Every so often, athletes are reminded that the sport they play is just a game.
On November 6, 2025, Dallas Cowboys defensive end Marshawn Kneeland tragically took his own life. His passing sent shockwaves not just throughout the NFL, but the sports world as a whole.
There are moments that transcend sports, that remind you why you lead the life you do – to spread empathy, compassion, and justice. There are moments that remind you that life is fragile, and that it can be taken away in an instant. There are moments that show that even when your career is at its highest point, you can still feel far from the life you dreamed of.
Kneeland’s passing was one of those moments, along with the countless other previous tragedies of athletes taking their own lives. It is a constant and relentless reminder why I feel so strongly about mental health advocacy and using my passion for sports and the law as a platform to promote awareness, empathy, and change.
In March of 2022, Stanford Women’s Soccer Player Katie Meyer took her own life. I remember where I was when I heard the news, and I remember immediately writing a long text to my teammates to let them know that I’m always here for them. Her passing rattled me – she was a fiercely passionate soccer goalie and had plans to go to law school post-graduation, the same as me.
Her parents, Gina and Steve Meyer, sought answers to their indescribable loss and filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Stanford University. The lawsuit’s central allegation is that Stanford University’s handling of disciplinary actions against Katie – including placing her diploma on hold just three months before her graduation – contributed to her emotional distress, which ultimately led to her death by suicide.
The disciplinary action allegedly arose out of an incident where Katie accidentally or purposefully spilt hot coffee on a Stanford football player who was accused of sexually assaulting a women’s soccer player. On one evening in March, after a FaceTime call with her parents about their upcoming spring break plans, the University emailed Katie the details of her upcoming disciplinary hearing. That same evening was the night Katie tragically passed away. The Meyers’ lawsuit states, “Katie’s suicide was completed without planning and solely in response to the shocking and deeply distressing information she received from Stanford while alone in her room without any support or resources.” The case is set for trial in April of 2026, and you can read the complaint here.
The Meyers’, alongside their lawsuit, have taken it upon themselves to make sure Katie’s life and legacy are respectfully and lovingly honored. Through Katie’s Save, their dedicated non-profit, her memory lives on to protect others by pursuing legislative change and fighting for systemic changes at colleges and universities to promote mental health, protect students and prevent suicide.
Their advocacy led to the creation and passage of the Katie Meyer Law (AB 1575), which was signed into law by California Governor Gavin Newsom on September 28th, 2024. The Katie Meyer Law allows students at California’s public colleges and universities to select an adviser to help them navigate the disciplinary process so they are not forced to face the action alone. Previous laws didn’t require schools to allow students to have an adviser during disciplinary hearings nor did it require schools to honor a student’s choice of adviser at all. The Katie Meyer law marks a significant step forward in protecting students from undue stress and isolation, and reinforces the importance of prioritizing mental health in higher education.
The Meyers’ have plans to take the California law to the national level, actively meeting with representatives in an effort to make the legislation more widespread. Their dedication to pursuing justice in the face of adversity is one that is central to what advocacy means. In spite of present hardship – perhaps even motivated by that hardship – they used the law to create life-saving and purposeful change.
If you want to know anything about me, it’s that I live for sports – and if you really want to know how much I mean that, read this. Months after Katie Meyer’s passing, I was suiting up for my junior basketball season at Emerson College. I found myself in the gym or on the court everyday – multiple times a day – but something was missing. I was craving something with a deeper purpose, something that could transform my athletic endeavors into something that created real, meaningful change.
I knew that a mental health advocacy event was the perfect calling, so I did a lot of research. I wanted to find a cause that connected sports and mental health, and a professor directed me toward Doc Wayne Youth Services, a non-profit that uses sports to positively impact the mental health of children in the Boston-area. They use sport-based therapy to improve the social-emotional skills of children. It was – and still is – the perfect cause, and its impact is incredibly important.
I launched the initiative with the slogan “Mental Health Matters.” Both the men’s and women’s basketball programs were a part of it, with special warm-up shirts, raffles, fundraising campaigns, and collaborations with Emerson Wellness – all raising money for Doc Wayne. In the end, after my two years leading it, we raised around five thousand dollars.
Part of my motivation to go to law school was sparked by that experience, and it made me wonder how much stronger my advocacy could be if I had the knowledge – and power – of the law by my side.
Despite the growing awareness about athlete mental health, the law has yet to catch up. While physical injuries like concussions have long-established protocols, there are few, if any, legal safeguards for the mental well-being of student-athletes. The Katie Meyer Law represents one of the first major legislative steps toward closing that gap and recognizing that mental health deserves the same level of attention and procedural fairness as any other aspect of student mental health.
Slowly but surely, progress is being made, and in 2024, the NCAA started to shift from guidelines to requirements, where athletic departments must follow its Mental Health Best Practices. Schools are required to provide consistent access to licensed mental health professionals, conduct annual screenings, and offer education and self-help tools. Division I schools must formally attest to compliance starting in 2025; Division II schools have the same standards, but are allowed a more flexible implementation; Division III schools (like Suffolk University and Emerson College) can focus on its integration with campus-wide counseling centers rather than athletic department-only resources. It was important for me, as a DIII athlete, to make it known that, even if we did not have our own sports psychologist, there were a significant number of resources at our disposal through the Emerson Wellness Center, such as general practitioners, therapists, and nutritionists.
Professional sports leagues have taken similar measures, and in recent collective bargaining agreement (CBA) negotiations, where the leagues and players unions negotiate over the terms of the next deal, mental health resources have been in bold ink.
In 2019, the NBA required each team to have full-time mental health staff and in 2023, expanded player protections by creating a “mental health designation” that would treat mental health difficulties like physical injuries. The NFL is on a similar wavelength, requiring each team to have a behavioral health clinician as of 2020. The MLB and NHL, on the other hand, don’t mandate that each team employ a full-time mental health clinician for current players. Both leagues leave it up to their teams to make decisions on the staffing of their respective organizations.
The NHL did, though, take a groundbreaking approach in its 2025 CBA, extending mental health rights to retired players. The terms are that the NHL and NHLPA jointly contribute $4 million per year to cover retired players’ healthcare and wellness needs, and any player who appeared in at least one NHL game is entitled to see a mental wellness professional under the program. The NHL’s model is important, because retired professional athletes – often those who struggle the most – are too easily forgotten about in the fight for mental health advocacy.
Women’s professional leagues have also taken groundbreaking approaches in their respective CBA’s. In 2020 (with negotiations for the next CBA currently ongoing), the WNBA introduced expanded mental health resources, including holistic wellness and childcare support. The NWSL’s first-ever CBA in 2022 guaranteed up to six months of paid mental health leave – a first for any U.S. professional league. In 2025, the PWHL partnered with Onrise (an athlete mental health care provider) to give players access to mental health care, licensed therapy, and 24/7 crisis assistance.
These player-union-led advancements are great, and so are league-wide public initiatives such as the NBA’s Mind Health program, which aims to destigmatize mental health struggles. The NBA’s DeMar DeRozan and Kevin Love, the NFL’s Dak Prescott and AJ Brown, the MLB’s Jarren Duran, and iconic sports figures like Simone Biles, Serena Williams, and Michael Phelps, are all strong advocates for prioritizing mental health. In 2024, the Boston Red Sox placed pitcher Chris Martin on the injured list for anxiety, rather than listing vague “personal reasons.” It’s those actions, no matter how big or small, that continue to keep the ball rolling on destigmatizing the conversation surrounding mental health and subsequently advocating for its importance in sports.
Even with this momentum, one question continues to linger in my mind and in the conversation of so many advocates: where does the law come in?
Historically, the law’s interaction with sports has always been reactive. It comes after a tragedy, a pattern of abuse, some kind of scandal, or collective outrage. Title IX, which provided female athletes equal opportunity in education-level athletics, followed the feminist movement and civil rights reforms of the 1960s. Following concussions and CTE (a brain disease that results from repeated head-trauma – seen often in football and hockey players) dominating headlines and discourse in the NFL, the legal system responded with lawsuits, multi-million-dollar settlements, and stricter safety standards. But mental health requires a proactive approach. We shouldn’t wait for more tragedies like those of Katie Meyer or Marshawn Kneeland.
It’s hard to know sports organizations’ legal duty of care when it comes to mental health, as there is very little legal framework on the topic. We do know the gap between their responsibilities for an athlete’s physical injury and a mental health one is rather large: A school that ignores repeated reports of anxiety, depression, or bullying faces little to no legal liability, while one that fails to provide a safe playing environment for physical injury can face immediate consequences. It’s a gap that leaves too many athletes at risk and too many families without justice.
With the Meyers’ case against Stanford set for trial in April of 2026, it’s possible the court could determine that Stanford breached its duty of care for Katie and therefore may set an important precedent. The ruling could push colleges to engage in more active and comprehensive mental health practices – not simply to avoid lawsuits, but because the law could finally demand accountability.
Where the law falls behind, advocacy takes the lead. It’s what makes stories like Katie Meyer’s (and the California bill named in her honor) and missions like Doc Wayne’s so incredibly important. They don’t just point out the problems facing us, they inspire the solutions that will pave the road ahead. The more I study the law, the more I understand its footing in driving change.
The legal system doesn’t just resolve disputes, it demands accountability. It defines who’s responsible, establishes standards of care, and builds preventative measures. The law already attempts to protect athletes from workplace discrimination, repetitive head trauma, abuse, and unsafe playing environments – it can certainly protect mental health with the same urgency and necessity.
This isn’t a distant aspiration. It’s the next logical step.
Contracts, scholarships, and CBAs are increasingly including mental health protections. These measures work. Now, the goal is to expand them so every athlete, at every level, has access to support.
Because this isn’t just about sports. It’s about humanity.
To be human is to feel. And to feel is everything.
It’s all the good – winning championships, team dinners, good grades – and all the bad – heartbreak losses, lonely nights, academic struggles. Sports and life will teach you the same lesson: that resilience comes not just from feeling pain, but from understanding it.
Strength and vulnerability can coexist. In fact, they depend on each other. Asking for help is one of the strongest things a person can do. And where sports, law, and policy intersect, mental health advocacy isn’t just admirable – it’s essential. Every teammate, classmate, and friend deserves to know they are not alone.
When the Friday-night lights fade and the headlines shift, the human being behind the game remains. Marshawn Kneeland’s story, like Katie Meyer’s, stays with me. It reminds me why I do this – why I care so deeply, why I chose to study the law, and why I believe advocacy is more than words.
Because in the end, sports aren’t about trophies.
They’re about humanity.
And humanity is everything.
Sources:
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