The Strong Kid Season
- 3 hours ago
- 5 min read
This was a successful season for my 12 year old....She really is 12.....I know....don't make that face.
But it wasn’t the season of all first-place medals.
This was the season of learning.
Learning and learning… and then a little more learning sprinkled on top for decoration.
Honestly, at one point I’m pretty sure this season looked at us and said, “Oh, y’all thought you already learned the lesson? That’s adorable.”
This season came with more plot twists than a Tyler Perry finale.
One minute we were celebrating. The next minute somebody needed ice. Then a brace. Then a heating pad. Then prayer. Then electrolytes. Then emotional support snacks.
And somehow through all of that, practice was STILL at 6 PM.
Competitive cheer is truly one of God’s strongest ministries because why are we paying this much money to become part-time chiropractors and licensed anxiety specialists?
But anyway…
This was the season of ice packs, hard conversations, mental resets, pressure, rebuilding confidence, and realizing that sometimes growth doesn’t look like standing on the highest podium.
Sometimes growth looks like showing up anyway.
Because this season? This season came with injury after injury… and then here came the life-changing medical event.
And just when we thought we had learned enough lessons from THAT… there came more adjustments. More mental battles. More recovery. More learning.
At this point, I would personally like to file a formal complaint with God’s character development department.
Respectfully.
Because as a cheer mom, you spend years praying for strength, discipline, opportunities, favor, good teammates, safe landings, and zero deductions.
You do NOT realize those prayers may come packaged with adversity, physical setbacks, emotional stretching, and enough lessons to qualify for college credit.
And through all of this? My daughter still showed up.
That’s the part that keeps sitting with me.
Because my daughter isn’t the flashy flyer everybody watches.
She’s a back spot.
THE back spot type.
The strong one. The dependable one. The kid you wanted in your stunt group because if she touched it, chances were it was NOT hitting the mat.
And if you were the flyer? Baby, you slept peacefully at night knowing she was back there.
That kind of athlete carries a different kind of pressure.
Back spots are holding weight, catching mistakes, stabilizing chaos, saving stunts midair, and somehow still expected to smile through all of it with glitter on their eyelids and a bow bigger than their future tax refund.
And for years? That strength became part of who she was.
The reliable one. The calm one. The “I got it” kid.
Until this season.
Not because she failed. Not because she suddenly stopped being talented.
But because even strong kids get tired.
And honestly? That was one of the hardest things for me to watch as her mom.
Because when your child is used to being the one everybody depends on, it’s hard watching them have moments where THEY need support too.
Especially after injuries start piling up. Especially after a major medical event changes the way they think, move, feel, recover, or trust themselves.
Nobody really talks enough about the mental side of that.
How an athlete can technically be “cleared” but still feel nervous. Still overthink. Still fear reinjury. Still question whether their body will cooperate the way it used to.
That’s real.
And honestly? Watching your child mentally fight their way back may be harder than watching the physical recovery itself.
And somewhere in the middle of all of this? This season taught me a lot about coaching too.
The great coaches?
They understand they’re not just building routines. They’re shaping confidence. Mindsets. Identity.
The really good ones know how to push athletes without breaking them. They know when to challenge. When to correct. When to encourage. And when the strongest kid in the room might actually be the one carrying the most pressure.
Because back spots are used to holding everybody else up.
People see strength and assume they don’t need support too.
But they do.
And honestly? I think some coaches learned this season too.
That athletes are human before they are performers. That mental recovery matters just as much as physical recovery. That kids coming back after injury or life-changing medical moments sometimes need patience before pressure.
And maybe most importantly?
That their voices matter more than they realize.
Because coaches can build confidence that lasts a lifetime… or create insecurities kids carry long after the music stops.
The good ones understand the difference.
And thankfully, this season gave us some of both: great examples, hard lessons, and a deeper understanding of what healthy coaching really looks like.
Still… even in all the learning, this season was successful.
Not always in the trophy-case way. But in the life-changing way.
I watched my daughter become tougher mentally. More self-aware. More resilient. More honest about her emotions. More grounded in who she is outside of cheer.
And somewhere between the stress, the tears, the practices, the pep talks, the physical recovery, and me quietly praying in the stands while pretending I wasn’t emotionally invested…
She found herself again.
Not just the athlete.
HERSELF.
Now listen… I’m still a cheer mom.
I still side-eye score sheets. Still whisper “please hit” like my mortgage depends on it. Still travel with enough bobby pins, hair spray, and emergency snacks to survive a small natural disaster.
And yes, I absolutely still think my child is amazing.
Praise God and pass the bow bag.
But this season reminded me that my job isn’t just to celebrate her wins.
It’s to remind her who she is when things feel heavy.
To remind the strong kid that she doesn’t always have to carry everybody else.
Because even back spots deserve somebody to catch them too.
And honestly?
This may not have been the perfect season.
There were too many lessons. Too many ice packs. Too many moments that stretched us. Too many tears mixed in between the glitter and hairspray.
But somehow… it still feels perfect in its own way.
A beautifully imperfect season.
The kind of season that changes you. Strengthens you. Humbles you. Refocuses you.
Because trophies are nice. Banners are nice. First-place finishes are nice.
But watching your child fight their way back mentally, physically, and emotionally after setback after setback?
Watching them keep showing up anyway?
That’s a different kind of victory.
And after everything this season brought?
I can say this with my whole heart:
My daughter is still one of the strongest people I know.
Not because she never struggled. Not because everything went perfectly. Not because she always smiled through it.
But because she kept going.
And now?
A fresh start. A new season. New lessons. New opportunities. New memories to make.
And one thing I know for sure?
No matter what position she’s in… no matter what season comes next…
If my daughter is behind you?
You’re not hitting the mat.
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