I’m the kind of mom who wears an outfit themed in the color of my kids’ uniform on game days, and I’m always saying things from the sidelines like “you got this,” and” and “keep it up!”
For more than 10 years, I’ve been a sports mom attending basketball, volleyball, and soccer games almost weekly to cheer on my kids. Since they were toddlers, I’ve been all in, putting in thousands of miles, hours, and dollars to support them.
Through it all, there’s just one thing that irritates me: the collective obsession over competitiveness and how it ruins the joy of the game.
Things have gotten out of hand
I was a competitive runner in high school, earning a college scholarship for my efforts. I understand the dedication it takes to thrive and the thrill of accomplishing a goal.
While devoting so much of my life to running, I learned to accept myself with kindness after a bad race. I didn’t let a single race define all my effort and potential. I learned that the whole experience matters. I truly loved being a runner, rain or shine, putting one foot in front of the other on the track and cross-country trails, and I chose to do it just for me. Winning was nice, but for me, it wasn’t everything. I loved the action of it, being in the moment, I felt happy while running, most of all.
Now that my own kids are 11 and 13 it seems like the fields, courts, and arenas they play in get louder as the years go by. Unfortunately, they’re not always filled with the positive energy that pushed me when I was their age. Over the years, I’ve heard parents and spectators yell aggressively at kids while they are playing, and I’ve seen parents fighting with other parents during games. Then there are the coaches that I’ve seen scream wildly with unkind words during and after games, even with elementary-age kids.
I can’t help but think that playing a sport and being on a team shouldn’t be so intense or stressful for kids, but it seems that way more often than not, no matter what sport my kids are participating in.
It makes my heart ache, and it makes me wonder, where did the love of the game go?
I’m trying to shift the focus for my kids
In recent years, I’ve put in an extra effort to become a more laid-back sports mom. Instead of getting all hyped up over goals and winning, I want my kids to focus on loving what they’re doing while they’re on the field or court.
I often look at my kids’ trophies and medals on the walls of their rooms and all the jerseys they’ve worn. As much as winning feels wonderful to watch, I refuse to let my kids’ favorite sports become only about this one ultimate thing.
“Some games will be better than others, no one is 100% all the time,” I often tell my kids. I want them to know that playing for the love of the game means caring about the act of playing a sport for the pure joy of it, for the love of the experience. It’s a feeling of happiness while showing effort, passion, and dedication, not to mention the willingness to overcome obstacles and learning to have a positive attitude. I need my kids to know that the trophies and awards aren’t everything.
I’m seeing a difference in my children
Playing a sport should increase your joy, boost your mood, and teach you about teamwork. Once that happens, I believe, other opportunities and successes will follow naturally.
In a culture of hypercompetitiveness, I’m not falling for the pressure to succeed, comparisons, and tears. When I watch my kids give their all, I mostly care about them making positive memories, and I hope this time in their lives will be something good to look back on, not bring flashbacks of distress based on what the score was years ago.
This year, when my daughter was deciding what sport to focus on, I told her to imagine if the team lost, if the team wasn’t as strong, if she wasn’t a top player, what sport or activity would she choose to do for the fun and enjoyment of it? She chose volleyball.
Now, at my kids’ games, keeping the love of the game alive means letting whatever happened during the game stay there, especially when it was a loss. After games, I always keep our walk to the car upbeat. I don’t bring up every little detail of my kid’s performance. I’ll ask them how they feel first, and I’ll tell them I enjoyed watching them play, and share a compliment or two. Depending on the outcome of the game, I might simply say “I’m proud of you. Next week will be better,” or “You did great. I’m so happy for you,” then we pivot to what they want to eat. We carry on to the next day, the next practice, and the next game.
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