“Wish I would’ve had this from the very beginning.”
I have heard that phrase from hundreds of coaches over the years. They discover something that transforms their approach, and immediately wish they had known it earlier.
I understand the feeling completely. I spent ten years learning lessons the hard way that I could have absorbed in months if I had listened to the coaches who tried to tell me.
Here is what I wish I had known from the start.
The Win That Meant Nothing
My first season coaching U10s, we won the league. Trophies. Photos. Proud parents. Everything that seemed important at the time.
An experienced coach approached me after the final match. “Nice season,” he said. “But those wins will not matter. Focus on development instead.”
I thanked him for his advice while internally dismissing it. We had just won the league. How could that not matter?
Five years later, I tracked down some of those players. Most had quit football. The ones who continued were not noticeably ahead of peers who had lost more matches but developed better skills.
The wins had not mattered. The development we had sacrificed for those wins, choosing results over growth, selecting the best players instead of developing everyone, that had mattered. We had optimised for the wrong thing.
If I could restart my coaching, I would begin with development as the only goal. Results follow development. Development rarely follows result-chasing.
The Session That Bored Everyone
Early in my coaching, I ran sessions that looked professional. Lines of players. Sequential drills. Technical repetition.
The players were bored. I was bored. But the session looked like coaching, so I assumed it was working.
A coach watching from the sideline asked me afterwards why players were not playing more games. I explained my technical progression, how drills built toward match application.
“They learn football by playing football,” he said. “The best drill is a game that creates the moments you want to develop.”
I did not believe him. Surely structured drills were more effective than chaotic games?
It took years to understand what he meant. Players learn in context. They need decisions, pressure, consequences. Isolated drills develop isolated skills that do not transfer to matches.
Now my sessions are mostly games. Small-sided games with conditions that create specific learning. Players stay engaged because they are playing. They learn because the games demand they develop.
The Words That Lost The Player
I had a player named Jamie who made the same mistake repeatedly in matches. I corrected him constantly. More feedback, I thought, meant better learning.
After one particularly frustrating match, I gave him detailed notes on everything he had done wrong. I thought I was helping.
He stopped coming to training. His parents said he did not enjoy football anymore.
I had talked him out of the game. My corrections had overwhelmed whatever enjoyment he had felt. I had prioritised my teaching over his experience.
A more experienced coach told me something that haunts me still. “Less talking. More playing. Let the game teach.”
The words I had used trying to help had caused harm. The silence I should have offered would have allowed Jamie to learn through experience rather than feeling constantly criticised.
I talk less now. I ask questions instead of giving answers. I let players discover rather than directing every action.
The Parents I Got Wrong
I spent years treating parents as obstacles. They interfered with my coaching. They had opinions about selection. They questioned my decisions.
I kept them at arm’s length, defensive and suspicious.
An older coach asked me one day if I had ever explained to parents what I was trying to achieve. Had I told them why I made certain decisions? Had I shared my coaching philosophy?
I had not. I had expected their trust without earning it. I had wanted their support without providing information.
When I started communicating properly, explaining my approach and my reasoning, most parent problems disappeared. They had been difficult because they did not understand what I was doing. Once they understood, they became supportive.
Most parent problems come from poor communication, not difficult parents. The parents I had blamed were responding rationally to being kept uninformed.
The Perfection That Paralysed Me
For years, I believed every session needed to be perfect. One bad exercise could damage player development. Every decision carried enormous weight.
The pressure was paralysing. I would spend hours planning sessions, terrified of making mistakes that would harm the players I was trying to help.
A mentor finally addressed this directly. “Your mistakes will not break them. Players are resilient. One bad session does not matter. Caring enough to keep trying matters.”
That permission to be imperfect freed me completely. I started experimenting more. Trying new approaches. Accepting that some sessions would fail.
The failures taught me as much as the successes. Players survived my mistakes and often learned from them. The imagined fragility that had constrained me did not exist.
The Badge That Meant Beginning
I treated my coaching qualification as an achievement. Level 2 meant I was a capable coach. The certificate proved competency.
Experienced coaches laughed at this gently. “The badge opens the door,” one told me. “Everything you actually need to learn happens after you walk through it.”
He was right. Formal qualifications taught foundations. Real learning came from coaching, failing, reflecting, and trying again. The badge was a starting point, not an endpoint.
I know coaches with high-level qualifications who coach poorly because they stopped learning after the course ended. I know coaches with basic qualifications who coach brilliantly because they never stopped developing.
The badge represents permission to begin learning, not proof that learning is complete.
The Isolation That Slowed Everything
I coached alone for years. Figured things out myself. Refused to ask for help because asking seemed like weakness.
The isolation nearly ended my coaching. Problems that felt unsolvable seemed unique to me. Struggles that were universal felt like personal failures.
Finding other coaches to learn with transformed everything. Questions I had wrestled with for months had been solved by others. Challenges that seemed impossible became manageable with support.
“You cannot develop alone” was advice I had ignored because I thought self-reliance was strength. But coaching without community is coaching with one hand tied. The collective wisdom of other coaches accelerates development more than anything else.
The Burnout That Nearly Happened
I gave everything to coaching. Family time suffered. Health deteriorated. Sleep disappeared during season preparation.
I thought sacrifice showed commitment. I thought exhaustion proved dedication.
An experienced coach noticed the warning signs before I did. “Your wellbeing matters for your players,” he said. “Burned out coaches help nobody. Rest is productive.”
I did not believe him until I nearly collapsed. The sustainable coaches I admired were not the ones who worked hardest. They were the ones who lasted longest because they protected their energy.
Longevity beats intensity. The coaches who help the most players are the ones who stay coaching for decades, not the ones who burn bright and disappear.
The Timeline I Got Wrong
I expected steady improvement from my players. Week to week progress. Clear development arcs.
The reality was messier. Plateaus that lasted months. Sudden breakthroughs after periods of stagnation. Progress that seemed to reverse before accelerating.
Development is not linear. The players who looked hopeless at twelve became excellent at sixteen. The players who dominated at ten fell behind as others caught up.
Patience I did not have would have helped. The frustration I felt during plateaus was wasted energy. The timelines I expected were fantasies. Real development takes years, not weeks.
The Joy I Nearly Lost
Early coaching felt like obligation. Responsibility. Burden. I survived sessions rather than enjoying them.
A coach who had been doing this for forty years asked me a simple question. “Are you having fun? Because if you are not, neither are your players.”
I was not having fun. The pressure and self-criticism had removed whatever enjoyment brought me to coaching originally.
Finding that joy again required changing my approach. Less pressure. More play. Lower expectations for perfection. Higher acceptance of imperfection.
Coaching should be fulfilling most days. If it is not, something needs to change. The joy matters for the coach and transfers directly to the players.
What This Means For You
You do not have to learn everything the hard way. The lessons I took ten years to absorb can become yours much faster.
Development matters more than results. Games teach more than drills. Less talking creates more learning. Parents respond to communication. Perfection is not required. Badges are beginnings. Community accelerates growth. Sustainability beats intensity. Development is not linear. Joy matters.
These truths took me years to accept. I hope they take you less time.
The experienced coaches who tried to tell me were right. I wish I had listened earlier. Maybe you will.
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