There is something almost impossible to hold in your mind at once: the fact that the World Cup is one of the most joyful, unifying spectacles on earth, and that it is also, consistently, one of the most dangerous times of year for women living with an abusive partner.
I want to hold both of those things in this letter, because I think we have to. To look away from one in service of the other is to do what society has always done — celebrate the spectacle and close the door on what's happening behind it.
This month, billions of people will watch the FIFA World Cup 2026, hosted across the United States, Canada, and Mexico. Flags will go up. Streets will fill. Families will gather. And for many women, that gathering will bring fear.
The research is unambiguous. Studies by Lancaster University, the London School of Economics, and Warwick Business School — analysing years of real police data — show that domestic abuse reports rise by 26% on days when the national team plays, and by 38% when they lose. When alcohol is involved, that figure reaches 47%. The day after a match, incidents remain 11% above the average. During Euro 2020, 26 police forces across England recorded 96,473 domestic abuse reports across the tournament period alone. The Metropolitan Police saw a rise of over 14%. Merseyside Police recorded a 600% spike.
These are not abstract numbers. They are women — in kitchens, in bedrooms, in living rooms filled with the sound of a roaring crowd. Women who have learned to read the room before a match. Who know what a loss means. Who have quietly calculated whether tonight is a night to make themselves invisible.
And it is not only England. Research in Brazil found domestic violence police reports increased by 7.6% immediately after football matches, particularly after unexpected defeats. In the three World Cup host states in Mexico — Mexico City, Nuevo León, and Jalisco — family violence reports are among the highest in the country. In the United States, over 11,000 domestic violence murders occur every year; that number does not pause for the tournament. Internationally, UNESCO and UN Women report that police calls for domestic violence rise by up to 33% during major sporting events.
The children are not spared either. During the 2018 World Cup, the NSPCC recorded a 33% rise in helpline calls about domestic abuse, and a 17% rise in children requiring counselling for abuse. Children exposed to domestic violence are 50% more likely to develop psychological disorders and 30% more likely to engage in violent behaviour as adults.
I want to be clear about something that researchers and advocates are equally clear about: football does not cause domestic abuse. The abuse is already there. The abuser is already there. What the tournament does is create conditions — alcohol, heightened emotion, financial stress, prolonged intensity — that lower the threshold for existing abuse to escalate. For many women, it does not create a new danger. It intensifies the one they already live inside.
For thousands of women, the final whistle is not a relief. It is the moment they begin to brace themselves.
So why write about this in a magazine that is also, this week, covering resilience and parenting and the messy, beautiful work of being human? Because DWC has always been about the stories that don't get told anywhere else. Because one in three women worldwide will experience intimate partner violence in her lifetime — and one in three of our readers is likely carrying something she has never said out loud.
If that is you: you are not alone. The tabs above this letter carry case studies from around the world, and a list of contacts — in the UK, the US, Australia, Asia, and online — where real help is available right now. Please use them. Please share them. You do not have to wait for things to get worse to reach out.
Enjoy the football if you can. And keep an eye on the women around you.
