Your Family Called Again

I had a student-athlete in my office last Tuesday. I’m not going to tell you who, obviously, but I want to tell you what they said because I think some of you are carrying the same thing and haven’t said it out loud to anyone.

They said: “I feel like I’m drowning and nobody in this building knows the water is even there.”

Their parent is sick. Not a little sick. Seriously sick, the kind where every phone call home could be the phone call. And they are here, at practice, at film, at lifting, at study hall, doing all the things that this program requires, and the people around them see an athlete. They don’t see a child who is terrified about what is happening at home.

I want to talk about that today. Not because I can fix it. I can’t. But because I think some of you are in the same water and you think you have to stay quiet about it.

Read this passage slowly.

Let that sit for a second before you move.

I want to start by saying something that I mean completely: it is okay that you are struggling with this. It is okay that the family situation is taking up space in your head during practice. It is okay that you cried in the car on the way here this morning. None of that makes you weak or unfocused or a bad athlete. It makes you a human being who loves people and is scared for them.

I work with athletes across this whole department. I see a version of this more than anyone on the outside would guess. The soccer player whose parents are divorcing. The swimmer whose sibling is in crisis. The basketball player I mentioned. What I have learned is that the athletes who try hardest to compartmentalize — who build the highest wall between the family situation and the athletic performance — are often the ones who break the hardest. Because walls take energy to maintain. And at some point the energy runs out.

What actually helps is not the wall. It’s the permission to carry it honestly.

Peter says cast your anxiety on God because He cares for you. I love that word — cast. Like you’re throwing something. Like you don’t have to keep holding it with both hands anymore. You can throw it to Someone who is big enough to catch it and not drop it.

That doesn’t mean the situation at home goes away. It doesn’t mean you stop worrying. It means you are not carrying it alone. God knows about your parent. God knows about the phone call you’re afraid of. God is not surprised by any of what is happening in your family right now, and His care for you is not suspended because the season is busy.

Here’s what I want to ask you to do. I want you to tell one person in this building what is actually happening at home. Not post about it, not make it a whole thing — just tell one person who you trust that the water is there. A teammate. A coach. Me. The athletic trainer who you see every day. One person who can check in with you, who knows that when you’re quiet it might not be about the game.

The drowning doesn’t stop because someone knows. But it gets a little easier when you’re not the only one who can see the water.

Give this question real space. Some athletes will name someone. Some will realize they have told no one. Both answers are important.