A message for parents

A Letter to the Parent Who Feels Like It’s Not

There’s a parent reading this right now who is exhausted.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

You’ve booked the camps.
You’ve paid the deposits.
You’ve filmed the reps.
You’ve sent the DMs.
You’ve driven the miles.
You’ve sat in the stands holding your breath like the snap is coming to you.

And still… it feels like it’s not enough.

Because no offer yet.
No big camp invite.
No coach call.
No guarantee.

So you wonder.

Should we go to one more?
Should we spend more?
Should I push harder?
Am I missing something?

And the quiet fear creeps in…

What if I’m failing my kid?

Let me tell you something that you need to hear.

You are not.

There is zero control in this process.

Zero.

You cannot control who shows up at a camp.
You cannot control what coach is watching that rep.
You cannot control whether a staff already has two specialists committed.
You cannot control budgets, roster spots, politics, timing, or luck.

You cannot kick the ball for them.

You cannot snap it.

You cannot feel the pressure for them.

And you are not supposed to.

Your job was never to control the outcome.

Your job is to support the journey.

Some of you are carrying stress your child doesn’t even feel yet.

You sit there analyzing every ball.
Every rotation.
Every plant step.
Every charted rep.

They miss one and you feel like the world just tilted.

But here’s the truth:

They don’t need you to stress.

They need you steady.

They don’t need you chasing every camp across the country trying to manufacture the perfect exposure moment.

They need you present.

They need you calm in the car ride home.

They need you when it doesn’t go their way.

Let’s talk about the money for a second.

This path can get expensive fast.

Flights.
Hotels.
Showcases.
Private coaching.
Training equipment.

And if you’re honest, sometimes you’re swiping that card wondering if you’re being responsible… or reckless.

You start comparing.

“Other kids are going to five camps this month.”
“That family just flew to three states.”
“Maybe we need to do more.”

Listen to me carefully.

More is not always better.

Better is better.

Intentional is better.

Gameplan is better.

And sometimes the bravest thing a parent can say is:

“This is what we can do. And it’s enough.”

You cannot outspend the process.

You cannot outrun the timeline.

You cannot force a coach to see what isn’t ready yet.

And you cannot carry your child’s dream for them.

You can only walk beside it.

Here’s what actually matters:

Did you show up?
Did you encourage them when they wanted to quit?
Did you tell them you love them regardless of the chart?
Did you help them build a plan instead of panic?
Did you let them own it?

If the answer is yes…

You are doing your job.

Perfectly.

One day, whether this ends with a scholarship, a preferred walk-on spot, or just four years of high school football memories… your child will not remember how many camps you chased.

They will remember that you were there.

They will remember that you believed in them.

They will remember that when the pressure got heavy, you didn’t crumble — you steadied the ship.

That matters more than any invite.

Parents, I need you to hear this deep in your chest:

Your care is not weakness.

Your tears in the car are not failure.

Your late-night research is not desperation.

It is love.

And love — steady, patient, grounded love — is the most powerful thing in this entire process.

Not exposure.
Not rankings.
Not stars.

Love.

Game plan.
Support.
Perspective.

That’s it.

You cannot control the outcome.

But you can control the environment.

Make it safe.
Make it steady.
Make it rooted.

And then let them play.

One day the camps will stop.
The flights will stop.
The charts will fade.

And you’ll be sitting in a quiet house where rubber pellets cover the floor.

You won’t remember the camp misses.
You won’t remember the others X posts.
You won’t remember who was watching which rep.

You’ll remember the car rides.

You’ll remember the flights
The nervous moments.
The way they looked at you before they ran onto the field.

And they will remember this:

You were there.
You believed in them.
You loved them whether the ball went through the uprights… or didn’t.

That’s not “not enough.”

That’s everything.

Final Word

You were never hired to secure the offer.

You were called to guard the heart.

You cannot control the snap.
You cannot control the wind.
You cannot control the coach with the clipboard.

But you can control the tone in the car.
The words after a miss.
The steadiness in your voice when their confidence shakes.

This journey does not need a perfect parent.

It needs a present one.

And if you’re losing sleep because you care so deeply…
If your chest tightens because you want this so badly for them…
If you’re reading this wondering whether you’re doing enough —

You already are.

Let them chase the dream.

You just keep being the safe place.

That is more powerful than anything this game can provide for them.