Welcome back to No Filter Fridays, where we unpack the messy, meaningful bits of modern parenting.
This week: why our kids don’t need constant applause, they need the space to fail, learn, and grow.
“We’re celebrating what now?”
Why we need to rethink “good job, sweetie.”
Both my kids play soccer.
My son, on the face of it, is an absolute gun. He scores every game — sometimes three or four goals, sometimes five, always at least one. He’s got great positioning and this wild right foot that can bend a ball from a corner like it has a personal vendetta. He’s even scored from a corner, technically the wrong side for the arc you’d expect from a right-footer.
He thinks he’s a god.
The reality? He’s in the C-grade. He can’t kick with his left foot. His tackling is… let’s just say gentle. He’s not Ronaldo. But he’s always in the right place at the right time, he finds or makes space, and he’s got confidence for days.
The funny thing is, he can be quite anxious in many situations, shy, cautious, a little unsure of himself. But something changes the second he puts on those soccer boots. He gets this swagger, this spark of confidence that only seems to live on the field. And because I know how much it means to him, I make him earn my “well done, sweetie.”
When his team wins 12–0, they celebrate like they’ve just secured the World Cup. When they lose 12–0, it crushes them, and I let him sit with that.
What I noticed last week, when they lost, was that two of the boys were crying and one even ran off. They can’t take losing.
I tell my son it’s just as important to win well as it is to lose well. We talk about what went right and what could’ve been better. I always tell him, “well done, tough match,” but I don’t sugarcoat it. I let him feel all the feels of winning and losing. It’s okay that he’s not happy with how he played, or that he missed the shot, or made a bad pass. That frustration is what makes him want to practise and get better.
So this week, I followed through on something I’d promised him: backyard training. I set up drills, cones, and challenges. (I used to play, so I can train with conviction.)
We worked on running onto the ball and shooting first time, one-touch goals. He missed half of them. He cried. He got angry. The back of his boots hurt, his socks weren’t thick enough, the ground was too bumpy, he fell over... you know, the usual list of injustices. But he picked himself up. Then he scored, looked at me with pride, and I said, “that’s the one we’re aiming for.” And true to form, it was a belter, top right corner from the far right, right foot, amazing to watch. No one’s saving that one.
Then we switched sides. Left foot only. He hates that. He stops, backtracks, shifts to his right, then launches it. And I tell him, “that’s a tackle you’ve just lost, mate.”
He doesn’t like it. He tells me he can’t. And I tell him, “that’s why we practise, so one day you can.”
We were out there for over an hour. When we were done, he looked up and said, “Same time again tomorrow?”
I said, “Yep, 30 minutes right foot, 30 minutes left. You can’t be half a soccer player.”
Because when he finally scores that first goal with his left foot, I know exactly who he’ll be looking for in the crowd. And I’ll know how proud he’ll be, because he earned it.
My son is 10. It’s only his second soccer season.
My daughter, who’s eight, came out to train with us too, but we weren’t doing what she wanted, so she left (after I taught her to throw in properly, she’s a mid-field player; that was enough for her). She doesn’t have the drive or the need to be better yet. Maybe that’s because she’s already scored with her left foot 😂
Or maybe she just knows how to spot chaos early and walk away from it, which, honestly, is its own life skill.
🧠 No Filter Thought
If we cheer everything, we teach nothing.
💬 The Takeaway
Our kids don’t need constant applause. They need the space to fail, to get frustrated, to push through it, and to realise that pride feels better than praise.
Adults don’t get participation awards. They get overlooked, sacked, retrenched, and let down, often through no fault of their own. And if we don’t help our kids build resilience now, how will they cope when life gets unfair later?
We can’t shield them from every hit, but we can teach them how to take one, how to recover, reflect, and rise again.
That’s what fair-tough parenting is about.
It’s not harshness. It’s preparation.
It’s love with standards. Strength with softness.
It’s raising kids who know that effort matters and that failure doesn’t define them.
“Good job, sweetie” feels nice in the moment.
But earned pride? That sticks.
💡 Your Turn
Celebrate your kids for effort, real effort. The kind that comes with tears, retries, and tiny breakthroughs.
That’s where confidence grows. That’s where grit starts. That’s where pride lives.
“Praise fades. Pride sticks.” – The Mama Assembly
👇 Let’s Talk
Are you a fair-tough parent too?
How do you balance encouragement with honesty at home?
Where are all my fair-tough parents? What do the gentle-parenting parents think? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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