
Injury Isn’t The End. They’re not broken. They’re becoming.
The other night, Juju Watkins went down. An ACL. Just like that, everything changes. For her. For her team. For every kid who’s ever poured their heart into this game. It’s the kind of moment that stops you cold—not just because of what’s lost, but because of everything it brings up.
It’s more than just an injury.
It’s everything they’ve worked for. The goals. The grind. Their identity.
It’s the summer they were supposed to make the top team.
The season where everything was finally clicking.
The chance to be seen, to start, to feel like it’s all paying off finally.
And now?
Sidelined.
Not just from the game—but from the rhythm of their life.
No more after-school practices.
No more pre-game naps.
No more jitters and excitement on game days.
You can’t fix it.
And as a parent, that’s maybe the hardest part.
You would take the injury for them. The pain. The doubt.
You’d give anything to make it better.
To rewind the moment. To undo the hurt.
But you can’t.
WHAT NOBODY TELLS YOU ABOUT BEING A SPORTS PARENT
What you can do is this:
You can sit with them in the ache.
You can remind them that this doesn’t erase who they are—it reveals it.
You can help them see that strength isn’t just in the sprint or the jump.
It’s in waking up to do rehab when no one’s watching.
It’s in clapping for their teammates even when their heart is breaking.
It’s in becoming someone who knows how to begin again.
She’s not broken. She’s becoming.
She’s becoming more patient.
More empathetic.
More resilient.
She’s learning the truth about sports—and life:
That your worth isn’t measured in goals or stats.
That sometimes the biggest wins don’t come with medals.
Being an athlete isn’t about the spotlight but how you rise in the dark.
This moment may change her plans.
But it won’t change who she is becoming.
To every parent walking through this—
You are not alone.
We’re out here with you.
On the sidelines of recovery.
Holding space. Holding hope.
Cheering for something deeper than a comeback—
For the strength it takes just to show up.
To start over.
To keep going, even when it all feels so different now