Coaching Your Own Child: The Hardest Job You’ll Ever Love

By Todd Cabrera

Topic inspired by: Jeremy Taylor

I believe sports are about more than wins, losses, or highlight moments. They’re about growth — physically, mentally, and emotionally. Few experiences teach that lesson more deeply than coaching your own child.

On the surface, it sounds ideal. You get extra time together. You’re there for every practice, every game, every victory and setback. You understand your child better than anyone, and you want nothing more than to help them succeed.

But anyone who’s lived it knows the truth.

It’s complicated.

I’ve coached my own kids, and I’ve experienced every part of it — the pride, the frustration, and the late-night reflections wondering if I said the right thing or pushed too hard. When you coach your own child, the lines blur. You’re no longer just a parent — you’re coach, motivator, disciplinarian, and biggest supporter all at once.

One of the hardest parts is learning how to separate being a parent from being a coach.

As a parent, your instinct is to protect. You want to fix things. You want to soften disappointment. As a coach, your role is to challenge, to hold standards, and sometimes to let your athlete struggle. Mixing those roles can be emotionally exhausting, especially when the feedback comes from someone your child loves and trusts most.

Another challenge I’ve faced personally is how easy it is to compare your child’s athletic journey to your own.

You remember how quickly you picked things up. How hard you trained. The expectations you had for yourself. Without realizing it, you start measuring their progress against your past.

That’s when my wife would gently remind me, “Todd — they are not you when you were a kid.”

Those words hit home every time. 

She reminded me that every athlete learns differently. Every journey moves at its own pace. Just because they aren’t where you were at the same age doesn’t mean they won’t get there — or even surpass you. That simple perspective shift changed everything for me.

They don’t share your timeline, your experiences, or your mindset. They are building their own story. Once I truly understood that, my job stopped being about molding them into my version of an athlete — and became about helping them grow into the best version of themselves.

 This belief sits at the core of everything I do.

We see it every day with young athletes. Progress doesn’t always come on schedule. Confidence doesn’t develop overnight. Growth is messy, uneven, and personal.

It’s also easy to fall into the trap of projection.

We carry our own dreams, missed opportunities, and competitive fire. Sometimes we place that on our kids without meaning to. We tell ourselves it’s motivation, but often it’s pressure disguised as encouragement. Every athlete deserves the chance to discover their own love for the game. Our role isn’t to write their story — it’s to support them while they write it themselves.

The real goal isn’t scholarships, medals, or trophies.

The real goal is growth.

That means creating an environment where your child feels safe to fail, encouraged to try, and confident enough to keep showing up when things get hard. Sometimes progress looks like effort. Sometimes it looks like resilience. Sometimes it looks like choosing to come back after a tough day.

Developing that growth starts with listening.

Ask how they feel about their performance. Let them share their struggles. Celebrate work ethic more than results. Praise courage. Praise consistency. Praise the willingness to learn. Most of all let them know how proud of themselves they should be. 

When it’s time to push, push with purpose.

Challenge them to be better than yesterday — not better than someone else. Teach them that discipline beats motivation and that confidence comes from preparation. Hold them accountable, but remind them that mistakes are part of becoming great.

And maybe most importantly — remember they’re still kids.

They need laughter. They need freedom. They need moments where sports take a back seat to simply being young. Don’t let competition steal the joy from the process.

The beauty of coaching your own child isn’t found in perfect games or podium finishes.

It’s found in car rides home after practice. In quiet conversations after tough losses. In watching them grow stronger mentally and emotionally. In knowing you helped shape not just an athlete — but a person.

It’s messy. It’s emotional. It will test your patience and your heart, but most of all your blood pressure. 

But when done with humility, intention, and love, coaching your own child becomes something truly special.

Because at the end of the day, you’re not just building athletes.

You’re building humans.