“This team is young; only one true veteran remains. He was chosen for a reason. He’s solid, consistent, and so far unbreakable.”Deacon.“With such a new team, we have several high-achieving perfectionists. They hide their stress until their bodies shut down. Sleep issues. Overtraining. Irritability. Emotional flatness.” She taps her pen against her desk. “You will need to watch them closely. Not to judge, but to catch subtle shifts. They will not tell you when they are drowning. Their tells are micro expressions, tone changes, and little inconsistencies.”
“Travel weeks are a dream, you will feel human, lean into them to recharge, because some of your players are entering through emotional landmines.” She sighs softly. “Travel is brutal for them. Time zones. Hotel rooms. Lack of privacy. No routine. Athletes require structure, and travel blows that to hell. Some deal with it better than others. Those others become more irritable, withdrawn. You may see small conflicts within the team. And you’ll notice it because on the ice, they are one. The ones that struggle will give you signs. With them, I did check-ins without pressure. Sent messages asking, how is the room? You good on meals? Anything stressing you? As much as I dislike what these devices do to enable us to withdraw and thereforeharm our mental health, these men are far more open in text.”I couldn’t agree more.“This team has many players with partners, spouses, or girlfriends. The emotional strain of being with an athlete is not small.”
She gives me a look that says she knows I understand that personally.
“You will hear more from the players whose partners are overwhelmed. Not direct complaints. But comments like, ‘She has been quiet,’ or ‘I feel bad leaving right now. What works? Normalizing the struggle. Reassuring them that their relationships are not fragile because they hit bumps.” She smiles. “We have great couples now, and fingers crossed for you, they stay that way.”
She flips a page in her notebook, “What has actually helped these players? Gentle consistency. Walking the facility instead of waiting for them to come to you. Being present at practices. Making eye contact. Asking questions that allow the answer to be simple. Offering help, not demanding compliance. Leaving space for silence. Giving them small wins. Speaking their language: effort, resilience, loyalty.” She smiles. “They respect anyone who respects their grind.” She clears her throat, her tone drier. “Here are the things that blow up in your face every time. Public confrontation, pushing too hard, assuming you know their story, challenging their masculinity, suggesting therapy in a way that implies weakness. Overcompensation. Appearing inconsistent. Telling a player he looks tired in front of teammates. Using clinical vocabulary without context. Commenting on their performance, ever. That’s not your job. They do not want another coach,” she leans in. “They want a steady presence.”
Again, I nod.
“The players issues right now? One of your guys is very stoic. He will pretend nothing bothers him. His tells are microgestures, not words. One bottles up until he explodes. You will hear about that one through teammates before you hear it from him. One uses humor like a shield. If the jokes get meaner, he is stressed. One isolates. If he misses meals or gym time, intervene gently. One gets loud when scared. It sounds like anger, but it is fear. One becomes overhelpful when he is overwhelmed. He will ask if you need anything three times in ten minutes. And one,” she says softly, “is far more vulnerable than he looks. His heart is on the ice even when he is trying to hide it.”
She lets me breathe that in.
“Your presence,” she says, “is impact. You read emotion. You understand trauma. You carry lived experience. Players trust people who have survived their own storms.”
Her voice gentle, warm, steady.
“You are not here to fix them. You are here to see them. To give them space to be human. And that is something no coach, no GM, and no statistic can do.”
I swallow, hard.
“You will be incredible at this,” she says. “I can already tell.”
Dr. Benetti adjusts her glasses and says, “There is one more piece we need to cover, and it is important. Your team has several players born outside the United States. That brings unique strengths, and it brings unique challenges, and it’s even more difficult as we head into the holiday season.”
I sit up straighter, pen ready, because I know exactly where this is going.
“Athletes who come from other countries carry layers of pressure American born players never face. The immigration process is stressful enough on its own. Add language differences, cultural expectations, homesickness, and the fear of losing their visa if they get injured or their contract is not renewed, and you have a recipe for quiet internal collapse.”
Nearly half the roster, I think.
“Your foreign-born players have to renew visas. File paperwork. Prove employment. Maintain high performance or risk losing sponsorship.” She looks directly into the camera. “Imagine every game feeling like you are not only playing for your team, but for your legal right to stay in the country.”
I feel that. Deep.
“They will not admit this fear. You will see it in their sleep patterns, irritability, overeating or undereating, and moments when they seem checked out. They miss home in a way that American players do not understand. Food. Language. Humor. Holidays. Family rituals.” Her tone softens. “They carry the loneliness quietly. Not because they want to be stoic, but because they do not want to burden American teammates who do not know how to help. Inviting them into community spaces, even casually, works wonders. The Puck Pad?” She laughs. “It should be a model for all teams. That group are future leaders.”
She looks down at her notebook, “With that said, some of your players come from regions where instability, political conflict, or unsafe childhoods were normal.”
She does not give names. She does not give details. But her voice carries the weight of stories she cannot tell.
“You will see certain behaviors rooted in that. Hyper vigilance. Startle responses. Overprotectiveness. Emotional disconnect that reads as coldness. Difficulty trusting authority. Strong loyalty to teammates but reluctance to open up individually.”
My throat tightens because this is familiar terrain.
“Do not push for stories. Do not ask for details. Just make them feel safe, be predictable, structured. Trauma responds best to non-chaotic environments. Some international players think they are being respectful when they go quiet. Some think they are being honest when they speak bluntly. Some think they are bonding when they tease. You will be the cultural interpretermore than once.” She smiles a little. “And believe me, you will prevent at least ten fights a season by explaining context.”
She leans back and exhales before diving deeper. “Many of them send money home. They support whole households. They feel responsible for parents, siblings, and cousins. When a player from overseas gets injured, his first worry is not his body; it is whether his family will be okay if he loses playing time.” She sighs softly. “That guilt is invisible, but it is heavy. Some of them come from warmer climates and struggle with East Coast winters. They get depressed around January and February. It affects sleep, energy, and motivation. They will not call it depression. They will call it being tired.” She gives me a firm look. “You catch that. You normalize it. You help them regulate. They will lean on you before they lean on anyone else.” She smiles warmly. “They respond to kindness quickly. Faster than you think.” She clears her throat, “What will cause them to pull away? Patronizing language, jokes about accents, speaking too fast, assuming they understand all team slang, pressing for trauma details, exposing vulnerability in public spaces, making assumptions about their countries or culture, and expecting them to assimilate instantly. Once shut down, it takes a long time to rebuild trust.”
She takes a sip from her Brooklyn Bears mug. “All that is a universal athlete phenomenon, but it is magnified in foreign players. When they do well, when they win big, when they get headlines, they crash emotionally afterward. Why? Because the praise cannot reach the part of them that is still living in survival mode. You support that comedown with a calm presence. Gentle check-ins. Encouraging sleep. No pressure to perform again immediately.”
It's quiet for a moment as she looks me over. Before it gets too uncomfortable, she leans forward slightly, voice warm. “You understand displacement. You understand fear. You understandrebuilding yourself in a new environment. Players will sense that. You have the kind of empathy that does not need explanation.”
I swallow, trying not to cry again.
“You will be the anchor point for many of these men,” she says. “Not because you fix them, but because you understand them without needing their whole story.” She smiles. “And that is rare. Very rare.”
