When Winning Becomes Everything

The Sideline Moment

I once overheard a conversation at a children’s game that made me pause. A young boy had just missed his chance to score, and tears ran down his cheeks. His parents were quick to respond:

• “Don’t be sad.”
• “Continue playing and you can make up for it.”
• “If you don’t play, you cannot win.”

But when the next game started, he still didn’t score. The tears returned. This time, the words grew sharper:

• “If you don’t get back to play, you will be a loser forever.”
• “The only way to not feel sad is to win.”
• “Be faster, be stronger. Focus, focus, be strong.”
• “Why are you crying? If you cry, you cannot win—you’ll be a loser.”

What the Child Might Have Heard

Standing there, I couldn’t help but imagine what was going through that boy’s mind:

• “Is it wrong to feel sad?”
• “Am I only loved when I perform well?”
• “If I fail, am I truly a loser forever?”

The pressure of those words weighed heavily, not just because of what was said, but because of how it was said.

The Silent Messages of Body Language

It wasn’t only the words. The parents’ body language spoke loudly too. The mother stood with crossed arms, her face dark with disappointment. Even as an outsider, I could sense the tension and frustration.

For a child, that unspoken message may cut even deeper than the words themselves: “Not only did I fail the game, I failed my parents too.”

The Learning Point

Watching this unfold, I realized how easily our attempts to “motivate” can cross into discouragement. When winning becomes the only way to cope with sadness, children learn to equate their worth with performance. When tears are shamed, children may grow up believing emotions make them weak.

And when parents’ faces reflect only disappointment, the child may feel confused about whether their sadness is valid—or simply another failure.

How should the Christian think about this?

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Beyond the Game

Reflecting on this moment later, I wondered: how many times do we as adults send the same message, whether to our children, our colleagues, or even ourselves? We mask disappointment behind “tough” words, thinking it will build strength, when really it breeds insecurity.

Children don’t need to be told their sadness is weakness. They need to learn that their emotions are real, but not ultimate. They need guidance to process failure in a way that doesn’t crush their spirit.

And perhaps the real parenting challenge is this: to resist the urge to measure worth by performance, and instead to offer presence, patience, and perspective—even when the scoreboard doesn’t go our way.