More Than an Athlete, Makay's identity, Her choice

Identity Before Outcome - How Unconditional Support kept injuries from Defining Makay.

In my book Naive Perceptions, I discuss how sports became my entire identity. I sought approval, played through pain, and let victories and defeats determine my self-worth. Makay’s story is intentionally different. After learning lessons with my older daughter, Daylin, I vowed to provide unconditional support rather than control, allowing my children to develop identities beyond any scoreboard.

Makay began early. At three, she found her joy on the soccer field—quick feet, sharp instincts, pure happiness. At six and seven, she would join her older sister’s basketball scrimmages, stealing the ball from older kids and keeping up as if she was born on the court. It was clear: she was an athlete. She excelled in whatever she tried—soccer, basketball.

By nine, Makay was playing travel soccer and local travel basketball. The two sports complemented each other. One weekend she’d score a hat trick; the next, she’d lead on the basketball court. She made free throws at ten like it was her job and took the final shot without fear. We were fortunate with coaches who focused on fundamentals and fairness, not drama. Parents were supportive. It was the opposite of the shame-heavy environments I’d seen in other sports. She thrived peacefully.

In fifth grade, she grew taller, becoming the center on the court, still capable of scoring multiple goals in a soccer game. I decided to take her to a Michigan State basketball camp—my alma mater and a chance to dream. The day before our flight, she twisted her ankle in a soccer tournament, which worried me, but she seemed fine. We missed our flight from Trenton, rerouted through Newark, and I bought new tickets on the spot. Our $200 trip suddenly became $600—a “the things we do for our kids” moment I paid off over the next year.

MSU basketball camp, Makay (5th grade) received her awards for the shooting competition.

We arrived exhausted, but Makay came alive on the court. Among hundreds of campers, the head coach included her in late skills competitions because she’d missed the first round—and she won. Free throws, layups, one-on-one, team drills—her name was repeatedly called to center court. She made friends, enjoyed meals, and proved she could thrive away from home. It felt like momentum.

Then came the challenges: injuries. After camp, she tried out for the middle school soccer team and badly sprained her ankle on the second day of practice during her last AAU travel basketball game. She missed the entire soccer season. She healed, made the sixth-grade basketball team (uncommon on a roster of eighth graders), and started every game, performing beautifully. We moved to a new town later, and during tryouts, she injured her ankle again. She missed half the season, and upon her return, we encountered politics we hadn’t seen before—she was placed on the B team. Knowing her capabilities, I was shocked. We accepted it and continued.

One of many visits to the ER for sports injuries

Her travel teams challenged her, sometimes advancing her age brackets due to her size and skill. In hindsight, I wish I’d kept her with her grade, but I was learning too. She kept improving. On the last day of eighth grade—graduation, celebration, and then a travel practice—she wanted to skip for an ice cream social. After investing so much time and money, I said we’d go afterward. She attended practice without me or Jamie, pushed hard against older players, and then the call came: Makay’s knee. When I reached her, we knew it was serious. A torn ACL. Surgery. Months of physical therapy. She approached rehab with her usual determination.

She recovered and made it to the first day of high school practice. She came to the car looking pale, as if she’d seen a ghost. “I felt my knee shift,” she said. We went for an MRI. A torn meniscus, split in half. Another surgery—her second major one. Between those, a rare post-op cyst required another procedure. Three surgeries total, more anesthesia than any teenager should experience, and countless PT appointments.

Here’s where the story changes: Makay chose herself. Not the grind. Not someone else’s dream. Hers. She decided to stop playing soccer and basketball. She didn’t stop being active or part of teams—she stopped sacrificing her body to prove something. She tried shot put, dabbled in swimming for fun, and picked up tennis after watching her older sister, finding a new rhythm. By senior year, she and her partner won the Ocean County tournament playing first doubles. She maintained strong grades, did well on the SAT, and focused on colleges for who she is, not where a sport could take her.

ready to go 3yo

Throughout, I parented differently than I did with Daylin. After games, instead of discussing the game, I asked about friends, fun, and how her body felt. We celebrated the day, not the score. We praised her kindness and leadership more than her points. If she needed rest, we honored it. If she said “no,” we saw it as wisdom, not weakness.

She learned her lessons, too. One afternoon before practice, she wanted McDonald’s. I advised against it; she insisted. I let her decide. She learned quickly—mid-practice nausea taught her—and there was no “I told you so.” Just a quiet smile that said, “Now you know.”

The most consistent thing about Makay wasn’t her stats; it was her heart. Whether playing or sidelined, she was the first to high-five, the first to encourage a teammate, “Keep your head up,” the one who energized the bench with belief. That’s leadership no injury can affect.

There were moments of grief. Seeing older teammates achieve big wins while Makay recovered sometimes stung. But she was always the first to cheer them on publicly, and I reminded myself: time with our kids in sports is a gift, not a guarantee. Sometimes it’s a long journey. Sometimes it’s a bright season and a change in direction. Either way, identity must be bigger than the uniform.

If you’re a parent reading this, here’s the real takeaway. My old pattern was to push through pain for recognition. Makay’s pattern became self-trust and body respect because we emphasized unconditional support. We prioritized identity over outcome, relationship over résumé. Because she never had to be “the athlete” to be loved, the injuries never defined her. They were just points on a much richer map.

She’s still the same bright, driven kid—only now her future isn’t confined to a court or field. It’s hers. And that was the goal all along.

Supporting her long time AAU teammate and closest friend in high school

What helped us keep injuries from defining her

• We prioritized values: health, joy, friendships, learning—before victories.

• We separated love and praise from performance. “I love your grit and kindness,” not “You’re valuable because you scored.”

• We let her set the path and pace—no guilt trips, no ultimatums.

• We normalized changes: new sports, new roles, new dreams are growth, not “giving up.”

  We modeled body respect: if it hurts, we listen; rest is part of training, not a flaw.

Makay didn’t need to seek approval, because she already had ours. That’s how the cycle breaks. That’s how a child retains her whole self—regardless of the scoreboard.