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England felt like such a safe space for me. It was usual to have a team review after a big tournament and after the Euros in 2022 we came together in the Club England meeting room at St George’s Park, the team’s headquarters.
The emotional security that I felt within England was bolstered by the culture and values that had underpinned and contributed to our success. Non-collegiate behaviour was not tolerated. We came back together to the news that Hannah Hampton had been dropped from the squad: her behaviour behind the scenes at the Euros had frequently risked derailing training sessions and team resources.
We split off into groups and reported back on what had gone well – which was pretty clear, given we had won – what hadn’t and what we could do differently in the future.
The only negative that each group reported back on was that behaviour, which was overwhelmingly considered disruptive and unreliable, with a risk of being destructive, taking energy and time from coaches who needed to work with the rest of the team on set-pieces, mentality and of course goalkeeping sessions. It affected us all in a domino effect to an extent that was extremely unusual in a successful elite team environment. It also completely contradicted my professional values, which included preserving everything I had, mentally and physically, for performance and for a goalkeeper union where everyone, whatever their role, had the space and support to be great at their job.
“I accept this was negative,” Sarina acknowledged. “This has been dealt with and it’s not appropriate to speak about one individual any more,” she said, drawing a line under it. I had often shut down conversations in camp about it too.
In the spring of 2023 Sarina called me to bounce the idea of bringing Hannah back into the squad. Sarina now routinely called me into leadership meetings and would take my opinion into consideration on team matters beyond goalkeeping. I was happy to be part of those conversations and no matter whether you were among the more experienced or junior players in her squad, feeling like you had a say was a part of our success.
“It doesn’t make me feel comfortable,” I said in response to the idea of a return, not needing to remind her of the disharmony that the squad had felt before. I felt protective of the good energy we now had in goalkeeper training and the morale of the wider team.
I wished that this situation wasn’t what it was but I had been asked my opinion, precisely because the decision would affect my work and performance space, too, and I was both expected and needed to be honest. The progress and development of younger players had become a huge feature of my professional value set in football. Equally, to reward certain behaviour went against those same fundamental values of creating a healthy and happy space for players of all experience to work and thrive, not least in a team environment before a World Cup. I saw, too, that other hard-working keepers would miss out on that space as a result.
“I think everyone deserves a second chance,” Sarina said, and another call followed a few weeks later with a wider group, in which she reiterated the same, confirming she wanted to bring her back in. There was a genuine concern about fixing something that wasn’t broken but we respected the manager’s decision and with Hannah back in the squad I kept my focus on retaining my standards and those within the group.
In April 2024 as we filed out of a team meeting in the hotel’s conference room, Sarina called me back: “Mary, can I have a word?” she said, in front of everyone.
That was unusual and I felt embarrassed being singled out. I didn’t know if it was intentional or if it was her way of making an example of me. I hoped it wasn’t, but, like at school, when you’re asked to stay behind you tend to know exactly what’s coming. And you know that the fact you had been called back is going to be the talk of the town. I hated that.
“What have I done?” I asked, genuinely wanting to understand this energy shift. I felt devastated before anyone else had even uttered a word.
“I want to give someone else experience,” Sarina confirmed. She didn’t want me to be upset but she was matter-of-fact about her choice. I had to respect that, but we could be frank enough with each other that I thought I could explain that I didn’t understand or agree with it.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “It’s a qualifier match. And bad behaviour is being rewarded.”
“Everything you’ve said, we’re aware and we’ve taken into consideration,” Darren Ward, the goalkeeping coach, replied. “This is still what we want to do.” So they had thought what I was thinking too.
Now this felt unjust. My eyes welled with tears. It was a choice that went against my core values. I couldn’t get my head around it because when my values were compromised, the strain always felt heavy enough to keep me up at night. When this kind of a decision compromised my football, I was sleepless.
The affinity I had for Sarina and this job – one I’d given every last cell of myself to – was being destroyed, the trust and respect evaporating.
I thought my days of rejections were over, but here I was again at the peak of my career facing another huge blow. I tried to remain positive, to be grateful for all the things I had in my life, all the amazing opportunities, the incredible people, the sport I loved, but I also felt utterly dejected. And because I knew where that could take me, because I carried the lessons I had learned when I’d moved from darkness into light before, I realised for the first time I didn’t have to let anyone else crush my spirit again. I had a choice with England too. I wasn’t entitled to keep my place if Sarina didn’t want me to but I was entitled to decide what happened next. I could do what other people do if they’re no longer enjoying their job: I could leave, I could retire.
In April 2025 I went to St George’s Park with my head up, even if I was working extra hard to keep it that way, not knowing exactly how things were going to play out but at peace with the fact that it would most certainly be my last camp there as an England player.
A day in, earlier than usual, I had a message to meet: “Mary, Sarina wants to talk to you.”
I went to room 206, a bedroom that had been converted into a meeting space where our conversations usually took place, at the allocated time.
I felt sick and anxious as I took my seat with her and Darren.
Then came the words I’d waited over 12 months to hear: “I’ve decided Hannah’s the No 1 for now.”
I felt the weight of my heart sink to the floor and the relief that I had finally had clarity lift from my shoulders all at once.
“She’s a little bit ahead of you,” Sarina continued. “It’s nothing you’ve done or done wrong.”
“I expected this,” I said. I had 30 seconds to say my piece. I told her I wasn’t surprised by what she’d just said, that it had been a long time coming, but I felt extremely disappointed, nonetheless.
Then I said: “I just think you could have been more direct and honest from the jump.” She wasn’t happy with that.
“No, I don’t think that’s fair. I always communicate openly. We’ve only just made this decision,” she cut in.
That sounded like bullshit to me.
Darren didn’t look up from the floor the whole time.
“Respectfully,” I said, “we’re going to have to agree to disagree. You’ve made your decision. I’ve had to make one too. This will be my last camp, I’m internationally retiring.”
Sarina wasn’t at all shocked – we’d already discussed the fact I needed to consider my future. She said she could see I’d been thinking about it for some time and now asked me why. “It doesn’t align with my morals and values to continue,” I said. “I’d like to graciously step aside. I’d rather Khiara [Keating, the Manchester City goalkeeper] get the experience. I’ve had my time in the sun.”
I continued with honesty but my voice broke as I said: “I used to feel invincible here but I don’t feel that way any more.” That saddened me the most of all.
I told her that playing for my country had been the greatest privilege of my life but I couldn’t bear to look back on it as a place where I cried in my room, where I didn’t recognise myself. I said I no longer felt supported there and that the goalkeeper dynamic had been too unhealthy for too long.
“I know it’s hard but you have so much more to give and your level is so high,” she said.
“I know my level is high, that’s not the question,” I said, defiant in the truth. The reality, I told her, was that none of it made sense any more: “It’s better for the team if I move on.”
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I was choked up, visibly holding off a flood of emotion I didn’t have space to swim in. I knew that no matter how much I said, they wouldn’t understand because it wouldn’t fit their agenda. From where they stood it looked better for me to be there, in the background, during the Euros that summer and to be dropped entirely afterwards.
“Do you want to sleep on it?’ Sarina asked. “I want you to reconsider. You have so much more to give,” she said again. “This isn’t the end of your England career.”
The words and actions didn’t match. “I don’t want to sleep on it,” I said. I’d been sleeping on it for so long. I wanted to make the most of my last camp.
“It’s been a good run,” I added with a slight smile. They half-laughed at the pragmatism.
We’d been sat there now for 20 minutes. To my surprise, they both thanked me for my honesty.
“That took incredible bravery,” Darren said, looking up for the first time. It felt like the most frank thing he’d said to me in over a year.
They asked if I’d spoken to any of the girls about it.
“Not yet,” I said. There were two important games that week and I felt the bare minimum professional conduct was not to burden them. I walked away, and didn’t start either game, but later that week I had another text, this time directly from Sarina: “Mary, could I have 10 minutes?” I headed back to room 206.
“I was thinking about what you said and I don’t accept your retirement,” she said. “I don’t want you to go.” I had told her in the earlier meeting that I knew it was time for younger keepers like Khiara to step up. Now she told me: “She will have her time. This is your time now.”
I was stunned. It was a 180-degree turn – she had changed my role for over a year and put me on the bench, my brain had done a mental Olympics trying to figure out what to do for the best, for everyone, now I was being told it was my time?
Then, she added: “I also don’t think it’s the right thing for you to go.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I just worry what people will say. I think it’s better that you stay for the tournament, win a trophy then go.”
I’d been clear that I wanted to get off at the next stop, now I felt like I was being manipulated into staying.
Out of the blue, two days before my league semi-final playoff in May and two weeks before the next England camp, Sarina texted me asking for my decision. I was totally focused on not derailing my PSG season and wasn’t expecting it yet. Besides, mentally, I wasn’t at all convinced I wanted to change this enormous decision I’d thought so long and hard about.
If I was really being asked to reconsider, I asked her for a definitive reason as to why I’d lost my spot. “There has to be a reason beyond just the high level of competition between us,” I said.
“Distribution and defending the space,” she answered.
I thanked her for the clarity of response. The PSG game was at 9pm on Sunday. She said she needed an answer by 1pm on Monday. I felt pressured but I agreed.
The way this next bit played out is the only part of my retirement that I wish I had done differently, where I wish, more than anything, that I had stayed true to myself, that I’d stuck to my intuition.
It was 11am and I was in my Paris apartment when Sarina and I spoke. We’d won our match the night before, and a place in the final. I’d barely slept, fuelled by adrenaline, thinking about that and the conversation I had to have.
I felt completely up against it and I couldn’t shake her words of warning from camp about it being better for me that I stay.
Dubiously, I told her: “OK, I’ll continue.” She was pleased. Then, before we left the call she offered up, in passing: “Well done, I saw you won last night.” I was glad she’d noticed, as it reinforced what she’d said. Then she said she hadn’t watched it.
With that, I knew instantly that I’d made the wrong choice; I immediately wished I hadn’t uttered the words. I had committed to something and someone who didn’t seem committed to me; whose words, where I was concerned, still didn’t match their actions, and I’d known it all along. Backtracking was entirely the wrong choice from me and for everyone involved and I felt my body fill with immediate regret. Now I had to either live with it or fix it. I felt trapped.
My head had been in a hole that I needed to dig myself out of. How could I ring the manager back and say, “I know I said I’ll continue but it was a mistake”?
I was going to the Champions League final to watch my England teammates play for Arsenal. Maybe I could meet Sarina there and talk to her face to face. I messaged to ask if she was going, telling her I needed to talk. She replied saying she wasn’t. England camp was due to start two days later on the Monday; she suggested we speak at lunchtime then.
This couldn’t wait. I arrived back in Paris late on the Sunday night and hit her number on my phone.
“I can’t do it,” I said.
“Wow,” came the reply. Her only word shook me. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I’m so disappointed. What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t think I ever really did,” I replied.
I couldn’t have been more honest.
I had been all along.
They say that life puts you in the same situation over and over again and if you approach it in the same way it will deliver you the same lessons too. Sarina had given me the confidence to fulfil the potential I always believed I had inside myself and now our journey together was ending with me having the confidence to say no to her.
This is an edited extract from Mary Earps: All In by Mary Earps (Bonnier Books, £22). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
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Read Donald McRae’s exclusive interview with Mary Earps on Saturday
