Youth sports have changed, and I don’t think I’m alone in feeling it. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being fun. Rumors swirl, people chase what they think is best for their kids, and I get it, I really do. But somewhere in the middle of all that wanting-the-best, kids get lost. The projection onto your child becomes the whole point. Winning starts to matter more than who that kid is becoming. And sports are supposed to teach resilience, not steal your kid’s spark.

So we’re stepping away from the family we’ve known for years.

The hotels. The long drives. The tournaments that ate entire weekends. Those memories don’t go anywhere. And the friendships we found along the way are the kind that last. Our kids found friends who feel like family too. When you’ve spent that many years with the same people, in the same gyms and fields and parking lots, walking away from it is hard. It’s a bittersweet thing.

But mental health matters.

Finding the joy in what you do matters. Showing up because you want to — not because you have to — matters.

If I’m honest, the spark had been gone for a while before any of us said it out loud. I’m writing this because putting it into words is helping me see it clearly myself.

Logan said it best,

“Mom, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Soccer stopped being fun.”

It had quietly become a chore. Something he did instead of something he loved.

He still wants to play in high school, though. There’s something about that school spirit that lit him up. He found a taste of it during 8th grade, trying football and track for the first time. It was a different kind of energy.

It reminds me of something true for adults too: your job isn’t your identity. And I’m proud and amazed that Logan, at his age, was able to recognize that in himself – to feel the difference between loving a sport and being defined by it, and to say so.

Is this going to be hard? Yes. Our wallets will thank us, but it was never about the money. It’s always been about the joy. I watched the spark and the tenacity in his eyes slowly dim over time. He still loved the sport. It just stopped being fun.

I think that’s just part of growing up. When you’re little you want to be an astronaut. Then you grow, and your world gets bigger, and you start figuring out what you actually like; not what you thought you were supposed to like.

I know this feeling because I lived it. I was a child athlete, too. I spent 4 hours a day at practice, 3 hours on weekends, and I lost a lot of friendships from school because of it. I remember being exactly Logan’s age – 14 – crying every single day on the car ride to the gym. Staring out the window while my dad drove. My spark was gone, and my parents could see it. Their answer was “just stick it out, see if the joy comes back.” And for a little while it did. The off season was the best.

But the second competition season started, the pressure came back with it. Ten perfect routines on a beam that’s four inches wide. Have you ever actually looked at a beam? FOUR INCHES. I was a sweaty kid to begin with, and no amount of chalk in the world could keep that pressure and sweat off me.

I ended up quitting when I got injured. Not on my own terms. The decision was made for me. I’d found happiness again right before that injury, and I’ll never know what would’ve happened to that happiness once competition season came back around.

So when I look at Logan now, I see all of that.

I’m forever grateful for everywhere soccer took us. The friendships. The experiences. Watching him get selected as an All Star. The friendships, again, because they’re worth saying twice. I will never forget any of it, or all those miles on the road.

But here’s what I keep coming back to: those friendships aren’t gone. Soccer brought all of us together, but it was never the glue holding us together. The people stay. The love stays. The sport was just how we found each other.

Do I still have a garage full of weather pods and folding chairs in every size known to man? Yes. Could things change someday? Maybe. Maybe a break is all Logan needs, and maybe the spark comes back on its own terms, in its own time.

But one thing I know for certain: happiness matters. Mental health matters. And I’d rather have my energetic, joyful, happy-go-lucky kid back than a kid on a roster.

For now, #44 is retired. It’s going to be strange not standing on the sideline cheering that number on, missing those beautiful corner kicks and free kicks … But I know it’s needed.