Confessions of an Unintentional Sports Mom

Whenever I mention that my 8-year-old son, Jake, spends 12 hours a week training on a competitive gymnastics team, I usually get one of two reactions. The first is a bubbly, “Wow, he’s going to the Olympics, right?” The second response is a more cautious, “That sounds intense. When does he get to just have fun?”

I can often predict the reaction. Parents from my son’s hyper-competitive school and my childless friends tend to be the excited ones, while teachers and family lean towards concern. I usually shrug off the Olympic talk and reassure the worried folks that gymnastics is a blast for Jake. I often add that he still finds time for video games, too. But the reality is, we’re constantly navigating the tightrope between chasing dreams and allowing him to just be a kid—one of the many unexpected lessons we’ve both discovered over the past year.

My Athletic Background

Let’s be real—sports were never my strong suit. I tried my hand at basketball, softball, track, field hockey, dance, and even gymnastics. I stuck with gymnastics long enough to pick up some neat tumbling skills, which helped me land spots on my high school and college cheerleading teams, but academics were really my jam.

So when it came time to enroll my kids in activities, I had low expectations. Ballet, soccer, swim team, skating, and tae kwon do—some lasted a couple of months, others a year, but nothing really clicked. Then one day, after watching a men’s Olympic gymnastics exhibition, Jake expressed interest in gymnastics. It took some time, but I eventually found a boys’ class for him. Before we knew it, he was invited to join the pre-team and shortly after that, he was promoted to the competition team. In just a few months, he went from one hour a week to eight.

The Journey Begins

It all happened so fast that we barely had time to catch our breath. But when someone tells you your kid might have a rare talent and that he’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him, it’s hard to resist. The gymnastics gym is a half-hour from our house, which made those trips challenging. While my daughter tackled her homework in the lobby, I watched Jake practice and found myself getting frustrated when he struggled to keep up or seemed overlooked by the coach. The more I observed, the more anxious I became. If he was truly as talented as the coach claimed, why did he always forget to point his toes?

Competition Anxiety

As the first competition neared, my anxiety surged. I joined an online gymnastics community and bombarded the forums with questions. I scoured the internet for scores from previous meets to gauge Jake’s competition and familiarize myself with the scoring system. I knew every move in every routine and how many points each bonus skill was worth.

Yeah, I know. I had become a CGM—crazy gym mom—the worst label in the gymnastics world. When the coach started reaching out for competition insights, it clicked that I might be a tad out of control.

First Competition

The first meet ended on a high note. After five solid routines, Jake executed an advanced bonus move in his last event—the only one out of hundreds to pull it off. He ran to me afterward, beaming. Victory!

But then came the awards ceremony. Jake was competing against 67 boys, many of whom had performed the same routines the year before. He ended just shy of a medal and tried to hold back tears.

The two-hour drive home was torture. The coach and I did everything we could to lift his spirits, but he barely spoke and wouldn’t even consider stopping for ice cream. Once home, he finally broke down in my lap. I assured him he had done his best—and he truly had—but all he could focus on was that his best wasn’t enough. I felt awful. What had I done?

Lessons Learned

Reflecting on those past months, I realized I never intended to put pressure on him. I had repeatedly said winning didn’t matter, but I started to question whether I really believed that. I found myself feeling disappointed too. I hugged him tightly, coaxed him to bed, and the coach texted to say Jake could skip practice the next day if he needed a break.

To my surprise, the next morning, Jake jumped out of bed, grinning. When I mentioned skipping practice, he insisted he wanted to go. “I’m just going to work harder,” he said, “and next time I’ll get a medal.” Wow. Maybe something I said had stuck, or maybe he just needed to process it all on his own. Either way, he was back and more determined than ever.

And he was right. At the next meet, he brought home a handful of medals. I was the one fighting back tears when his name was announced for the first time. I glanced at the coach, who was smiling almost as broadly as Jake. The rest of the season went well, culminating in two silver medals and a bronze at the state championship.

Final Thoughts

I won’t lie—it’s definitely more enjoyable to see your child win than to lose. But what we both took away from the season was far more valuable than any trophy. Jake learned that while medals are nice, the camaraderie with his teammates, the joy of hard work, and the rush of mastering new skills are even better. I learned that I can’t shield him from disappointment, that he’s more resilient than I realized, and that if I loosen my grip a bit, he’ll carve his own path.

We sacrifice a lot for this sport. Family dinners have become rare, weekend trips are a thing of the past, and the expense of his training means fewer luxuries overall. But while we’re all in this together, ultimately, it has to be Jake’s passion—not something he thinks I want for him.

Now, he’s gearing up for the next competitive season and is training harder than ever. He’s practicing more hours and aiming for tougher skills, but our anxiety levels have dropped significantly. I’ve stopped hovering during practice, and when he tells me about a new skill he’s mastered, I just say, “Wow, you really put in the effort for that,” rather than inquiring about its point value.

After all, I can always look it up later. What? Recovery is a process.

Summary

In this candid reflection, Lila shares her journey as an unexpected sports mom navigating the ups and downs of her son Jake’s competitive gymnastics experience. From initial excitement to moments of anxiety and eventual triumph, both Lila and Jake learn valuable lessons about resilience, hard work, and the importance of having fun in sports.