“Raising Resilient Athletes: What We’re Losing, and Can Still Save, in Youth Sports”

By Mike Murray

I found myself standing on the sideline at my son’s 11U Pop Warner football game last weekend, coffee in hand, bundled up against a cool October breeze, trying my best to blend in with the other parents. But after nearly two decades of coaching and leading USA Swimming club programs, it’s hard to just “be a dad” sometimes. I watch the way kids warm up, how coaches communicate, how parents react to a dropped pass or a missed tackle. I see the joy, the pressure, and the subtle tension that builds when adults start to care just a little too much about what the scoreboard says.

That moment, watching my son run off the field, grinning ear to ear despite completely missing his blocking assignment, reminded me why I fell in love with sports in the first place. It wasn’t about perfection. It wasn’t about winning. It was about the process, the effort, the relationships, the small victories that rarely make today’s perfectly curated highlight reel.

Somewhere along the way, I fear we’ve begun to lose sight of that.

As a coach and administrator, I’ve seen the modern youth sports landscape evolve into something far more structured, far more expensive, and far more outcome-driven than it used to be. What began as a space for kids to learn teamwork, resilience, and accountability has, in many places, turned into a miniature version of college or pro sports, complete with travel schedules, performance analytics, and high-stakes parental expectations, and admittedly, I have helped cultivate these evolutions. 

And it’s not always intentional. Most parents, myself included, want what’s best for our kids. We want them to succeed, to find something that builds their confidence and teaches them discipline. But what starts as support can quickly become pressure when our own emotions get tangled up in their results.

At my son’s game, I saw Dads pacing the sidelines, shouting corrections after every play. Moms wincing after missed tackles. Parents running out to the field when their son may have just twisted an ankle, Grandparents yelling at officials. Coaches are trying to manage both the kids and the expectations of the adults behind the fence. It’s not often intentionally malicious; it’s human nature. We all want our children to thrive. But in the process, we sometimes forget that their experience is supposed to belong to them. I’ve coached some elite-level swimmers and student-athletes who went on to college and professional careers. I’ve also coached hundreds who never competed again after high school, but who became incredible people because of what swimming taught them.

The real magic of athletics doesn’t come from a medal or a scholarship offer. It comes from the slow, patient process of learning: It should be about the journey, NOT the destination. 

• How to handle failure,
  
  
• How to lead and be led
  
  
• How to show up every day
  
  
• How to push past your own limits
  
  
• How to love something for the joy of doing it.
  
  

When we push too hard, too soon, when every mistake becomes a lecture and every game a referendum on a child’s ability, we rob them of that process. We teach them to fear failure instead of learning from it. We make the game about us when it should be about them. I’ve made this mistake as a swimming coach far too often as a young coach. 

As I watched my son’s team take the field, I thought about how easy it is to lose perspective. Eleven-year-olds shouldn’t feel like they’re preparing for the NFL combine. They should be encouraged to explore, to learn, and to fall in love with the game at their own pace.

In my career, I’ve worked with athletes who hit their stride late, kids who weren’t the high achievers at 11 or 14, but who learned to trust the process and bloomed when they were ready. The athletes who last the longest are rarely the ones who dominated early. They’re the ones who learned why they play and developed a genuine love for the work, not just the reward.

That’s the lesson I try to carry into my parenting. When my son makes a great tackle, I cheer. When he misses a block, I still cheer. Because the point isn’t to be perfect, it’s to keep showing up, to keep learning, and to keep loving the game.

As parents, coaches, and administrators, we have an obligation to protect the spirit of youth sports. That means:

• Focusing on development over dominance. Growth and improvement matter more than records.
  
  
• Teaching emotional balance. Celebrate effort, not just execution. As longtime USA Swim Coach Mark Hesse exclaims, “Too many parents and coaches are chasing the ‘Almighty Fast Swim.'”
  
  
• Modeling composure. Our tone on the sidelines becomes our children’s internal voice on the field.
  
  
• Encouraging multi-sport play at the youth level. Variety builds athleticism and prevents burnout.
  
  
• Valuing community. The friendships built through sports often outlast the games/competitions themselves.
  
  

At the end of my son’s game, I looked around and saw something that gave me hope: smiles, handshakes, and kids laughing despite the final score. That’s the stuff that matters.

If we’re lucky, our kids will spend their youth diving into pools, chasing fly balls, taking free throws, or running onto the field under the lights. But the true gift of sports isn’t what they achieve, it’s who they become along the way.

As parents and coaches, our greatest challenge is to let go just enough. To let them fall, fail, and learn. To guide without controlling. To value effort over outcome. Because someday, long after the trophies collect dust and the uniforms don’t fit, the lessons will remain: teamwork, resilience, joy, and love for the game.

#workworks