sport she once loved.
After two years of backpacking trips, studying psychology at UCLA, piercing herself with the spiked frenulum piercing that exudes character on television and most importantly, growing into her own person, Liu came back to skating with a different mindset — she would spend as much time practicing as she wanted, and she would take charge of program design. It’s a harrowing journey showing that it’s OK to fall out of love with something and regain a newfound appreciation after discovering who one truly is.
“I hope with all this attention, I can raise awareness about mental health in sports and mental health more generally,” Liu said. “I think my story is very cool. Hopefully, I can inspire some people.”
On the other end of the spectrum, some athletes are not given the support and help they need to make it out on top against the constant pressures of being a professional athlete. Within the past year alone, two receivers, one in the NFL and one in college, have committed suicide.
Just last month, Minnesota Vikings receiver Rondale Moore was found dead in his garage at just 25 years old. Moore had gone through season-ending injuries in his past two consecutive years in the NFL after a college career full of prowess at Purdue University. After he was traded from the Arizona Cardinals to the Atlanta Falcons in 2024, Moore dislocated his knee in training camp and never played a snap. He then signed with the Vikings but blew out his other knee in an exhibition game, effectively ending his season. The problem is not that he was a victim of depression, but that he felt no ability to reach out for support, whether through the NFL or family, which led to his untimely death.
Similar to Moore, star Louisiana State University receiver Kyren Lacy ended his own life after a police pursuit in Texas during the 2025 offseason. This came days before Lacey was expected to appear in court after he was charged with negligent homicide, felony hit-and-run and reckless operation of a vehicle after an accident in December. However, new evidence has since suggested that Lacy was driving too far behind the accident that caused the death of a 78-year-old man to have any involvement.
Validity of the evidence and character of said responding officers is now in question. It is not hard to envision Lacey believing his life would change forever due to his predicament, as it could prohibit his chances of making the NFL and subsequently let down the people who helped him get to this point. Being forced to confront what I can only imagine would be an immense and seemingly inescapable guilt is a pressure no human should have to deal with, and it is the responsibility of others — whether it’s one’s community or family — to help prop oneself up in life. That support system seemed to have failed Lacey as well as Moore, but that does not mean it has to fail others in the future.
Former NFL tight end Hayden Hurst has gone on record expressing his desire for less of a stigma surrounding outreach.
“There is this persona that you’re an NFL player and you’re almost like a robot,” said Hurst after appearing on Jada Pinkett Smith’s “Red Table Talk.” “But I think it’s more masculine to truly reach out for help and say, ‘Hey, I have a problem, and I need assistance here.'”
He is not the first athlete to speak out about this issue. Long-time NBA player Kevin Love has also expressed his support for mental health, and even created the Kevin Love Fund in 2018, which helps raise awareness surrounding children’s mental health. Many more have shared this sentiment, from Olympic Gold medalists like Michael Phelps — whose struggles with drinking led him down a dark path to recovery — to recent Olympian Ilia Malinin — who voiced his opinions on social media after a disappointing Olympic campaign.
“On the world’s biggest stage, those who appear the strongest may still be fighting invisible battles on the inside,” wrote Malinin. “Even your happiest memories can end up tainted by the noise. Vile online hatred attacks the mind, and fear lures it into the darkness, no matter how hard you try to stay sane through the endless insurmountable pressure. It all builds up as these moments flash before your eyes, resulting in an inevitable crash.”
No matter how strong or impenetrable someone’s persona may seem, there is almost always an internal conflict distinctive to the individual that everyone struggles with. But that is what we all have in common, and is exactly why having the ability to convey how one feels — positively or negatively — can help mend the struggles that we are all facing.