970x125
Kids’ sports have changed a lot since I was growing up. I played basketball, and it was pretty low-key. The loudest people were usually the coaches yelling at referees, while parents mostly clapped and cheered. I never had to answer questions about my performance after a game.
Now, parents are far more invested. I understand why. We all want the best for our kids. But somewhere along the way, youth sports stopped being about growth and learning and became about winning at all costs. That mindset affects kids’ confidence, mental health, and sense of self. I see it firsthand because our son does judo. Kids do not need parents coaching them from the sidelines. They need parents supporting them. Shaming, comparing, or delivering life lessons right after they lose is not wisdom. It is emotional clutter.
I often watch parents on the sidelines giving constant instructions: what to do, how to do it, what to watch for. It does not help. I will see kids complete a move, then immediately look to their parents, not their coach, for approval.
That tells me that even practice becomes a situation in which mistakes do not feel safe. In judo, there is an activity called randori, or live sparring. The sensei makes it clear that this is not about winning or losing. It is about experimenting, learning, and trying things.
Yet some parents still treat it like the Olympics, visibly frustrated when their child is losing. And yes, sometimes the pressure comes from inside the house, too. I will throw a little shade at my wife here. Before every competition, I tell our son, “It is not about winning or losing. It is about learning.” That is also how I approach my own Brazilian jiu-jitsu training. Tournament wins are nice, but losses are often the best teachers.
At our son’s last tournament, after he lost to one of the best kids in the area, I told him, “Good job. You did well.” He immediately replied, “But Mom’s not proud of me.” That one landed hard on me.
Eventually, my wife apologized, and that mattered. Ruptures happen in relationships. What matters is whether we can set aside our ego and make repair with our kids. But the next day, she slipped back into what I jokingly call “Asian shame mode.”
They were watching a video of his matches, and she asked, “What could you have done differently?” That question can be healthy depending on the tone. This was not curiosity. It felt like pressure. He was not emotionally ready to reflect, so he gave a quick answer just to end the conversation.
Later, she told me, “This is not how the corporate world works. People expect feedback and reflection.”
For context, she is a Type A senior project manager in tech. I may be softer because I am a therapist, but I told her, “This should be a space for self-discovery. It is his journey to decide if and when he wants to reflect. Sometimes the lesson does not show up right away.”
Some of the things parents yell during competition are absurd: “Don’t let him throw you!” Well, obviously. I am not perfect either. I have gotten frustrated when my son lost because he forgot to just stall with less than 20 seconds left. I have also pushed him into sports he had zero interest in, like wrestling.
I have learned to back off. Now I tell him whether he does a sport or not is ultimately his decision. At the end of the day, I understand the good intentions behind parents pushing their kids. We want to prepare them, help them grow, and teach resilience.
But we also have to be honest about the cost. If every mistake becomes failure, every loss becomes disappointment, and love starts feeling conditional on performance, then sports stop building confidence and start damaging it.
I wish more kids could walk away from competition with their chin up, regardless of the outcome. Because the real win was never the medal.
It was becoming the kind of person who learns how to fall, get back up, and know they are truly enough.
