“Am I still me without the jersey?”

The Identity Crossover & 3 Things I Wish I Knew When My Kid Started Travel Ball

If you’re raising a son in sports, you probably know this truth already… at some point, the game becomes more than a game. It becomes their outlet. Their reputation. Their reason to feel proud.

Sometimes, their only place to feel seen.

And that’s when the danger creeps in because when the game goes quiet, the coach benches them, or an injury takes them out, they’re left wondering: “If I’m not an athlete, then who am I?”

And if you’re anything like me, you start wondering too.

Here’s what I wish someone had told me before we got deep into the grind…

1. Your Job Isn’t to Fix Him — It’s to See Him

When your son spirals after a bad game, your instinct might be to coach him through it. But what he really needs?

A mirror. Not a strategy.

Let him sit in the sadness. Let him question it. Don’t clean it up too quickly.

Instead, say: “I see you. I love you. And who you are doesn’t change based on today.”

That kind of love? It builds legacy.

2. The Sport Is a Chapter — Not the Whole Story

It might feel like everything is riding on the next tryout or coach’s opinion.

But this moment? This season? It’s not forever. He will grow into something bigger. So will you.

Start asking questions that pull him out of the athlete bubble:

• “What made you laugh today?”

• “If you weren’t playing ball, what would you love to try?”

• “Who do you admire outside of sports?”

Because his life isn’t a stat sheet and your worth isn’t measured in highlight reels.

3. You Deserve a Relationship — Not Just a Role

If you feel like a glorified Uber driver with a snack bag… I see you. You’re not imagining it. It’s exhausting. And you still matter.

Set one sacred moment a week — a walk, a car ride, a late-night kitchen talk — where you don’t talk about sports. Just see each other. It might be awkward at first. He might scroll, shrug, or grunt. But keep showing up.

That’s where the real stuff lives.

Let’s Talk About the Fear You Never Say Out Loud

• What if he never figures out who he is outside the game?

• What if you’ve built your life around this hustle and when it ends, there’s nothing left?

• What if everything you say feels like the wrong thing?

I’ve been there.

Here’s what I want you to remember: You are the only one who truly sees him.

Not the player. Not the stats. Not the jersey. The boy underneath the sweater. He doesn’t need a perfect mom. He needs a present one. Not always strong. But always real. You don’t have to do this alone.

This is exactly why Peak Play exists.

Next time you want to ask:

“How’d you play?” or “What’d the coach say?”

Try this instead:

“What did you notice about yourself today?”

Then pause.

Let the silence stretch.

You’re not fishing for wisdom or compliments. You’re making space.

And that space?

That’s where identity is built.

Behind the Book: Peak Play

I’m currently writing Chapter 4: “The Call” and my hands still shake every time I open the doc.

It starts with my son’s panicked voice over the phone:

“MOMMMM!!! I don’t know what to do!!”

A punishment workout went too far.

A teammate collapsed. My son drove him to the ER. No coach called. No trainer intervened. Just panic.

And a mother on the other end trying not to crumble.

That moment? It changed everything.

It’s when I stopped trusting the system to protect our kids.

It’s when Peak Play was born.

You’re Doing More Than Raising an Athlete. You’re raising a whole man and that is sacred work.