“I don’t want to hear it, Mum”

During the school holidays, I went away with my family to a soccer tournament. Both of my daughters were playing, and to say the week was intense would be an understatement.

There were many moments when I found myself needing to take a breath, notice what was happening in my own nervous system, and regulate.

Not because of soccer.

Because of the sidelines.

When I arrived at the very first game, I was confronted by two dads in the car park having an aggressive and threatening verbal argument.

And that was how the week began.

Throughout the tournament, I heard parents shouting from the sidelines at their own children and, at times, at children on the opposing team.

Instructions. Corrections. Criticism.

Watch your feet!

You need to get back!

What are you doing?

Pull your head in!

By the final game, I had reached my limit. Perhaps I had become more sensitive to it as the week went on, or perhaps the intensity really had increased. This particular game was the decider for third place, and there was a lot at stake for the teams.The sideline became louder.Parents were shouting instructions about how the girls should play, what they were doing wrong and what they should have done differently.

During the week, I had asked my oldest daughter what it was like for her when parents shouted instructions and feedback from the sidelines. Her response stayed with me.

I don’t like it. They have no idea, and it makes me question myself and what I’m doing. It makes me feel like I’m not good enough.

And there it was.

For the record, the extent of my sideline coaching is usually something along the lines of, “You’ve got this!” or “Go G!” I don’t know enough about soccer to be giving tactical instructions and I certainly don’t pretend that I do.

But during this particular game, I noticed something else. As the adults became more critical from the sidelines, some of the girls began speaking to one another in similar ways. When someone missed the ball, didn’t kick it far enough, or made a mistake, criticism started appearing between teammates too.

It made me wonder: What are we modelling from the sidelines?

Then came my favourite moment of the entire tournament.

One of the teenage girls turned towards the sideline and shouted:

I don’t want to hear it, Mum!

Inside, I was screaming, Yes!

Perhaps my own inner child was celebrating too for all those times I didn’t feel I had a voice when adults criticised my music performances.

Here was a teenager using hers.

When children are constantly given instructions from the sidelines, there can be an unintended message underneath all those words:

You don’t know what to do.

I know better.

You need me to tell you.

You can’t trust yourself.

Of course, most parents shouting instructions are trying to help. We want our children to succeed. We can see something from the sidelines and desperately want them to see it too.

But our children are the ones playing the game. They are the ones inside the experience.

And part of playing is learning to make decisions in real time. It is noticing what worked and what didn’t. It is getting something wrong, adjusting, trying again and discovering, “I can work this out.”

When adults continually step in with solutions, corrections and instructions, we can unintentionally interrupt that process. Children need opportunities to experience themselves as competent. They need opportunities to problem-solve.They need opportunities to make mistakes and discover that a mistake does not mean they are inadequate. And they need opportunities to trust themselves.There is also something worth considering about our own relationship with winning, losing and disappointment. When we feel the urge to shout an instruction from the sideline, perhaps we can become curious about what is happening inside us.

Are we uncomfortable watching our child struggle?

Are we anxious about them making a mistake?

Are we invested in the outcome?

Is it difficult for us to sit with their disappointment or perhaps our own?

Because sometimes supporting our children means tolerating the discomfort of watching them work it out for themselves.They don't necessarily need us to tell them how to play the game.They need to look towards the sideline and know:

You’re with me.

You believe in me.

I can make mistakes and still be enough.

I can work things out.

I can trust myself.

And perhaps that is one of the beautiful things about play and sport. When we allow it to unfold without constantly stepping in, it naturally gives children opportunities to move between the polarities that are so familiar to us in play therapy:

• Competence ↔ Inadequacy

• Trust ↔ Mistrust

• Success ↔ Defeat

• Challenge ↔ Solution

• Worthy ↔ Unworthy

• Perfection ↔ Enough

• Accuracy ↔ Flexibility

Children don't need us to remove one side of those experiences.They need the opportunity to move through them.

To miss the ball.

To recover.

To make the wrong decision.

To try something different.

To lose.

To win.

To feel disappointed.

To feel proud.

And through all of it, to discover:

“I can do hard things. I can make mistakes. I can learn. And I am still enough.”

So perhaps the next time we are standing on the sidelines and feel the urge to shout an instruction, we could stop for just a moment.

Take a breath.

And instead of telling them what to do, let them hear the thing they may need most:

“You’ve got this.”