Sorry, not sorry.
Apologies are fine, after the fact, but what if we changed the story and subsequent behaviour before it even began?
I received a note from a reader last week sharing an article from The Athletic regarding elite US female soccer player, Carli Lloyd. Two awesome things about that—one, I always appreciate hearing from readers, especially when they have a topic suggestion, and two, it allowed me to revisit a conundrum I’ve struggled with for a long time.
Carli Lloyd, considered one of the most impactful players in the history of the game, retired in 2021, ending her playing career with her hometown club, NJ/NY Gotham FC, in the National Women’s Soccer League. No big deal, right, athletes retire all the time—even the good ones!
However, the article wasn’t about her career or retirement; instead, it highlighted her remarks from a recent induction into the Hall of Fame. During her twenty-minute speech, she did something unusual—something she wasn’t known for as a player: she was vulnerable.
“There was nothing I loved more than winning, but winning comes at a cost, and I paid that price,” confided Lloyd in her post-induction interview. “I knew I didn’t need to stand up here and talk about how much I loved the game or how hard I worked. Most of you already know that about me. What I wanted to share wasn’t from a perspective of a competitor, but as a person, a human being, and what I kept coming back to again and again was one simple question: was it all worth it?”
“I operated like an emotionless machine. I was intense, and I truly believed that the only way for me to survive in such a cutthroat environment was to be that way. So, to my teammates, I want to say this: I’m sorry I wasn’t always able to give you all of me.”
Hmmm, perhaps not your typical acceptance speech. And, yes, there were some “thank you’s”—her coaches, teammates, mentors, and family—everyone you would expect to be on the list. However, it was the apology that garnered all the attention.
Surprising? For me, no. In fact, I’ve often thought it would be good to have cards made that I can hand out to old teammates and associates that I run into, outlining the shifts I’ve been through and that I no longer believe in much of my operating system from when I was competing. It would save me so much time explaining, as well as eliminate a tremendous amount of awkwardness.
So, I get it—I understand the desire to justify oneself when there’s regret for how an individual may have shown up in their previous version. However, what if we went back to just before things went off the rails and changed the story? Sort of interrupted the pattern, if you will. You know, a young athlete plays a sport, the athlete is good at said sport, meets a legendary coach to accelerate their career, learns some antiquated beliefs that really mess with their head, and, well, the rest of it, we pretty much know how it ends.
When I think of my journey from asshat to the version of me that exists today, believe me when I say I wish I had met the catalyst to this transformation—umm, my wife, Robyn Meagher—when I was just beginning as a rower. Can’t even begin to describe how the gig might have been different. Well, actually, let’s try—less ego, less combative, less selfish, less insecure; less confused, less lonely, that’s a decent start!
What would that’ve translated into? Simple, more possibilities in every regard—better source of motivation, better athlete, better person, better teammate, and likely a longer career. Would I take that? What do you think? Rhetorical question.
So, where did Carli, I and countless others learn a way of being that gets so many into so much trouble? And don’t think this is reserved for athletes—believe me, business, academia, and the performing arts have their own special version of this human dysfunction. We have a story for every pursuit, whether it’s a professional athlete, a billionaire CEO, an international pop star, or a Nobel Prize-winning researcher—we’ve got it covered. Countless examples of individuals who have reached for and achieved the pinnacle of success in their chosen vocation, who have in some way compromised themselves to get where they’ve gotten.
Historically, we can make sense of it. Sports have long been associated with the ideals of masculinity, stoicism, and dominance, particularly in the West. The notion of the "tough guy competitor" gained traction through the likes of Vince Lombardi, who preached emotional restraint as the ticket to enhanced strength. Besides, it’s not like the "winning is everything" philosophy came from Saturday morning cartoons, although, remember the Roadrunner? But, I digress; American football and similar sports have consistently been proponents of this kill-or-be-killed paradigm.
Terms like “warriors” have been used to describe individuals who “battle to victory.” Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, and many others were the faces of highly combative sports—we revered and celebrated their courage and aggression. Early sport psychologists encouraged athletes to suppress “weak” emotions, such as fear, to optimize mental toughness. Michael Jordan was the poster boy for trash-talking opponents to weaken or discourage them; intimidation had become a performance strategy.
Research from the early 2000s, in The Sport Psychologist, defined mental toughness as the ability to cope with pressure, maintain focus, and suppress emotional vulnerability. This approach dominated sports psychology for decades, reinforcing the idea that emotions hinder performance. It certainly rings familiar for me. Twenty years earlier, we wouldn’t have used the term mental toughness, as it wasn’t a familiar concept. Our version was “Don’t be a suck-hole,” and it accomplished pretty much the same thing.
By 2020, we began to see the fallout of the ‘suck-it-up-buttercup’ mantra in living colour. Studies of US college athletes revealed a higher-than-usual burnout rate attributed to maintaining a false sense of bravado. Research from Psychology of Sport and Exercise found that while short-term emotional suppression might enhance focus, it reduces team cohesion and long-term resilience. In fact, teams with emotionally distant leaders performed worse in collaborative settings. The tough guy narrative was beginning to falter.
A 2022 study in the Journal of Applied Sport Psychology found that self-compassion predicted greater resilience in athletes. Those who practiced self-compassion actually recovered more quickly from failure and maintained their motivation for longer. If you remember, I shared my penny-drop moment around this understanding a few SubStacks ago. These kinds of studies were beginning to open the doors to an alternative approach to high performance. One that didn’t leave a trail of beaten and discarded individuals.
Meanwhile, in 2023, a study in The International Journal of Sport and Exercise Psychology highlighted that athletes who integrated their authentic selves, you know, the all of me part that Carli shared in her speech—including emotions, identities, and values—into their training reported higher intrinsic motivation and lower stress.
Finally, data from a 2024 Sports & Health Journal study suggested that athletes who engage in prosocial behaviours, like mentoring teammates or community service, reported higher life satisfaction and sustained performance over time. And that’s the piece that was missing for me and likely most others who had regrets once their career was over. Remember, I’m talking about any and all types of careers, not just athletes.
It’s why, as a rowing coach, I tried to be different from how I was coached. And that’s not a shot at my coaches; it was a different time. They were doing what they knew and what we considered normal and acceptable. Having said that, my old school coaches made me realize I didn’t want to be one.
It began with me trying to reveal my humanity while coaching and modelling the behaviours I was looking for in the athletes. That wasn’t easy at first. Being vulnerable did not come naturally. Letting them know I didn’t have all the answers was hard. Asking them what they thought we should do in certain situations seemed a waste of time. There were so many moments in those early days of my coaching where I would continuously catch myself being that tough-guy and have to correct course immediately.
Soon, it just became how I coached, who I was and what I was willing to let the athletes see—all of me.
What about you? In your role as a business leader, coach, educator, parent, whatever, what would be possible in work or life if you purposefully showed up more vulnerable? Yes, potentially, an uncomfortable situation. However, as I learned through my coaching, it’s incredibly worthwhile and gratifying! Not just for enhanced performance, but also for improved connections and lived experiences.
Com’ on, what have you got to lose? Give it a try and let me know how it goes.
Reflection and self compassion. Key vitamins for building a healthy soul?