Breaking Through Parental Shields: Coaching Young Athletes Past the Excuses

I get it. You’re a parent, your kid’s a budding superstar, and you’ve got dreams of them hoisting trophies or signing pro contracts. You hire me, a mental performance coach, to sharpen their edge, to turn their raw talent into a diamond. But before I can even sit down with your kid, I’m wading through a swamp of excuses, half-truths, and protective barriers thicker than a bunker wall. It’s not your fault you’re wired to shield your kid. But those shields? They’re holding back the very growth you’re paying me to ignite.

We don’t see things as they are.
We see them as we were raised.
And that can all change with one brutal, necessary choice.

Love in the Form of Excuses

I’ve been doing this long enough to spot the patterns. Parents, bless their hearts, come armed with a playbook of defenses.

“He’s just tired.”
“She’s overwhelmed with school.”
“He’s always been like this.”

These aren’t lies. They’re love.
But love wrapped in bubble wrap doesn’t build champions.

These excuses? They’re like soft pillows under hard habits. They cushion the fall but they also keep the kid from learning how to stand.

The Fortress of Good Intentions

Skipping mental reps.
Laughing through breathing drills.
Brushing off journaling like it’s cute.

These aren’t harmless quirks. They’re anchors. And every time you defend them, you stack another brick in the fortress that keeps your kid from growing.

You want grit? Hunger? Composure under fire?
Then stop jumping in every time they squirm.

Why You Do It

Let’s not dance around it:
Your kid’s performance feels like a reflection of you.

So when I point out a hole in their focus, it hits like a punch to your parenting resume.
Instead of letting the hit land, you reach for deflection:
“He’s young.”
“His coach doesn’t get him.”
“He just needs time.”

Nope. He needs accountability.
And so do you.

It’s not shameful to admit your kid has work to do.
It’s responsible. And it’s the only way they’ll ever level up.

The Generational Shift: Step Back Before You Pass It On

Let’s zoom out for a second.

Some of you were raised by wolves.
Dads with belt collections and moms who taught guilt like a religion.
You learned to push, punish, survive.
No softness. No excuses. Just “figure it out or get out of the way.”

So now? You either repeat that cycle…
Or you overcorrect and bubble-wrap your kid into emotional paralysis.

Both screw them.

If you were raised in a war zone, and now you're raising your kid in Disneyland—step back and ask why.
If you never got a hug growing up and now you can’t stop high-fiving failure—step back and ask why.
Because parenting from pain isn’t parenting.
It’s projection.

Whether you're too hard or too soft, the result is the same:
Your kid doesn’t get what they need.
They get what you never got.

You want to break the cycle? Good.
Start by separating your trauma from their training.
Don't let your past pick their path.

The Cost of Excuses

You’re not shielding them from pain.
You’re teaching them to hide.
To lie to themselves.
To expect someone else to carry the weight.

Mental toughness doesn’t grow in comfort. It’s built in the grind.
In hearing hard truths and learning to face them anyway.

So What Can You Do?

You want to help? Really help?
Here’s how:

1. Call Yourself Out

Next time you make an excuse for them stop. Out loud.
Say, “Wait, I’m doing it again. That’s on me.”
Model ownership.

2. Stop Softening the Blow

Let them feel it. Let them screw up.
Let them get called out by someone who cares more about their potential than their ego.

3. Ask Better Questions

Instead of “Are you okay?” try:

“What did you learn?”
“What would you do differently?”
“What are you avoiding right now?”

4. Stop Projecting Your Baggage

Just because you weren’t allowed to fail as a kid doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be.
Break the cycle. Don’t raise another performer hiding behind a mask.

5. Praise Grit, Not Results

Forget the stat line. Praise the recovery.
The comeback.
The hard convo they didn’t dodge.

6. Be a Mirror, Not a Cushion

Reflect what’s real.
Not what’s comfortable.

The Real Win

When you drop the shield, your kid learns to face fire.
They stop avoiding.
They start owning.

That’s when the shift happens.
That’s when they become more than talented they become dangerous.
And that’s what we’re after.

I’m not here to babysit.
I’m here to build warriors.

Let me do my job.
Let them do theirs.
You just have to do the hardest part of all:

Step.
Back.