Hundreds of Winter Olympians around the world are saying farewell to the thrill of a lifetime. While a handful will leave as delighted medal winners, the majority leave empty-handed.
Whether they won the medal or not, some find themselves navigating uncharted waters into an uncertain future. In many cases, they’ve trained and devoted themselves to their sport for years.
Suddenly, the lights go dim.
As a former Olympian who’s now a sports psychologist, I know from firsthand experience that it’s not easy. Being an athlete is central to the identity of most Olympians, and transitioning away from training and competing can be daunting.
Daily Life Upended
In the early 1980s, psychologist Nancy K. Schlossberg developed her transition theory. It recognizes that people are prone to stress whenever they experience shifts in routines, relationships and roles, and changes that can happen at home, at work, and at school.
For Olympians, a transition back to everyday life represents a break from months of highly structured routines. No longer are they expected to be accountable to their teammates or coaches. And no longer do they have an impending competition to motivate them.
Some of the most immediate challenges involve making a decision: Should an athlete continue their studies? Or search for a job? Most Olympic athletes receive very little funding and need to find a way to financially support themselves outside of their sport.
Many also need to decide whether they even want to continue participating in their sport. This might seem like a no-brainer for some, especially those who are young, healthy, and still at the top of their game, like 17-year-old snowboarders Chloe Kim and Red Gerard.
But for those whose physical prowess is waning and who have growing families, it’s a distressing decision. After three-time Olympic medalist Lindsey Vonn won a bronze medal in the downhill ski event, she acknowledged that she was at a different point in her career — perhaps the end — because her body was breaking down.
“I wish I could keep skiing,” she told the LA Times. “I wish my body didn’t hurt as bad as it does.”
A Flimsy Sense Of Self
For athletes who have invested years of their lives to get to the Olympics, they have to contend with what sports psychologists call their “athletic identity,” which is the extent to which being an athlete is entwined with their sense of self.
For athletes who have a strong athletic identity, the lifestyle of being an athlete is central to how they see themselves and how others may see and treat them. When they’re competing, it can serve as a source of great strength, meaning, and perseverance. But when age, injury, or failure occur, it can become an Achilles’ heel: All of a sudden, they’re unmoored.
Retiring from playing a sport is as weighty a decision as retiring from a job or changing career paths. It can create a huge void and can force athletes to reflect on their careers and question their performance: Am I weak or strong? Was my athletic career a success or a failure? How resilient am I? How do I craft the next chapter in my life?
When The Music’s Over
As a psychologist, I’ve had the privilege of working with many ex-Olympic athletes who have struggled with this transition.
I’ve also personally been through a post-Olympic transition.
In my case, before the end of the 1984 Olympic Games, I returned home to Morgantown, West Virginia, with a gold medal in the men’s English match rifle shooting event. But I was also saddled with the memory of a mediocre 15th-place finish in a different event.
All of a sudden, my years-long journey of preparation, sacrifice, and competition was over. Luckily, I had a job waiting for me as a shooting coach and was enrolled in a graduate program in professional psychology. I decided that I needed to retire in order to focus on work and school, and I was able to move on from being an Olympic athlete with little, if any, regret.
But each athlete’s path and story differs. For every Michelle Kwan, who went on to become an author and a public diplomacy ambassador for the United States, there’s a Debi Thomas, the former figure skater who declared bankruptcy in 2014 and is grappling with mental health issues.
Those who struggle the most post-games are perhaps those who had high expectations that went unfulfilled, which can lead to a lifetime of “what-ifs” and second-guessing.
But the Maasai people of Kenya have a saying about life: “Everything ends.”
It’s a maxim that every Olympic athlete — medal winner or not — should take to heart.
Parents of young children get more time with them if they work from home.Photo credit: Canva
Juicy subject matter
Giphy from The Blacklist.
We could start a rumor.
Grieving couple comforting each other
This response to someone grieving a friend might be the best internet comment ever
When someone is hit with the sudden loss of a friend or loved one, words rarely feel like enough. Yet, more than a decade ago, a wise Redditor named GSnow shared thoughts so profound they still bring comfort to grieving hearts today.
Originally posted around 2011, the now-famous reply was rediscovered when Upvoted, an official Reddit publication, featured it again to remind everyone of its enduring truth. It began as a simple plea for help: “My friend just died. I don't know what to do.”
What followed was a piece of writing that many consider one of the internet’s best comments of all time. It remains shared across social media, grief forums, and personal messages to this day because its honesty and metaphor speak to the raw reality of loss and the slow, irregular path toward healing.
Below is GSnow’s full reply, unchanged, in all its gentle, wave-crashing beauty:
Why this advice still matters
Mental health professionals and grief counselors often describe bereavement in stages or phases, but GSnow’s “wave theory” gives an image more relatable for many. Rather than a linear process, grief surges and retreats—sometimes triggered by a song, a place, or a simple morning cup of coffee.
In recent years, this metaphor has found renewed relevance. Communities on Reddit, TikTok, and grief support groups frequently reshare it to help explain the unpredictable nature of mourning.
Many readers say this analogy helps them feel less alone, giving them permission to ride each wave of grief rather than fight it.
Finding comfort in shared wisdom
Since this comment first surfaced, countless people have posted their own stories underneath it, thanking GSnow and passing the words to others facing fresh heartbreak. It’s proof that sometimes, the internet can feel like a global support group—strangers linked by shared loss and hope.
For those searching for more support today, organizations like The Dougy Center, GriefShare, and local bereavement groups offer compassionate resources. If you or someone you know is struggling with intense grief, please reach out to mental health professionals who can help navigate these deep waters.
When grief comes crashing like the ocean, remember these words—and hang on. There is life between the waves.
This article originally appeared four years ago.