When I was young, I was your typical sports enthusiast. I had my favorites, but in general, nothing was better than the thrill of a good competition. Now a mother, I sit in the stands watching my children and it’s just not the same. It’s not the wins but the losses, oh the losses that are killing me.
Of course I have experienced loss—anyone who competes will at some point experience this. You learn to push beyond and try again, but watching your child lose is a hundred times harder. I hate the anguish and helplessness I feel, or the worry these losses are stripping him of his self-worth. I talk and talk. “Push beyond. Turn those disappointments into opportunities for learning.” But I can’t make him internalize my words. He has to figure this out for himself. And that’s what’s killing me the most—I don’t know if he ever will.