Coaching is personal. Coaching your own child? That’s next-level personal.

If you’ve ever been in that spot – juggling the role of “Coach” and “Mom” (or “Dad”) – you already know it’s one of the most rewarding, complicated, and emotional things you’ll ever do in the gym. Trust. (As my kid would say)

I’ve coached hundreds of athletes over the years, but coaching my own children has been a front-row seat to both magic and mayhem. There are blurred lines, teary-eyed car rides (or teary-eyed walks home these days), and missed medals. 

In fact, coaching your own kids isn’t easy.

When my daughter was 5, she was front and center for running tumbling. She turns her back to the judges, as the choreography called for – and that’s when it happened. She picks the biggest wedgie mid-tumble, and without thinking, I yell—over the music—‘Stop picking your wedgie!’ Every single person in the room turned. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. And then she yells back, ‘I’m not doing anything!’ Instant death.

Or how about that time my own stepdaughter quit the team. Blended families are tricky. Her mom was OK with her quitting, and let her. Never mind the fact that we own the gym, and the entire building is basically an aquarium of judgmental eyes watching my teenager enter her peak ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do’ era.

Or just two seasons ago when my son had to end his season in February, and our team had to go get a last-minute bid in an all-girl division to attend the Allstar World Championship. He had enlisted in the Air Force, and the recruiter called with a job offer he couldn’t resist. The parents understood and respected that sacrifice, but it wasn’t easy on our team. As both the parent and the coach, I felt that deeply.

Coaching my own kids is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my gym.

But there are also memories that will stick with me forever.

Here’s what I’ve learned along the way—and what might help you if you’re coaching your own kids (or thinking about it).

Why It’s Harder Than You Think

There’s a reason this topic is so divided among parents who coach their kids: it’s hard.

➡ The lines blur fast.
One minute, you’re the coach correcting a skill. The next, you’re the parent who can’t turn off the coaching brain and you find yourself still talking about proper layout form it at the dinner table.

➡ Your expectations are sky-high.
You know what your child is capable of. When they fall short, it’s not just disappointing—it’s frustrating in a way that lingers past practice. Other kids get a break when they’re sick or their knee hurts. Yours – well, they’re expected to push through.

➡ They often get the short end of the stick.
Broken medal? Messed up sizing on championship jackets? Rhinestones falling off that one sports bra already? My kids always got what was left over. They never got the best of the best – but you better believe that’s what parents thought.

➡ The parent politics are real.
People watch your kid closer. They notice if the stunt doesn’t hit because your kid didn’t lock out. They get jaded when they see you give your kid the extra pair of headphones from a comp giveaway (ask me how I know). There is judgement, jealousy and whispers of favoritism, even if your kid worked twice as hard behind the scenes.

Why Do We Even Do This?

Because despite the challenges, it’s one of the most meaningful things you’ll ever experience.

➡ You get the front-row seat.
I saw my kids’ first steps AND their first back handsprings. Every time their faces lit up from hitting a skill for the first time, I was there to see it. The reasons parents put their kids in cheer – I get a front row seat to all those moments.

➡ It builds a legacy.
Your kids grow up not just “in the gym,” but as part of the gym. They see your work ethic, your leadership, and your passion up close. They look at the gym as their second home, and “their friends” come to their “house” to cheer and hang out. Even today – 14 years later, I’m 100% certain there would be tears from my 20-something-year-old children if we closed the gym. There are memories they will never forget.

➡ They become part of the dream.
One of my proudest moments? Years after the “tinies and teenagers” years, my daughter stood next to me coaching a Mini Level 1 team. Seeing her pass on what she’d learned was proof that all those car-ride pep talks and hard practices turned into something bigger. My older daughter is now active duty in the Air Force stationed at her first base. She called me a few weeks ago and asked me how I got the “gig” coaching cheerleading on base back in the day. She said life feels weird without cheerleading. And in that moment, I knew we didn’t just build routines—we built something that stuck.

What I’ve Learned (The Hard Way)

If I could go back 10 years and leave myself a note, this would be it:

✅ Set clear boundaries.
Your kid needs to know when you’re Coach and when you’re Mom. And sometimes, they need the power to say, “Mom, I need you to just be Mom right now.” My 15-year-old is pretty good at this today, and I still need that reminder. But when she does, it creates a clear reset for me. It gets even harder when they start high school cheer, and all you want to do on the sideline is yell, “stand up fast and lock out!” but instead you yell, “Go Tigers!” (Someone let me know to do that…My kid’s a sophomore, and I don’t have that sort of self-control yet.)

✅ Know what they can handle.
Some kids can manage hearing about team placements, roster changes, or staff drama early. Some can’t. Learn where that line is for your child—and respect it. When our kids were little, we never talked about that stuff around them. Today, my daughter helps pick the uniform before anyone else gets to see it, sees the board with possible rosters long before they’re released – and though she’s not a good secret keeper, she’s never broken my trust when it comes to gym stuff.

✅ Give them grace.
Your kid will talk back and roll their eyes at practice. The same way you forget you’re “mom” right after a practice ends, they’ll forget you’re “coach” in a moment of frustration. Don’t let those moments embarrass you or cause you to overcorrect. I’ve pulled parents who made comments before and reminded them that the gym isn’t just my sacrifice. It’s my kids’ sacrifices too, and they deserve as much grace as anyone else.

✅ Give yourself grace, too.
You will get it wrong sometimes. You will have practices that end with tears (yours and theirs). That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human. Try to find the trigger and train yourself how to handle it better next time.

The Bottom Line

Coaching your own child isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s complicated, emotional, and sometimes a little messy. But it’s also one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve had in my coaching career.

If you’re coaching your own kids—or dreading the day you might—remember this: you’re not just coaching a team. You’re building memories, shaping character, and creating a legacy that will last long after the last full out.