Beyond the Ice: The Missing Playbook for Junior Hockey Players
Suzz Sandalwood | Not everyone gets a contract. But everyone deserves a plan.
Written by Suzz Sandalwood | Seeking Veritas Columnist | | Sankarsingh-Gonsalves Productions
The game ends. The gear gets packed up. And then what?
The exit plan no one talks about
There is a moment that marks the end of many Junior A hockey players eligibility, where a twenty-year-old walks off the ice, hangs up their jersey, and quietly steps into an existential vacuum. The final whistle isn’t just about the end of a season, it’s often the end of a dream. And for many, it’s the beginning of a crisis.
As someone who understands both the culture of Canadian hockey and the psychology of transition as a therapist and parent, I can’t help but notice a staggering gap in our support systems. We have strength coaches, billet families, academic advisors, and scouts lined up during a player’s ascent. But where is the infrastructure for what comes after?
“Lets be clear, these are not just “kids who played a sport.” These are young people who, since the age of 5 or 6, were in arenas before the sun came up.”
Where is the transition plan for the thousands of junior players who age out every year without an OHL or NHL contract, without a scholarship, and without a clue what comes next? I can tell you what comes next for many of them: identity confusion, loss of structure, emotional disorientation, and a lingering grief no one has named.
Let’s be clear, these are not just “kids who played a sport.” These are young people who, since the age of 5 or 6, were in arenas before the sun came up. Who sacrificed summers, social lives, and family time in pursuit of a dream they were taught to believe in. They lived by the motto of eat, sleep, play hockey. Their friendships, their routines, their value systems, their sense of self is often built entirely around the culture and community of the game.
And then, almost overnight, they are told it’s over.
They are trained to believe but not to grieve
The team may hand them a framed photo or a handshake at the last team dinner, maybe a highlight reel posted on social media, and send them home to figure out life. As if commemorating the end of the dream is an acceptable substitute for preparing them for what comes next.
The problem is, we have made hockey sacred, but only in one direction. We prepare these players meticulously for their possible ascent to higher leagues. But we do almost nothing to prepare them for the far more likely outcome: that they will not make it and it is this absence of preparation that makes the descent so psychologically destabilizing.
Many return home after years of being billetted with surrogate families or living on their own. Some don’t know how to re-integrate into the life they left behind because the life they left behind has changed, and so have they. Others are unsure if they’re behind or just lost. This is not a small problem. It is an overlooked real issue masquerading as a career planning gap and we need to name it for what it is. There is grief here. There is disorientation. There is shame.
“We cannot continue to ignore the very real psychological fallout of aging out of a system that gave them purpose, belonging, and identity.”
Parents, this is not on you. Read that again.
As a parent I get it. Maybe you’re wondering like I have, did I fail my child? I have been wrestling with this for weeks now but this is where I have landed with it all. The problem is about an industry that asks for relentless commitment but offers no roadmap for life after age twenty. This isn’t a reflection of parenting. It’s a reflection of a culture that only knows how to build dreams, not how to land them. How many times were some of us told our kids were going to “make it?” How many of our kids have felt promise with short experiences in the OHL and then found themselves back in the juniors, while they hoped for another chance again before it was too late. We never want them to give up on a dream and I know many like myself would slide in a comment or two along the way of how important it was to have a back up plan but if you know hockey culture, you know that this was not reinforced from the other side and it often felt like you in your own game that you could never win.
With that being said, we cannot continue to ignore the very real psychological fallout of aging out of a system that gave them purpose, belonging, and identity. Especially when we know that post-athletic identity loss has been linked to depression, anxiety, and disengagement. These players have been taught to play through pain and my guess is not too many players are coming out of the juniors and saying how they really feel about it. We need to build better bridges between the world of junior hockey and the reality that follows.
Transition planning should begin at 18, if not sooner. It should be integrated into team culture the same way off-ice training is. We should be asking: What are your interests outside of hockey? What does purpose look like for you if the OHL/NHL or university route doesn’t happen? What supports do you need to explore who you are beyond the rink?
We need mentors who have walked this path, not just the ones who made it to the next level, but the ones who didn’t, and who found meaningful lives afterward. We need exit planning that includes mental health professionals trained in grief, identity development, and performance transitions. Most urgently, we need to stop romanticizing the exit. A grad ceremony, a tribute video, or a final jersey retirement isn’t enough. That’s pageantry, not care.
If we celebrated their rise, we must also honor their landing
Real care looks like asking the hard questions long before the final game. Real care looks like equipping these players with tools to navigate uncertainty. Real care looks like telling them, again and again, that their value was never conditional on a stat line or a scout’s report.
To the leagues, coaches, billet families, schools, and anyone who’s ever celebrated a player’s potential, we need to take a harder look at what happens when that potential doesn’t turn into a contract. This can’t just be about development on the ice. It has to include who they are off it, and who they’ll be when the game ends because a player who gave their life to hockey deserves more than a photo memory when it’s over.
They deserve a plan.
Signed,
Therapist. Writer. Hockey mom. Advocate for what’s left unsaid.
About the Author: Suzz Sandalwood is a RSW/MSW Therapist, Advanced Certified Clinical Trauma and Addiction Specialist and a Certified Grief Counsellor. | Connect with the author: https://suzzsandalwood.com
