Whose Dream Is It Anyway? When Parents Play the Game Through Their Children

The whistle’s shriek echoed in the gym, but it was never loud enough to drown out the expectations. She was told, long before she understood the rules or the rhythm of the game, that volleyball would be her way out. Her mother, once a promising athlete herself, had watched her own dreams dissolve in the shadows of circumstance. Now, she poured every ounce of that lost ambition into her daughter.

“You’ll go further than I ever did,” her mother would say, voice tight with hope and old regret. “You’ll be the one to make it.”

By sixteen, the girl’s world was the court: bruised knees, calloused palms, and endless drills. Not because she loved the game-she had, once-but because quitting was never an option. Not with her mother’s dreams stitched so tightly to her own skin. Her father, always in the background, watched quietly from the bleachers, his silence a kind of resignation.

The hardest part wasn’t the aching muscles or the sting of a lost match. It was the car rides home after a bad game, the air thick with disappointment. “You’re not working hard enough,” her mother would say, eyes sharp. “You can’t let them see you’re weak.”

She tried. She tried until the game felt like a burden she could never set down. Until one night, after a narrow defeat in a meaningless tournament, her mother met her at the gym doors, voice trembling with anger, hands clenched tight.

Without thinking, the girl flinched.

In that moment, she understood: this was never about volleyball. It was about filling a void, about living a life that wasn’t hers to live. She dropped her kneepads at her mother’s feet and walked out-past the empty courts, past the silent parking lot, into the night where, for the first time, she could breathe.

She never played again.

Not because she couldn’t.

Because she wouldn’t.

Her mother still told anyone who’d listen about how her daughter “could have gone all the way,” always blaming the girl, never seeing the emptiness in her own reflection. At every missed birthday, every awkward silence, every empty seat at family gatherings, the echo whispered:

“It was never supposed to be your dream to live.”

Moral Reflection

No child should be burdened with the weight of someone else’s unfulfilled dreams. When adults project their ambitions onto their children -whether in sports, academics, or any other pursuit- they risk suffocating the child’s own passions and sense of self-worth. A child’s journey should be theirs to shape, not a second chance for a parent’s lost aspirations.

How should it be?

•⁠ ⁠Children need space to explore, fail, and discover what truly excites them.

•⁠ ⁠Parents must offer unconditional support, focusing on effort, growth, and enjoyment rather than results or external validation.

•⁠ ⁠Instead of saying, “You have to win,” try, “I love watching you play,” or “What did you enjoy most today?”.

•⁠ ⁠encourage open conversations: “What do you like about this sport? Is there something else you’d like to try?”

•⁠ ⁠If a child seems withdrawn or anxious, gently suggest: “It’s okay to take a break or try something new. Your worth isn’t tied to this game.”

•⁠ ⁠Sometimes, simply listening, without judgment or agenda, can make all the difference.

By respecting children’s autonomy and nurturing their unique interests, adults can help them grow into confident, resilient individuals on and off the court. The greatest victories are those where children find their own joy, not those where they become vessels for someone else’s dreams