This wasn’t intended as a Q&A initially. But once Solomon Thomas—NFL defensive end, third pick in the 2017 NFL draft, Stanford alum, six-year veteran, cornerstone of the emerging Jets defense and mental health advocate—started rolling, no other format would do.
Sports Illustrated: Most mental-health-focused stories seem to fall into two camps. The worst moment of someone’s life—or how they moved forward from it. Your sister, Ella, died by suicide in 2018. But the work at your foundation, The Defensive Line, has never stopped. Is this the kind of mental health story, the moving forward—and moving forward, that should be told more often?
Solomon Thomas: I know, it’s beautiful how even when you’re going through something like this, you can find ways to keep going. That’s what I’ve really learned. It’s not the end or the beginning but the fighting in between [that matters]. It taught me how to live in a different way, take care of myself in a different way, approach things to be my best self and honor my feelings and still find a way to win. It has given me a guide. I’m not a professional in this world, but I’m constantly finding new studies, new research, new ways to take care of myself, whether it’s taking a cold shower in the morning or breathing techniques or certain foods for how they interact with your brain and gut health.
Tim Heitman/USA TODAY Sports
SI: When you go somewhere to speak about mental health, how many people raise the in-between notion?
ST: That’s the main focus. How to live in between, help yourself and live the most authentic life you can.
SI: When you started in this space, I imagine you wanted the work to be lasting. What was that process like? You’re still playing football, still have other interests …
ST: Big growth. I started speaking out and getting really personal with my life five years ago and I’ve learned a lot along the way. I’ve definitely burned out. I’ve pushed myself to the point where I went back down a dark road. But this work is beautiful work, and I don’t take it for granted. At the same time, it’s hard work. I’m constantly talking about my emotions. There’s a lot of vulnerability and connection. And in very, very, very sensitive situations. I had to learn to take it day by day, how to recover from speeches, how to say “no” when I have to. It sometimes does feel like I’m working two jobs at once.
SI: Just being honest here, but sounds like … a lot?
ST: I’ve been through it. But I know what I’m fighting for. I’m fighting for life. I’m fighting for those who don’t have a voice. I’m fighting for those who aren’t educated, who are stuck in the stigmas against mental health that we’ve had around forever. It’s a nonstop job. But when I’m getting burnt out, I start my routine and get healthy again. And then I’ll get a message from someone saying what that work means to them, and it’s just another reason to keep going. This work is important. Which all keeps me from going into a depressed funk. I really want to help save lives around here.
SI: How does the emotional heft factor in there? When you get those messages, many must be about the worst moment in someone’s life …
ST: So many moments like that. But they remind you what you have lived through and fought for.
SI: Is that empowering? Profoundly sad? Both? Apologies for getting deep right off the bat here.
ST: It’s really a beautiful responsibility. All these people feel comfortable being vulnerable to me. I take that as the highest responsibility possible. I get DMs every week. This is nonstop, people telling me about who they’ve lost and how hard it has been. But it’s a beautiful reminder of connection that’s raw. I’m more similar to them than they know. I miss my sister every day. I always will.
SI: Does anyone in your life ever tell you this is too much, everything you’re describing?
ST: I hope people understand: I’m trying to help. When I’m sad, when I miss her, helping others is when I really get to feel her. I’ve learned to make sadness a good emotion. If it’s, All right, I’m going to be sad … it’s also, There’s a reason for that, her impact on my life. It’s not bad to feel sad right there. And then you get to share that connection with someone else. That’s a really beautiful thing. I hope it helps that person know they’re not alone, that their loved one is not forgotten, that, in a way, they’re still here.
SI: In what ways beyond the natural ones do you remind yourself of the calculus you’re describing?
ST: I actually got a tattoo. I got a semicolon on my wrist. Some call it the most beautiful mark of punctuation. It’s where an author could have ended the sentence, but they keep going. And that represents me choosing to live my life after what I went through, this really tough time, when I was stuck in suicidal ideations. It makes me remember the pain I’ve been through. I look down at my wrist some days when I’m feeling sorry for myself, and it reminds me—to keep going, to keep staying here.
SI: Jesus, what a sentiment. I think you have the title of your memoir. As I heard that, I started wondering: Amid a sea change in mental health in sports and its importance, I think of therapy, this idea that you can be sad, like you can be any emotion. But rather drawing anger from sadness, because you think you shouldn’t be that way, you manage all emotions, best you can, the same way.
ST: By having these conversations, the weights come off, replaced by proper perspective—for what the work is for, and who it’s helping, and who it’s in memory of.
SI: Has vulnerability changed this space, then?
ST: I hope so. It wasn’t that long ago when not having a good day was seen as an Achilles heel, or weakness, especially as a man. I don’t blame anyone who takes that mindset if it works for them. It’s why, in some cases, they’ve made it so far. But the reality is, we don’t have to accept those emotions or those stereotypes. If we don’t address those emotions, if we push them down, they boil up and, at some point, they’re going to explode. And when they do, often the more scary things happen. That’s what’s so important in this, especially in football, that guys like me, Dak [Prescott], [Hayden] Hurst, Darius Leonard, Maxx Crosby, Darren Waller—there’s more I’m missing—are guys who have been outspoken and vulnerable about their stories. You’re not weird for feeling those emotions. You’re not crazy. You’re human. And being a human means those are natural emotions. You have to accept them and move through them. Otherwise, you exist in an unhealthy state.
SI: Which can lead to drastic consequences, galaxies beyond, “I’m having a bad day.”
ST: They can lead to a toxic life that started because someone was taught they have to live a certain way, when there’s a healthier option: to accept those emotions and lift and empower those around them. It’s a big, big change that continues to need to happen. We’re not there yet. The statistics are still scary. We need men to speak out more and understand that it’s O.K. to be vulnerable.
SI: Do you see a point in our lifetimes where tending to an athlete’s mental health is on par with tending to their physical wellbeing?
ST: Like, in terms of people having days off for mental health?
SI: Like the same resources, the same emphasis, the same 24/7 concern.
ST: I do hope that, in my lifetime, we will reach a place where, maybe it’s not 50-50, but we have more people focused on mental health staff, where therapists travel with teams. I do think that can happen. It’s one thing that, when I speak to people, I emphasize. It’s not mental health or physical health, it’s whole health. When my brain isn’t working right, it’s not going to be as fast, and my movement won’t be as fluid. But if I’m peaceful in my mind, I can compartmentalize, take deep breaths, calm down, honor my emotions and not let them linger in my head. I’m gonna be a better athlete—and unapologetically my authentic self.
SI: Is there a good example of that from your career?
ST: I’ve had teammates who credited the best seasons of their career to therapy and having all this stress lifted off them, so they could play free. It’s really important for teams to understand the science of it, that any player accumulating stress or trauma on top of what they’ve already accumulated, eventually, it’s going to blow up.
SI: How does Robert Saleh fit into all this? I have to imagine not all coaches would embrace the whole health concept you’re laying out here.
ST: He’s a guy I want to play for because he’s a really good coach and a really good human being. I love him and his family. He was there for me when my sister passed away, supporting my family during that time. And he’s open to having conversations about all this.
SI: What would Ella make of all this?
ST: She’d be proud. She’s trying to touch them in whatever spiritual way she can, with whatever energy she can. I really do feel her in those moments, when people are spilling what’s in their hearts. Ella was the better friend, the one who comforted. She lived a vulnerable life. She could connect with anyone and make people cry and make them feel better. I can’t take all the credit for those moments, because she helps me get in character, connect and make people feel special, giving them hope through pain. I wish she was here. And my mission is to keep her alive, each day.
SI: Say your prized acquisition, a quarterback named Aaron Rodgers, is injured and out for the year after the season’s fourth offensive play. Can everything you’re talking about—whole health, vulnerability, caring for one another—help right a season with that kind of twist? Or is that too cinematic?
ST: It’s hard. You’re hurt, for a lot of reasons. You’re hurt because you’ve lost a teammate, and you’ve seen how hard he works and how much he cares about this game. You’re sad for him. And you’re sad for the possibilities we had together, the dynamic of the team. But then you have the competitive challenge, the world betting against you, ready to make fun of us again. I respond with my routine. I don’t change anything. I still believe in this team, in those around me. I’m doubling down. This season isn’t over. You can’t take a year in the NFL for granted. Seasons come and go too fast; they change so fast. I’m going to find a way to stand tall in the rain.
SI: Defense didn’t change that night.
ST: We have a chance to be very dominant this year. We can really put this league on notice. We have a chance to do that every week. We want to be the backbone of this team.
SI: Amazing insight, thank you. Last question: I wonder whether your football career and advocacy tie together for you? In that, the longer you play, beyond the joy you draw from football, there’s also a larger spotlight.
ST: I hope so. I hope there are better conversations about mental health that grow from that. I hope we can shift focus to preventative treatment, to accepting emotions and understanding ourselves to be better husbands, brothers, sons and, yes, teammates, players. I hope we find community and end stigmas. While I’m playing, I can speak about these things. There’s no judgment. But I can share them. I can impact people. To help create that environment now, it matters. You need space to be vulnerable. It’s all tied.
SI: Well, I wasn’t planning to go into this, but I feel compelled to be vulnerable with you here, now. One of my close friends from college died today from ALS. He was 42, wife and two kids, assistant GM of the Calgary Flames. He also was a journalist, so while I considered canceling this call, I knew he’d insist I take it, and I hoped the conversation would inform a path forward. It did, and I just wanted to say thank you. This meant a lot to me.
ST: Of course, I’m really sorry about your friend. I’ll be praying for his family. Vulnerable moments matter. I’m really glad you took this call.
SI: Always helps to have one, rather than speak in generalities.
