What if asking for help is not only difficult, but doesn’t feel safe?
Oregon quarterback Dante Moore said in a recent letter to Oregon Governor Tina Kotek. ESPNat the beginning of his college careerhe found himself fighting to keep it all. At 18, expectations of leading a major Division I football program had grown depressed. At the same time, his mother was undergoing chemotherapy after being diagnosed with cancer.
“The pressure and the expectations … the feeling is overwhelming,” he wrote. “Seeing him endure chemotherapy while I was trying to stay focused on school and football was mentally and emotionally challenging. It was so overwhelming it’s hard to put into words.”
What he was navigating wasn’t just stress. It is a nervous system conveying the same signals of danger – on the field, in u personalityand in his family. Moore went on to say that “as a young black man and an athlete,” asking for help felt like “an uphill battle.” He said it requires “vulnerability and trust.”
As a quarterback, he felt the burden of keeping what he had been through. “I’m expected to lead, stay calm and take responsibility for my team.”
We may experience these obligations in our roles as parents, partners, coaches, therapists, managers, or leaders.
The number of conversations in sports about athletes who openly talk about mental health is increasing. But there is much more to this story that is not being talked about as much.
As social mammals, we evolved to communicate, care, bond, and trust others in good times and bad. Under cultural norms, we’re naturally inclined to seek support when we’re struggling—up to a point. Inherent in our biology is the need to be seen, heard, understood, and ultimately accepted, even in moments of anxiety.
Sharing what we’re going through with a trusted partner, mentor, friend or support system is not only helpful. This is part of what we are rebuilding. This is how the nervous system restores a sense of safety and connection. This is how we heal.
But not all of us believe that it is safe to feel safe. Not all of us believe it is safe to trust others. And as the pressure builds and we move deeper into defense mode, it can be natural to withdraw as well.
Reaching out, communicating with others, even allowing ourselves to be seen, can require more resources than we have. In times of real anxiety, the nervous system can shift into a conservative metabolic state—numbing pain, conserving energy, and conserving what’s left. In this case, it interferes with our ability to get the support we need.
This is not a deliberate decision. It is an adaptive strategy for survival.
So we go backwards. And if we reach out for help, or if someone comes to our rescue, we can become so closed off that we inadvertently become disconnected from the very people who want to help. The signals we send through our voice, face and body language can be so isolated that it becomes difficult to engage with others. When that happens, we can go back to isolation.
The longer someone like Dante Moore is under pressure, the more adaptive he can be without the support he needs. The fact that he was able to show access to the physiological level stability and believe that not all of us have the most difficult circumstances in life.
It’s not just a matter of courage the will. It refers to both internal and communication resources available to the nervous system at that moment. Help may be there, even knocking on our door, but our system is so exhausted or distrustful that we cannot open the door and let help come.
This helps us to ensure that awareness and access to mental health services is not enough. We must also consider the current situation and strength of the personality.
There’s another twist to Dante Moore’s story: the real and potentially negative consequences of being honest about mental health struggles in competitive, performance-oriented cultures like the NFL.
For playing time, contracts, reputation, sponsorships, leadership roles and how we are perceived by coaches, colleagues or ownership.
So we are left with a paradox.
What the body needs to regulate, including connection, expression, and vision, can feel precarious in environments where performance defines belonging.
Even as organizations encourage athletes to speak out and as mental health resources expand, a deeper question remains: What will happen to me if I do this?
Am I losing my competitive advantage? Will I still be trusted as a leader? Will this affect my future decisions?
These concerns are not unfounded. Research shows that athletes are often reluctant to seek help for reasons stigma, fear being seen as weak and concerns about how their disclosure would affect their position.
In high-performance cultures, where comparisons and evaluations are constant and results really matter, these concerns are grounded in reality.
That’s how we adapt. We hold it in, push it away, and delay seeking help, not because we don’t value mental health, but because, on some level, we recognize the dangers of being open.
This dynamic is not limited to professional athletes.
It manifests itself in leadership environments, corporate culture, higher education settings, and any hierarchical system where performance determines value.
We tell people to ask for help, be open, and bring yourself fully. But environment often under our words it conveys something else.
Delivery. Don’t fall back. And by all means, don’t let your personal struggles get in the way of your performance.
And the body listens.
“In my life, what made the difference was support,” Moore wrote. “The support of my friends, the love of my family and access to the resources I needed to get better.”
The conversation about mental health is moving in the right direction.
Athletes like Moore are speaking out and telling their stories. Organizations respond and resources expand.
But a deeper question remains.
Can anyone feel safe enough to be real and honest in a competitive culture where their performance defines their place and where yesterday’s performance is no longer good enough?
Until we address this question not only psychologically, but culturally, the paradox remains.
And many keep the burden of mental health in silence.
This brings us back to what this moment demands of us.
We must continue to have these conversations and continue to raise our awareness of what is really playing out in the minds and bodies of our famous characters and acknowledge their experiences in our own.
Second, even when help is available, accessing that support takes more than courage or willpower. It requires a level of resilience and trust that not all of us have access to, especially when our resources are depleted or trust is broken.
And finally, until we face the real consequences of voicing our struggles and vulnerabilities in a competitive, competitive, performance-driven culture, many continue to keep what they’re going through in silence.
As Moore says, “Learning how to take care of my mental health has made me a better leader, teammate, and student. I know what it feels like to struggle in silence. I also know what it’s like to be supported and come back stronger. That support saved me.”
