Golf Star Lexi Thompson Breaks Down in Tears After Shock Announcement and Opens Up on ‘Lonely’ Battle

In a moment that silenced the golf world, Lexi Thompson, the prodigy-turned-major champion, stood before a room full of reporters at Lancaster Country Club, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. It was May 2024, just days before her 18th consecutive U.S. Women’s Open appearance—the very tournament where, at age 12, she first etched her name into golf lore as the youngest qualifier in history. But this time, Thompson wasn’t there to chase birdies or majors. She was there to say goodbye.

“Being out here can be a lot,” she said, her words halting as emotion overtook her. “It can be lonely. Sorry if I get emotional. I said I wasn’t going to.” The 29-year-old, a fixture on the LPGA Tour for over a decade, had just announced her retirement from full-time professional golf at the end of the 2024 season. What followed was a raw, unfiltered outpouring about the invisible scars of a life spent in the spotlight—a battle she described as “lonely” and often unforgiving.

Thompson’s announcement wasn’t born in a vacuum. It came on the heels of a tragic weekend in the sport, with the suicide of fellow pro Grayson Murray, who had openly battled depression, anxiety, and alcoholism. Though she didn’t name him directly, the timing felt poignant, a stark reminder of the mental toll elite competition exacts. “A lot of people don’t realize what we go through as professional athletes,” Thompson continued, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue handed over by a USGA official. “We’re doing what we love, trying our best every single day, and we’re not perfect. We’re humans. Words hurt, and it’s hard to overcome sometimes.”

For Thompson, those words weren’t abstract. They echoed the cyberbullying that had plagued her career, from vicious social media trolls to the relentless scrutiny after high-profile collapses. In 2017, at the ANA Inspiration (now the Chevron Championship), a controversial four-shot penalty for a rules infraction—flagged by a TV viewer—derailed her lead on the final day, handing victory to Ryu So-yeon. Thompson birdied the last four holes to force a playoff but lost, her composure cracking as she signed autographs through fresh tears. “That was a huge moment in my career, not a great one,” she reflected in her press conference, her voice trembling again. It was a scar that never fully healed, one of many in a resume that includes 11 LPGA wins, including her lone major at the 2014 Kraft Nabisco Championship.

Born into golf royalty—her parents ran a Florida academy where she and her brothers honed their swings—Thompson burst onto the scene as a teenage sensation. At 16, she earned her LPGA card and quickly became a household name, her powerful drives and unflappable demeanor drawing comparisons to legends like Annika Sorenstam. But behind the poise was a pressure cooker. “It’s just a matter of how well you hide it, which is very sad,” she admitted, alluding to the unspoken code among pros: tough it out, smile for the cameras, bury the doubt.

The loneliness she spoke of is a thread woven through her story. In 2018, after 18 months of emotional turmoil, Thompson stepped away from the tour entirely, seeking therapy and perspective. She returned stronger, advocating for mental health awareness and even partnering with initiatives to combat bullying. “By opening up about my own battles, I’ve been able to connect with others who feel isolated in their struggles,” she shared in a video accompanying her retirement statement. “Each time I share, it reinforces the message that it’s okay to not be okay, and that seeking support is a sign of strength, not weakness.”

Her final season was a poignant farewell tour. At the U.S. Women’s Open, she missed the cut with rounds of 73 and 75, but not before a fan’s shout of “We’ll miss you, Lexi!” pierced the air after her last putt, drawing applause and more tears. She hugged competitors like Rose Zhang, her family waiting nearby as always—a constant amid the chaos. The Solheim Cup in September offered one last team hurrah, where she signed flags for adoring young fans, much like she had after so many defeats, her patience a quiet act of grace.

By November’s CME Group Tour Championship, the emotions boiled over again. After her final LPGA round, Thompson wiped away tears, confessing, “I’ve held in a lot.” As an athlete, she’d been conditioned to project strength, to mask vulnerability. But in retirement, she vowed to embrace it. “I would say probably just enjoy life,” she told reporters earlier that summer, her voice steadying. “Just be grateful for everything that you have in your life. Enjoy every experience that you get to make just being out here.”

The golf community rallied around her. Teammates like Paula Creamer praised her “amazing career,” while captains like Suzann Pettersen wished her well in the “even better” life after tour life. Thompson, ever the fighter, rejected any notion of a “pity party.” She wants her story to inspire, not evoke sympathy—a final drive into the fairway of normalcy.

As 2025 dawns, Lexi Thompson isn’t vanishing from golf entirely. Whispers suggest occasional starts, perhaps in majors or Solheim Cups, but the grind of weekly travel and weekly reckonings is behind her. In stepping away at 29, she’s not quitting; she’s choosing. Choosing family, choosing healing, choosing a life where the only pressure is self-imposed. For a generation of fans who grew up watching her swing, it’s a bittersweet end to a chapter. But for Thompson, it’s the start of something profoundly human: peace.