She Said She’s Going to Be an Accountant

Leah Williamson is preparing to become an accountant.

Not as a side hobby. Not because she’s bored.

Because she’ll need a second career when football ends.

Let that settle.

The captain of England. A two-time European champion. The face of the Lionesses’ golden era. A veteran of Arsenal. A player who helped shift the global perception of women’s football—and still, she’s planning for financial survival after retirement.

This isn’t about passion. It’s about reality.

Even the most elite players in women’s football cannot trust the sport to take care of them once their bodies give out.

That single line—“I think I’m going to be an accountant”—should have sent shockwaves through the industry. But it didn’t. Because deep down, we already know the truth:

This isn’t a profession. It’s a precarious phase.

The women’s game, as it exists now, does not offer financial stability. Not even for the best.

And I see it every day.

I talk to agents across Europe who represent players in top divisions. Most of the deals they’re negotiating are €850 a month plus housing and food. Or £1,000 a month. Maybe €2,000 if it’s a decent-sized club. And that’s for professionals. First-teamers. Full internationals, in some cases.

If you’re young, single, and living abroad with no partner, no kids, no long-term medical concerns—maybe you can make that work. Maybe.

But what if you’re not?

What if football isn’t your only responsibility? What if you have to help family, or support a child, or pay off student loans, or manage an injury that keeps you out for six months?

Because here’s the other truth:

If you’re not on big money with a big team, and you get injured, they won’t help you.

They’ll replace you.

That’s what happens when football isn’t structured to sustain its players.

You’re an asset until you’re not.

It’s easy to point to the superstars and assume things are fine. But most people don’t realize that most of the big-name players—the faces of global marketing campaigns—make more money off the field than on it. Sponsorships, commercial endorsements, speaking engagements, influencer partnerships.

That off-field economy props up the illusion of success.

But it only applies to the top 5–10%.

What about everyone else?

What about players in the third tier of English women’s football?

Or the top tier in Hungary? In Portugal? Even in France or Italy?

What happens to the player who doesn’t have a personal brand or agent with media contacts? What happens to the one who just wants to play the sport at the highest level, not run a TikTok channel or secure corporate deals?

Because for the vast majority of players—those are the ones who make up the sport. Not the influencers. Not the golden boot winners.

The ones playing on €1,000 a month, paying their own rehab costs, studying for other careers between sessions, hoping their body holds up just long enough to get one more contract.

This isn’t speculation or opinion. The data backs it.

A global study by FIFA, FIFPRO, and Edith Cowan University surveyed 736 elite women’s players across 12 countries. Over half earned less than $5,000 per year from football. Nearly three-quarters earned under $19,000. One in four held a second job. A third were studying. Only 18% had written agreements with their national teams.

FIFA’s “Setting the Pace” report reinforces this. The average global salary for a women’s footballer is just $10,900 a year. Even among Tier 1 clubs, the median is only $24,000. Drop a level, and you’re earning less than €4,000 annually for full-time football.

So no, Leah Williamson training to be an accountant isn’t a quirky side note.

It’s a warning.

It’s proof that even the game’s most visible players—those who sell tickets, front campaigns, lift trophies—can’t afford to believe the hype.

We’re told the women’s game is booming. Viewership up. Attendance records. Sponsorship deals. World Cup legacy. “A billion-dollar future.”

But here’s the truth:

If you still need a backup plan, it was never a career.

This sport doesn’t pay its players enough to walk away when the time comes.

And if it doesn’t do that, it isn’t professionalized—no matter how many times we use the word.

Williamson isn’t the outlier. She’s the proof.

If she can’t rely on football, who can?

And if we don’t fix that soon—structurally, not symbolically—we’re not just risking talent.

We’re guaranteeing loss.

Because the next generation will see the truth.

They’ll see the unpaid injuries, the job juggling, the panic planning—and they’ll walk away before the first cap.

The next Leah Williamson might never lace up her boots.

She’ll go straight to accountancy.

And honestly? I wouldn’t blame her.