Mack Hollins’ decision to show up for the game wearing a suicide-prevention shirt with “YOU ARE WORTH IT” emblazoned on the back and “988” on the front extends far beyond a simple pregame fashion choice. It is a reminder of how sports, culture, mental health advocacy, and personal courage can intersect in ways that reach people at precisely the moment they most need connection. The image of a wide receiver—someone whose job is literally to reach out and catch something moving fast—becoming a symbol of reaching out to others resonates deeply. In a world where athletes are often elevated for their physical talent, it’s moments like these that underscore the emotional and human weight they can carry, intentionally or not, for countless fans who may never meet them but who feel seen by gestures like this.
When an athlete steps into the spotlight wearing a message of hope, it has the potential to cut through noise more effectively than a commercial, a PSA, or a well-intended tweet. Many people watch sports to escape pressures in their lives, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still quietly wrestling with internal battles. Seeing someone they admire acknowledge those battles can validate feelings they’ve never verbalized. Hollins wearing such a shirt isn’t merely symbolic; it normalizes conversations around suicide, struggling, and the idea that people matter even when their minds try to convince them otherwise. It pushes back against stigma by saying openly, on a massive stage, that mental health is something we must talk about, not hide.
The phrase “YOU ARE WORTH IT” is deceptively simple. Those four words—so direct, so without caveat—are exactly the type of message that can land powerfully in someone’s mind. People who are struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts often experience a distorted belief that they are a burden or that their existence has little value. Hearing someone say they are worth it is one thing; seeing it stated boldly on a shirt worn by a professional athlete in front of millions is something else entirely. It’s unignorable. It becomes a message not only for those experiencing internal pain but also for the people around them, reminding everyone that words matter, empathy matters, and reminders of worth are acts of care that cost nothing but can mean everything.
Then there is the “988” hotline number on the front of the shirt. In crisis moments, the difference between life and death can hinge on an individual’s ability to access help immediately and without confusion. The creation of 988 as the national suicide and crisis hotline was meant to simplify that step, but public awareness still lags. Many people simply don’t know that such a resource exists, let alone that it is staffed 24/7 by trained counselors who can offer immediate, judgment-free support. By wearing that number proudly, Hollins isn’t just raising awareness—he’s turning himself into a walking PSA, placing a potentially life-saving number in front of every person who sees the image online, in broadcasts, or on social media. Athletes know their influence; they know something worn during pregame warm-ups can make headlines, and in this case, that’s exactly the point. A number like 988 becoming more familiar is not a matter of marketing but of accessibility to help.
Suicide is a leading cause of death in the United States, especially among young adults, and yet it remains surrounded by silence. That silence doesn’t protect anyone; it isolates people who might already feel alone. When Hollins shows up with a message focused on breaking that silence, it tells people that it is okay to acknowledge dark feelings and that needing help doesn’t lessen someone’s character or strength. In fact, reaching out can be one of the bravest steps a person can take. Many fans watching have their own histories—lost friends, lost family members, moments of crisis they’ve never spoken about—and seeing someone even nod toward that pain can feel grounding.
It’s also worth noting that the sports world has long grappled with outdated expectations around toughness. Athletes are trained to push through pain, both physical and emotional. The culture around them has historically reinforced the idea that showing vulnerability is a liability. But in recent years, more athletes—from Olympians to NFL players—have begun speaking openly about their mental health struggles. What Mack Hollins did aligns with this shift toward authenticity. It helps dismantle old narratives that toughness and silence are the same. True resilience includes acknowledging when you are not okay and knowing that asking for help is not weakness but wisdom. When athletes model this mindset, fans—especially younger ones—absorb it.
For young fans, especially teenagers who are statistically at high risk for self-harm, seeing a message like “YOU ARE WORTH IT” worn by an NFL player can feel personal. Teenagers often idolize athletes, and having someone they look up to send such a message can act as a counterweight to the self-critical thoughts that can arise from school pressures, social media comparison, identity confusion, or feelings of disconnection. A teenager watching the Patriots game might not be open with their family or friends about how they feel, but they could hear Hollins’ message internally in a way that lands. That is the quiet power of representation—not representation of skill or status but of emotional truth.
The significance of this gesture also extends to the broader community conversations around mental health. Families watching the game together may see Hollins’ shirt and start a conversation they otherwise might not have. Parents may ask their kids if they know what 988 is, or kids may ask parents what “YOU ARE WORTH IT” is referring to. These small openings matter. They chip away at the taboo that traditionally surrounds discussions of suicide. When a message like this becomes part of casual, everyday conversation—rather than something whispered or avoided—it reduces shame and encourages people to seek support.
Athletes using their platform to raise awareness has become more common, but it doesn’t diminish the impact. Every time an athlete chooses to spotlight a cause, the message reaches a new audience. Mack Hollins isn’t the first to speak out about mental health, but that is exactly how social change happens: repeated reminders, repeated moments of visibility, repeated symbols of support that build on one another. Even if someone thinks they are hearing the message for the tenth time, someone else is hearing it for the first. That “first time” matters. For someone in crisis, it can be a lifeline.
There’s also something uniquely vulnerable about the idea of choosing to step onto a field with a message about suicide prevention. Sports broadcasts show players close-up in ways that feel intimate; viewers see their faces, their expressions, their gear. A message displayed across a player’s back or chest becomes something that millions of eyes rest on, even briefly. Hollins made the decision to use that visibility not for self-promotion or branding but for something human. That choice tells fans that he understands the realities of mental health struggles, even if he doesn’t speak the words aloud. The shirt says it for him.
Hollins’ gesture likely matters to teammates, too. Inside a locker room, players carry their own histories. Some have lost loved ones; some have experienced depression silently. Suicide is not something that touches only certain types of people—it crosses all backgrounds, all income levels, all identities. When a player displays a message of compassion and championing mental health, it can create a culture where teammates feel more comfortable checking in with each other or opening up when they might otherwise remain closed off. Sports teams often pride themselves on being family, and families thrive when vulnerability is allowed.
This moment also contributes to the ongoing evolution of what we expect from public figures. More than ever, people look to athletes not just for entertaining performances but for examples of integrity, compassion, and emotional intelligence. While no athlete is obligated to become an advocate, those who choose to do so can reach people in ways few others can. Mack Hollins didn’t need to make this statement, but he did. That choice adds depth to his public persona and provides fans with an example of leadership grounded in empathy, not ego.
The emotional gravity of messages like “YOU ARE WORTH IT” becomes even more powerful when we consider the quiet suffering so many people experience without outward signs. Many who struggle with suicidal thoughts lead seemingly normal lives on the surface. They go to work, take care of families, show up for responsibilities, and appear composed even while fighting intense internal battles. Being reminded of worth, of connection, of the existence of immediate help can interrupt dangerous thought spirals. It can plant a seed of hope. Hope doesn’t always arrive in grand gestures; sometimes it arrives in seeing someone you admire care enough to wear a message that makes you feel seen.
Social media will likely amplify the impact of Hollins’ gesture. Photographs will circulate, clips will be shared, and conversations will unfold in comment sections where people may share stories of their own struggles or losses. These conversations can be painful but they can also be healing. When people speak openly about suicidal thoughts, it reduces the feeling of being alone. Some individuals may find community support in the comments of a sports post in ways they never expected. The ripple effect becomes visible: one person’s act of compassion creates room for others to speak.
Ultimately, what Mack Hollins did is a reminder that advocacy doesn’t need to be complicated. Wearing a shirt is simple. Spreading a message is simple. Offering hope can be simple. But simple doesn’t mean small. Sometimes the simplest actions carry the greatest emotional resonance. His choice suggests that helping others begins with willingness—the willingness to step forward, to speak, to stand publicly with those who are struggling, and to make sure people know that they are not invisible.
For anyone affected by the topic, whether directly or indirectly, Hollins’ message stands as a reminder that help exists and that life, even when overwhelming, can still hold possibilities for connection, clarity, and healing. If someone reading or watching or hearing about this moment feels a spark of recognition—that they, too, are worth it—then the gesture has done exactly what it was meant to do. If someone remembers the number 988 because they saw it on his shirt and one day needs it, the significance becomes immeasurable.
And perhaps that’s the quietly profound truth beneath all of this: a small act, done publicly and with heart, can resonate in invisible ways. It can reach someone who doesn’t speak about their pain. It can encourage someone who has been hiding their struggles to open up to a friend. It can remind someone who feels lost that the world is still full of people willing to stand up and say, “Your life matters.” That is the power of a message carried into a stadium, broadcast into homes, and shared across communities. That is the power of saying clearly and without hesitation: you are worth it. If you or someone you know ever needs support, 988 is always there, any time, for anyone, without judgment.
