TW: suicidal ideation
For many athletes, the dream of going pro is a lifelong ambition, but for Carly Nelson (she/they), the journey was never about a career path—it was about the thrill of competition and love for the game. From childhood, the game of soccer provided Carly with an escape, where she could channel their focus, especially while in a community where she often felt like an outsider. Growing up queer in a Mormon community in Utah, surrounded by coaches and mentors who saw her as a "troubled kid" because of those personal challenges being queer brings, Carly struggled to find belonging and safety.
So, after a concussion derailed Carly’s freshman college season, they started thinking about what their life might look like outside of sports. “It was the first time in my life where I realized that I wasn’t invincible and that at any moment, my career could end, and it could be from something I had no control over,” Carly said. “It forced me to think about my life off the field, which I had never considered.”
That change of heart led to a pretty unconventional decision—accepting a summer sales job across the country in Pennsylvania. With her coaches upset that she wouldn’t be spending the summer training, Carly took off to the Keystone State, working 14-hour days knocking on doors to sell educational school books. With no real plan, she took the opportunity in stride, hoping not only to make some money but to take some personal skills back to Utah—and ultimately found the experience an important one of self-discovery.
“My mentor in the program, Dylan, gave me the opportunity to take this sales position, and it really was the first time that I felt someone outside of soccer really believed in me. He was the first guy that I felt really saw me and the amazing qualities and skills I had from my athleticism as well as life experiences,” Carly said. The newfound support sparked a journey of self-empowerment, where soccer became more than just a game for Carly—it was the key to overcoming their identity struggles and finding the confidence to truly be themself.
But even with Dylan’s belief, door-to-door sales were grueling. On a particularly tough day, Carly happened to knock on the door of an older man, who could tell they were having a rough day and invited them to sit on the front porch and talk. He asked Carly a simple question: Did they have aspirations of going pro?
Carly’s answer was a hesitant “Yes”.
The man’s blunt reply—“If you really want to play pro, what the hell are you doing out here?”—was a wake-up call for her, and within two weeks, they left the summer job behind to go back to Utah and train harder than ever.
From sophomore to senior year, Carly’s goal was clear: go pro. But the path was far from easy. The University of Utah wasn’t known for producing professional soccer players, and despite an impressive college career, she went undrafted. A training opportunity with the Utah Royals was disrupted by COVID-19, but Seattle Reign offered a chance, and Carly signed their first professional contract. After the year in Seattle, she returned to Utah, but after the team folded following reports and allegations of racist and sexist behavior by staff, she was relocated to Kansas City. That season was plagued with instability—makeshift facilities, a lack of resources, proper coaching, and a sense of uncertainty. It was clear that a change was needed, and the chance emerged to play overseas in Denmark, where Carly rediscovered their passion for the game. However, a kidney infection led them back to the U.S., joining the Orlando Pride for a season before requesting a trade to the Utah Royals for a long-awaited homecoming.
"I was beyond excited! If you're familiar with Utah, you know that the state takes pride in its homegrown anything, especially athletes. It had always been my dream to play in front of my friends and family, to be home,” they said. "I was also looking forward to being the person I needed to see as a kid in professional sports. Growing up, there wasn’t much queer representation in sports that I was aware of, and that representation is so important, especially right now in the world, to see someone, in your experience and succeeding. Especially in Utah, because the culture is slightly behind, I wanted to be the kind of representation I desperately needed to have when I was younger."
But unfortunately, the experience of returning to Utah was not what she had hoped for. She was navigating an abusive environment that was severely and negatively impacting her mental health. While the disrespect was not always blatant and for others to see, the ongoing lack of support and understanding from the staff gradually ate away at her well-being. It became clear that, despite her best efforts, this environment was one where she and many others couldn't thrive.
“Each day I was showing up as an honest professional, with a positive attitude, giving my absolute best effort, putting my best foot forward, regardless of where I stood on the roster. But when you're showing up in abusive environments on a day-to-day basis, it eats away at you and your mental health over time. It was so disheartening and discouraging to be like, ‘this was my year, this was my chance’, but then to walk into an environment every single day where you are not valued, loved, seen, recognized, or even acknowledged.”
Being in that abusive environment left her with the question, “What do I do?”
“I got to the point where I realized there is no amount of positive self-talk. There's no amount of therapy. There's no amount of self-care or amount of anything that I could do to make this situation better for myself as it’s not happening because of something I'm failing to do. It was the culture - I need to protect my mental health. And so I eventually got to the point where I realized I had to leave.”
Leaving meant walking away from 22 years of hard work and risking everything she had worked day in and day out for, but it also marked a turning point—choosing themself over external expectations. The decision carried personal and professional risks, but they found the strength to choose healing and peace. They spoke out on social media to express the extent of the abuse in Utah, and to share their story with the world around her.
“After [posting on social media], I had over a thousand people reach out to me expressing support as well as sharing similar experiences. I was shocked, I was prepared to receive more hate for it, and although it was refreshing to not feel so alone in this, it was heartbreaking hearing the stories of so many other athletes and parents of athletes who have faced similar challenges,” they said.
And while understanding the worth of her decision and its impact on the sports community, Carly then had to take time to reflect on her personal worth to disconnect her athlete self from her human self.
“There's really nothing that's ever going to prepare a person to step away from a sport other than actually stepping away. Leaving sport for the first time forced me to sit with myself and to break the pattern of placing my worth in my athletic achievements,” they said. “Especially while growing up queer in Utah, soccer was the only place for a very long time that I felt safe. So I have this attachment to it that made this transition much harder. Growing up, it was the only time that I had, like, praise and validation. Whereas off the field, I didn’t get that.”
Her transition was jarring. She didn't just lose a sport; she lost a community, friends, a sense of purpose, a daily routine, passion, and joy. Carly was confronted with the reality of the sports world's unpredictability—career-ending injuries, missed opportunities, and the harsh reality that not all athletes get the dream career they hope for. And for her, ending her career in a way that was premature to what she could have accomplished. She found herself asking, "Who am I?" “What else do I have to offer?” and spiraled into dark thoughts. With the aftermath of the Utah Royals experience and the mixture of losing her sport, she contemplated suicide. Fortunately, therapy and the love of her family and friends kept her grounded, but it was a hard realization that her life after soccer wasn’t as easy to navigate as she had hoped.
This period was deeply lonely, it can be for a lot of athletes. Though their family and friends were there for her, they couldn’t fully understand the depth of her emotional pain. The disconnect between what she needed and what others could provide left her feeling isolated in her grief. But as time passed, this sense of isolation turned into connection and then a profound, albeit painful, journey of healing. She discovered a sense of freedom away from the constant pressure of performance and competition. Now, she could live in the moment, experience life without the constant weight of high expectations, rigid and intense schedules, and routines and learn how to appreciate her body for what it could do in a way that felt good for her rather than punishing.
As Carly steps into the next chapter of her life, she’s returning to school to get her master's degree to become a therapist and pursue a career in mental health counseling. While the future remains open and exciting, Carly is now focused on making an impact beyond the game—one that ensures future generations receive the right kind of support she once needed and so many athletes currently don’t yet have and are searching for.
“I hope in sharing my story and just putting this out there, people realize how current and real this all is. It is not just an isolated experience either. These environments can really impact our mental and emotional health—not just on the career side of things, but more importantly the human being side, especially for athletes as the demands of the sport are already high," Carly shares. "As a professional athlete, my professional career has been pretty difficult not just because of the things the job requires but because of the environments I’ve been in. There is such an important conversation to be had about how different environments impact our mental and emotional health, our careers, and even our productivity. The more supportive the environment, the better - it also works the other way around and unfortunately, the latter one is common. There needs to be more resources, better resources, and accountability needs to be held from the top down in these organizations to make sure that every single one of the athletes is being supported and properly cared for.”
