Out of my hands

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.

About janelleevans

I'm a sleep deprived mother of three. I create young adult novels from the voices in my head.
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