Imagine you're a massive Man City fan.
You go to every game, home and away. When you were younger you even played for the youth team. You're in the fans group. You have all the kit to wear, plus the training kit. You talk for hours online on forums about City, you wake up and you check the socials for news about city, you own nothing red, you listen to Oasis every day, your ring tone is "aaguerooooo" and you have dreams you wouldn't tell the wife about of Haaland. If we cut through your heart it would probably be tattooed with the City badge.
But one day you wake up beneath your bedsheets (sky blue, but not the official club ones, because even your wife has limits) in your Man City pyjamas look at the a signed picture of Pep above your bed, and one of Colin Bell on the bedside table along side you and get up. You pull open the curtains to see the dour grey rain that Manchester is famous for and the realisation hits you that you're just a extra in the background of a petrostate's soft power initiative, and paying for the privilege.
So what do you do? Probably take a bit of time away from City, maybe try purple bedsheets. Redecorate. Relax.
the thing is you probably still like watching city, and with time maybe even go to a few games again. But at that stage, on that grey wet morning the end state is uncertain, maybe you will, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll start playing again, maybe you'll end up doing something else. You just need time to reconfigure work it out.
(Know Andy just well enough to know the football metaphor will make his day him vomit _)