The question is: who failed her?
And the answer is everyone.
If a 19-year-old English player looks like she might take her own life — or god forbid, she does — the question isn’t “who helps her?”
The question is: who failed her?
And the answer is everyone.
Her club.
The FA.
The league.
The people around her who didn’t know what to do.
The system that never planned for this moment.
Everyone.
If she’s in Tier 3, the situation is bare and brutal.
There’s no psychologist embedded in her club.
No medical team.
No mental health policy.
No crisis protocol.
No union protection.
No full-time staff trained in player care.
She’s not a professional. She’s likely unpaid.
She works a job. She studies. She plays for the love of the game and the hope of a future.
And when she struggles, there is no one officially assigned to notice.
The FA will tell you it’s “growing the pyramid.”
But at Tier 3, there isn’t even a ladder out of the hole.
She’s expected to figure it out alone.
To recognize what’s happening.
To self-refer.
To wait weeks.
To not make a mistake before someone steps in.
And if you think that’s survivable, you are part of the problem.
Because the truth is this:
In women’s football in England, if you’re outside the top two tiers, there is no system of care.
There is no safety net.
There is no plan.
In the NWSL, a player can take up to six months of paid mental health leave.
Every club must employ a licensed mental health provider.
It’s not a suggestion. It’s written into the CBA.
In Tier 3 England?
You’re on your own.
And if she dies?
They’ll say they’re shocked.
They’ll post condolences.
They’ll ask how this could happen.
But it’s not a mystery.
It happened because no one built a system that assumed she might be in pain.
It happened because no one took her life seriously enough to protect it.
Who failed her?
The club, for registering her to play without providing even the most basic duty of care.
The FA, for sanctioning the league without mandating protection.
The league, for not requiring trained professionals as part of club licensing.
The sport, for acting like players in Tier 3 don’t matter — until it’s too late.
She didn’t fall through the cracks.
There were no cracks.
There was no structure to fall through at all.
Now let’s say she’s in Tier 2. WSL2.
Does it change?
Maybe on paper. Not where it matters.
She might be on a contract.
She might be PFA-eligible.
She might be at a club with a physio, a performance coach, or even a part-time psychologist.
But here’s what doesn’t change:
There’s no mandated, embedded mental health professional.
There’s no standardized crisis response protocol across clubs.
There’s no league-wide duty of care framework with enforceable consequences.
There’s no guaranteed paid mental health leave, no CBA, no formal infrastructure.
It’s all optional.
Discretionary.
Patchy.
Uneven.
And usually reactive — not preventative.
The PFA has a hotline.
The FA has a handbook.
Some clubs have good people doing their best.
But if she’s 19, spiraling, and doesn’t know what to say or who to tell — she’s still expected to self-diagnose and self-refer.
She’s still surrounded by staff trained in performance, not in care.
She’s still in a culture that prioritizes toughness over honesty, appearance over reality.
She still has to fight through the fear that speaking up might cost her minutes, her place, her future.
She still lives in a structure that celebrates resilience and ignores suffering.
And if she dies?
Everyone will say, “We never saw it coming.”
But the warning signs were always there.
The system just never had the tools, the training, or the will to notice.
Now let’s say she’s in Tier 1. The WSL.
Does it finally change?
Still no.
She may have more visibility, more money, more people around her — but she’s still not protected by a CBA.
There is still no league-mandated paid mental health leave.
There is still no required full-time psychologist embedded at every club.
There is still no standardized protocol when a player signals she’s not okay.
And when that moment comes — and it will — she’ll still have to hope someone around her knows what to do.
She’ll still have to risk being labeled a distraction.
She’ll still have to navigate a system that was never designed for her health, only her output.
Because “support” without accountability isn’t support.
And “awareness” without systems isn’t safety.
And if it’s not mandatory, embedded, and enforceable — it’s not real.
Not when it matters most.
Not when her life is on the line.
That’s the real scandal in women’s football.
It’s not pay. It’s not visibility.
It’s that the system is built to pretend players are fine when they’re not.
And if that makes you uncomfortable, good.
Because if you’re not fighting to change it, you failed her too.