The Quiet Sacrifices They’ll Understand Someday
I coached lacrosse in the same pair of cheap Nikes for years. They were scuffed and far from stylish — but they got me from point A to point B, and that was enough. My wardrobe was limited to three or four rotating outfits, each one stretched far past its prime. I didn’t upgrade, I didn’t indulge, and I rarely replaced anything unless I absolutely had to.
Why? Because my kids needed more than I did.
They never missed a lesson — music, sports, academics — whatever fueled their passions or helped them grow, I found a way to make it happen. They always had the newest equipment, ready for the next game or performance. When it came time for tournaments, I scraped together the fees, packed the car, and made sure there was gas in the tank. I filled the cooler with ice-cold Gatorade, sandwiches, and snacks. And when the day ended, they came home to a clean bed and a safe place to sleep.
They didn’t know how carefully I budgeted for those moments. They didn’t see me comparing prices, turning down invitations, or skipping meals so they could eat better. They don’t understand how many things I quietly gave up so their lives could feel full, steady, and joyful.
But someday they will.
They’ll look back and remember all the times they felt supported, even when things were tight. They’ll recall how their needs were met — how they never had to second-guess whether someone had their back. Maybe one day, when they’re standing in worn shoes or staring at a stretched budget, they’ll realize what love in action really looks like.
And that’s what this has always been: love, not martyrdom. These weren’t acts of desperation; they were deliberate choices. I chose them over comfort. I chose their growth over my own ease. I chose to live simply so they could dream freely.
Final thoughts …
It’s easy to overlook quiet sacrifices when you’re on the receiving end. But one day, my kids will see the full picture. They’ll realize that I didn’t just give them things — I gave them my energy, my time, and every bit of strength I had.
They may not understand it now, but someday, they will.
