A client recently shared something I hear more often than you might think:
“I do well in practice… but not in games.”
In practice, they felt steady. Clear. Capable.
But in games, something would go awry.
Anxiety would rise.
Second-guessing would take over.
Their body felt different. Their mind got louder.
At first, they were hard on themselves about it.
Why can’t I just do what I do in practice? What’s wrong with me?
Over time in therapy, we slowed things down and got curious.
And what began to emerge was this: Game time didn’t just feel like game time.
It felt familiar. But, not in a good way.
It reminded them of their parent—specifically, their parent’s critical tone.
The pressure to perform. A hovering feeling of being measured and judged.
Being praised for doing well. Being lectured when not.
“After a while, I just didn’t look at the stands during the game. I couldn’t. It didn’t matter if I was doing well or not.”
This client loved their sport, so much.
But eventually, it started to feel too hard, too much.
They decided not to pursue it after high school.
In college, they played all kinds of intramural sports, which they said they enjoyed immensely. It was lighter, more fun.
But, they missed their sport.
After college, they returned to their sport, joining a rec league.
“For fun,” they said.
And then… the pattern showed up.
Practice felt good. But “game time” carried something else.
Even in a setting meant to be fun, they found themselves saying:
“I’m the greatest benchwarmer.”
(Despite getting playing time.)
It would be easy to dismiss this.
“It’s just a rec league. It’s not that serious.”
They were so hard on themself for having reactions.
But “just a rec league” wasn’t their experience.
Because “game time” wasn’t just about the game.
It was (still) loaded.
Through our work together, something important began to shift.
Not by forcing performance, or trying to “fix” anxiety.
But by understanding it.
At one point, I shared something with the client:
“Sports—like art, music, and dance—can be a place of expression.
Sometimes, they’re the only space where we can safely express how we feel…
especially if we grew up in environments where emotions weren’t named, held, or talked about.”
There was a pause.
The athlete looked me straight in the eyes and said:
“Basketball is the only place where I can feel angry, or sad, or scared…and actually do something with it.”
And… we had lift off.
Sport isn’t just physical. It’s expressive.
Just like art, music, and dance.
It can give shape to emotions, thoughts, experiences, especially the ones that don’t always have words for.
And therapy…
is the process of putting words to those experiences.
Over time, this client began to do both.
They were expressing feelings about their parent
on the court—through movement, intensity, hesitation, energy.
And in therapy, they were beginning to name those same feelings.
To understand them. To hold them differently.
Please note, nothing about this was quick, or linear.
But something important changed:
They became less judgmental of themselves, and instead, a little more curious. A little more compassionate.
“Game Time” evolved, too.
Not because the pressure disappeared. But because it was no longer unnamed.
They reclaimed their sport.
They reclaimed their love for their sport.
There’s something powerful about this pairing, sport and therapy.
Expression and understanding.
Experience and language.
They don’t compete with each other.
They work together.
Reflection Prompts
When you think about your own experiences in sport:
What situations feel more “loaded” than they seem on the surface?
Where might your reactions be connected to something older, something familiar?
What does your sport allow you to express that you don’t always have words for?
And what might it be like to begin putting words to those experiences, too?
Final Thought
Sometimes, it’s not that an athlete can’t perform in games.
It’s that the game is holding more than just the game.
And when we begin to understand what’s underneath—
we’re not just helping performance.
We’re supporting the whole person.
If this resonates—whether you’re an athlete, parent, coach, or clinician—this is the kind of work I often sit with.
You’re welcome to reach out or learn more about my approach at lcollinslcsw.com.
In solidarity,
Laura
Disclaimer
This content is for educational purposes only and is not a substitute for mental health treatment or individualized professional support. If you or someone you know is in distress, please call or text 988 (U.S.) for immediate support. In an emergency, call 911.
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