What if asking for help isn\u2019t just difficult, but doesn\u2019t feel safe?<\/p>\n
Oregon quarterback Dante Moore recently shared, in a letter to Oregon Governor Tina Kotek reported by ESPN, that early in his college career<\/a>, he found himself struggling to keep it all together. At 18 years old, carrying the expectations of leading a major Division I football program, he grew depressed<\/a>. At the same time, his mother was undergoing chemotherapy after being diagnosed with cancer.<\/p>\n \u201cThe pressure and expectations\u2026 felt overwhelming,\u201d he wrote. \u201cWatching her endure chemotherapy while I tried to stay focused on school and football challenged me mentally and emotionally. It was heavy in ways that are difficult to put into words.\u201d<\/p>\n What he was navigating wasn\u2019t just pressure. It was a nervous system<\/a> carrying overlapping signals of danger\u2014on the field, in his identity<\/a>, and in his family. Moore went on to say that, \u201cas a young Black man and athlete,\u201d asking for help felt like \u201cclimbing an uphill battle.\u201d He said that it required \u201cvulnerability and trust.\u201d<\/p>\n As a quarterback, he felt an extra-heavy burden to keep what he was experiencing to himself. \u201cI am expected to lead, stay composed, and carry responsibility for my team.\u201d<\/p>\n We might feel these same obligations in our roles as parents, partners, coaches, therapists, managers, or leaders.<\/p>\n There has been a growing number of conversations in sports about athletes speaking openly about mental health. But there\u2019s more to the story that isn\u2019t being talked about as much.<\/p>\n As social mammals, we evolved to communicate, care for, bond together, and trust others in good times and bad. Beneath cultural norms, we are naturally inclined to reach out for support when we struggle\u2014up to a point. Within our biology is a need to be seen, heard, understood, and ultimately accepted, even in moments of distress. <\/p>\n Sharing what we are going through with a trusted teammate, coach, friend, or support system is not just helpful. It is part of how we recover. It is how the nervous system restores a sense of safety and connection. It is how we heal.<\/p>\n But not all of us trust that it\u2019s safe to feel safe. Not all of us trust that it\u2019s safe to trust others. And as pressure builds and we move deeper into states of protection, it can also become natural to withdraw.<\/p>\n Reaching out, engaging with others, even allowing ourselves to be seen, can require more resources than we have available. In times of real distress, the nervous system can shift into a metabolically conservative state\u2014numbing pain, conserving energy, and preserving what\u2019s left. In doing so, it interferes with our capacity to get the support we need. <\/p>\n This is not a deliberate decision. It is an adaptive survival strategy.<\/p>\n So we pull back. And if we do reach out, or if someone comes to our rescue, we can be so shut down that we inadvertently disconnect from the very people trying to help. The signals we are sending through our voice, face, and body language<\/a> can carry so much detachment that it becomes difficult for others to stay engaged. When that happens, we may retreat further into isolation.<\/p>\n The more pressure someone like Dante Moore is under, the more adaptive it can become to withdraw from the very support that is needed. The fact that he was able to reach out suggests access to a level of physiological resilience<\/a> and trust not all of us have in life\u2019s most challenging circumstances.<\/p>\n This is not simply a matter of courage or willpower<\/a>. It is about the resources, both internal and relational, available to the nervous system in those moments. Help could be right there, even knocking on our door, but our system may be so depleted or distrusting that we cannot open the door and let that help in.<\/p>\n This helps us see that awareness and access to mental health services are not enough. We also have to consider the current state and capacity of the individual.<\/p>\n There is one more twist to the Dante Moore story: the real and potentially negative consequences of being honest about mental health struggles in highly competitive, performance-based cultures such as the NFL. <\/p>\n There can be risks to playing time, contracts, reputation, sponsorship, leadership<\/a> roles, and how we are perceived by coaches, teammates, or ownership.<\/p>\n So we are left with a paradox.<\/p>\n What the body needs to regulate, including connection, expression, and being seen, can feel unsafe in environments where performance determines belonging.<\/p>\n Even as organizations encourage athletes to speak up, and as mental health resources expand, a deeper question remains: What happens to me if I do?<\/p>\n Will I lose my competitive edge? Will I still be trusted as a leader? Will this affect decisions about my future?<\/p>\n These concerns are not irrational. Research shows that athletes often hesitate to seek help due to stigma<\/a>, fear<\/a> of being perceived as weak, and concerns about how disclosure might impact their standing.<\/p>\n In high-performance cultures where comparison and evaluation are constant, and outcomes truly matter, these concerns are grounded in reality.<\/p>\n So we adapt. We hold it in, push through, and delay asking for help, not because we do not value mental health, but because, at some level, we detect the risks of being open.<\/p>\n This dynamic is not limited to professional athletes.<\/p>\n It shows up in leadership environments, corporate culture, high-achieving academic settings, and any hierarchical system where performance determines value.<\/p>\n