To the athlete who's losing their love for the game — the parents who are watching it happen — and the coaches who care enough to help bring it back
At one point, you loved this game.
You stayed after practice.
You played barefoot in the backyard.
You constantly had a ball in your hand.
You lit up every time you talked about it.
You played barefoot in the backyard.
You constantly had a ball in your hand.
You lit up every time you talked about it.
But now… something feels off.
Heavier.
Harder.
Like the thing you once loved is now something you're just trying to survive.
Heavier.
Harder.
Like the thing you once loved is now something you're just trying to survive.
To the athlete —
There is more to life than this sport.
But never forget — this sport is also a training ground for life.
But never forget — this sport is also a training ground for life.
It’s where you learn grit.
Perseverance.
Tenacity.
Teamwork.
Leadership.
Perseverance.
Tenacity.
Teamwork.
Leadership.
And just like in life — those qualities aren’t formed when everything is easy.
They’re tested and refined when you're tired.
When you're frustrated.
When your love for the game starts to feel like a chore instead of a joy.
They’re tested and refined when you're tired.
When you're frustrated.
When your love for the game starts to feel like a chore instead of a joy.
That doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you.
It means you care.
It means you care.
But if you're feeling that shift — if you're starting to wonder whether it's even worth it — pause and take a breath.
You might be exhausted from the pressure of trying to be perfect.
You might be carrying expectations that don’t even belong to you.
You might be afraid of letting people down if you don’t perform the way they expect you to.
You might be carrying expectations that don’t even belong to you.
You might be afraid of letting people down if you don’t perform the way they expect you to.
Sometimes, what’s stealing your love for the game isn’t the game itself.
It’s the pressure.
The fear.
The noise.
The weight of everything that’s built up around the game.
It’s the pressure.
The fear.
The noise.
The weight of everything that’s built up around the game.
Start with what you can control.
Your attitude.
Your effort.
Your focus.
Your heart.
Your attitude.
Your effort.
Your focus.
Your heart.
And then — look around.
Find someone else who’s struggling.
Lift them up.
Be their spark.
Be the reason they remember why they started.
Because when you stop focusing only on yourself, and you start pouring into someone else — you begin to find your way back.
This has never been about rankings or stats.
It’s about becoming someone who makes others better.
It’s about becoming someone who makes others better.
And when you do that, the love returns.
The rhythm returns.
And you rise stronger than you were before.
That’s what growth looks like.
There’s more to this game than just the game.
There’s character being shaped.
There are life lessons being learned.
There is purpose beyond the court, the field, or the finish line.
There’s character being shaped.
There are life lessons being learned.
There is purpose beyond the court, the field, or the finish line.
Don’t let outside circumstances steal what made you fall in love with it in the first place.
To the parents —
You see it.
You feel it.
The love is slipping.
You feel it.
The love is slipping.
But don’t point fingers.
Don’t blame the coach.
Don’t tear down the teammates.
Don’t fan the frustration.
Don’t blame the coach.
Don’t tear down the teammates.
Don’t fan the frustration.
Be the anchor.
Be the reminder.
Be the one who takes them back to the love of the game.
Back to the feeling that made it all worth it.
Be the reminder.
Be the one who takes them back to the love of the game.
Back to the feeling that made it all worth it.
Help them reconnect with what they can control.
Remind them of who they are — beyond the sport.
Remind them of who they are — beyond the sport.
And let them know that even if everything else falls apart, you are still in their corner.
This isn’t just a moment.
It’s a life lesson.
It’s a chapter in their story — not the end.
It’s a life lesson.
It’s a chapter in their story — not the end.
Be their number one fan.
To the coach —
If you see the light dimming in one of your athletes, don’t ignore it.
If their body is showing up but their heart is somewhere else, stop and ask yourself why.
Is this athlete pulling away because of something I’m doing?
Am I coaching them based on how I was coached, instead of how they’re wired?
Am I motivating — or am I unintentionally demoralizing?
Am I coaching them based on how I was coached, instead of how they’re wired?
Am I motivating — or am I unintentionally demoralizing?
If your style is crushing their spirit instead of building their confidence, you’re going to lose them.
Not just from your team — but from the game they used to love.
Not just from your team — but from the game they used to love.
This is your moment to lead.
To listen.
To learn.
To listen.
To learn.
Get curious.
Get humble.
Get better.
Get humble.
Get better.
Because the best coaches don’t just build skills — they protect the love of the game.
That love may be flickering.
It may be fading.
But you — you can help bring it back.
It may be fading.
But you — you can help bring it back.
And the worst ending to any season is not a loss on the scoreboard.
It’s losing a kid who used to love this game… because of a coach.
It’s losing a kid who used to love this game… because of a coach.
Don’t be that coach.
And whatever you do — don’t be the reason they stop loving it.
And whatever you do — don’t be the reason they stop loving it.
With heart,
A coach who sees the love fade — and is committed to helping bring it back
A coach who sees the love fade — and is committed to helping bring it back
© 2025 Becca Johnson, Rooted You™ Consulting. All rights reserved.
This content is the intellectual property of Becca Johnson and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used without permission.
To the overwhelmed athlete — the parents who love them — and the coaches who want the best for them —
Let’s just say it:
Overwhelm doesn’t always come from the weight of the sport.
Sometimes, it comes from the people closest to you.
The extra voice in the car ride home.
The endless corrections from the sidelines.
The expectations layered on top of expectations — spoken or not.
The endless corrections from the sidelines.
The expectations layered on top of expectations — spoken or not.
The tone. The look. The pressure.
The scoreboard that’s suddenly tied to your worth.
The scoreboard that’s suddenly tied to your worth.
To the athlete —
If you’re feeling heavy, anxious, or constantly behind...
You’re not weak. You’re not broken.
And you’re definitely not alone.
If you’re feeling heavy, anxious, or constantly behind...
You’re not weak. You’re not broken.
And you’re definitely not alone.
You might just be trying to meet expectations you were never naturally wired to carry.
Trying to please two different voices telling you two different things —
All while trying to perform.
Trying to please two different voices telling you two different things —
All while trying to perform.
Let this be your reminder:
You don’t have to be perfect to be valuable.
You don’t have to be loud to be a leader.
You don’t have to play out of fear to earn someone’s approval.
You don’t have to be perfect to be valuable.
You don’t have to be loud to be a leader.
You don’t have to play out of fear to earn someone’s approval.
You are allowed to breathe.
To the parents —
Check your energy.
Your athlete can feel it.
Sometimes the pressure they carry isn’t from the sport — it’s from your reaction to it.
Check your energy.
Your athlete can feel it.
Sometimes the pressure they carry isn’t from the sport — it’s from your reaction to it.
When your body tenses in the stands, they notice.
When your feedback outpaces your encouragement, they feel it.
When your voice replaces their own, they stop trusting theirs.
When your feedback outpaces your encouragement, they feel it.
When your voice replaces their own, they stop trusting theirs.
Be a safe place, not another performance space.
Teach them to grow, yes — but don’t make them prove themselves to be worthy of your pride.
Teach them to grow, yes — but don’t make them prove themselves to be worthy of your pride.
To the coaches —
Overwhelm doesn’t always look like a breakdown.
Sometimes it looks like hesitation.
Like indecision.
Like quiet.
Like an athlete who suddenly “doesn’t look like themselves.”
Overwhelm doesn’t always look like a breakdown.
Sometimes it looks like hesitation.
Like indecision.
Like quiet.
Like an athlete who suddenly “doesn’t look like themselves.”
It’s easy to assume they aren’t listening, don’t care, or aren’t tough enough.
But sometimes, they’re just trying to survive the noise.
But sometimes, they’re just trying to survive the noise.
Especially the ones wired to observe first.
The ones who process inward.
The ones who need space, and quiet, and calm-- to succeed.
The ones who process inward.
The ones who need space, and quiet, and calm-- to succeed.
Be mindful of your tone.
Be clear with your expectations.
And don’t confuse “not responding” with “not trying.”
Be clear with your expectations.
And don’t confuse “not responding” with “not trying.”
You’re building more than a player.
You’re shaping a human.
One who may be battling more than you can see.
You’re shaping a human.
One who may be battling more than you can see.
So to everyone reading this —
Let’s not add to the weight.
Let’s learn how to lift it.
Let’s not add to the weight.
Let’s learn how to lift it.
With heart,
A coach who sees you all
A coach who sees you all
© 2025 Becca Johnson, Rooted You™ Consulting. All rights reserved.
This content is the intellectual property of Becca Johnson and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used without permission.
To the athletes who didn’t make the cut — and the parents who love them most — and the coaches who care —
A room full of talent. A sea of personalities. And a handful of spots.
At this level, everyone is good.
And yet, decisions must be made.
For some athletes — especially juniors and seniors — this might feel like the end of the road.
Like the dream is over.
Like you weren’t enough.
But please, hear this:
This moment does not define you.
It is a chapter — not your whole story.
Yes, it hurts. Deeply.
But pain is often the place where the most powerful growth begins.
Some let it make them bitter.
The best let it make them better.
Choose better.
Choose strength.
Choose resilience.
Choose character.
To the parents —
This is your moment, too.
Not to fix it.
Not to fight it.
But to wrap your child in love, remind them of who they are beyond the game, and walk with them into what’s next.
Please don’t tear down coaches.
Don’t question the character of others to soothe the sting.
It doesn’t help your athlete rise. It just teaches them how to fall.
And to the coaches —
The burden you carry is heavier than most will ever see.
To evaluate. To decide. To hope you got it right.
The good ones don’t take it lightly.
And the great ones never forget the weight of the kids they couldn’t keep.
To everyone reading this —
It’s not over.
Not unless you decide it is.
There is life after this moment.
There is opportunity still ahead.
There is greatness in the making.
So lift your head.
Support one another.
And keep becoming.
With heart,
A coach who sees you all
© 2025 Becca Johnson, Rooted You™ Consulting. All rights reserved.
This content is the intellectual property of Becca Johnson and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used without permission.
