When Injury Takes You Out of the Game: The Hidden Grief of Being an Injured Athlete
Injury doesn’t just hurt your body.
It hurts your routine, your identity, your mental health—and often, your sense of who you are.
As athletes, movement is more than exercise.
It’s our relief.
Our regulation.
Our church.
Our calm place.
Our happy place.
So when injury takes that away—even temporarily—it can feel like losing a part of yourself.
The Emotional Whiplash of Injury
For athletes, injury doesn’t just disrupt a schedule. It disrupts meaning.
Your routine gets thrown off.
Your outlet disappears.
Your stress relief is suddenly unavailable.
And what’s left behind is often:
Frustration
Sadness
Irritability
Anxiety
Depression
A quiet sense of being lost
This emotional response isn’t weakness—it’s grief.
Grief for what your body used to do.
Grief for the rhythm that kept you grounded.
Grief for the identity that felt stable and familiar.
When Movement Is Your Medicine—and It’s Taken Away
Many athletes regulate their nervous systems through movement. Training is how we cope, how we process, how we stay mentally well.
So when someone says, “Just rest,” what they don’t realize is:
You’re not just resting a body part.
You’re losing your primary coping skill.
Add physical pain to the mix—and now your nervous system is constantly activated. Pain increases emotional vulnerability. It lowers frustration tolerance. It makes everything feel heavier.
This combination—loss of routine + loss of identity + physical pain—creates a perfect storm for emotional distress.
My Own Relationship With Injury
I’ve been an athlete my entire life.
Which means I’ve also been injured my entire life.
And I’ll be honest—it has not gotten easier with age.
I’m stubborn. I don’t like to stop. If I can’t train the way I normally do, I will find another way to move. That’s always been my pattern.
But this past year has been different.
I’ve been dealing with a broken rib cartilage injury—something that isn’t well known, isn’t well treated, and was misdiagnosed for a long time. I had to learn how to advocate for myself. I had to keep pushing until I finally found a doctor who actually knew what was going on.
I did what I was told.
I took time off.
I slowly returned.
I followed the rules.
And still—I’m injured again.
Now I’m facing another injection, more time off, and that crushing feeling of being back at zero after finally finding my rhythm again.
It’s frustrating.
It’s defeating.
It’s disheartening.
And yes—it’s sad.
The Part No One Talks About
What hurts just as much as the injury itself is this thought:
“I was finally getting back into it… and now it’s gone again.”
That emotional drop can feel brutal.
Athletes aren’t just grieving the injury—we’re grieving hope that keeps getting interrupted. And that kind of stop-start healing can mess with your trust in your body.
Finding Yourself When You Can’t Train
So how do you cope when your main source of relief is unavailable?
You don’t replace it overnight.
You don’t “stay positive.”
You don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.
Instead, you build parallel paths.
Some questions to gently explore:
What else regulates my nervous system—even a little?
What makes me feel connected to myself when I can’t move the way I want?
Where can I find small moments of relief instead of one big outlet?
This might look like:
Walking instead of training
Breathwork or mobility instead of intensity
Writing, music, or therapy as emotional processing
Community, even when you don’t feel like showing up
Letting rest be active healing, not failure
Injury Doesn’t Erase Who You Are
You are not less of an athlete because you’re injured.
You are not weak because this is hard.
You are not failing because your body needs more time.
Injury forces a reckoning—but it doesn’t take away your identity. It asks you to expand it.
And sometimes, that expansion is uncomfortable, emotional, and deeply humbling.
Holding Space for the Hard Parts
At Abbey Rose Therapy, we work with athletes who are navigating injury-related depression, identity loss, and emotional burnout. These experiences deserve space—not dismissal.
If you’re injured and struggling:
You’re not dramatic.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not broken.
You’re human—and you’re grieving something that mattered deeply to you.
And that deserves care.
Warmly,
Abbey Vince, AMFT
