A Conversation on Leadership, Purpose, and the Culture We Create
Dear [Club Leadership / Coaches],
I’m reaching out not to challenge or critique, but to invite reflection on some fundamental aspects of leadership within high-level youth soccer. These thoughts come from a place of curiosity, support, and a deep desire to see our sport serve young athletes in the best way possible.
One of the more difficult, yet important, questions I’ve been considering is this: Could coaches—particularly at higher levels—unknowingly be using their top players as a personal measuring stick for their own worth and value? If winning is the primary metric by which coaches and club leadership are judged, wouldn’t it be natural—consciously or unconsciously—for those in these roles to do whatever they can to preserve not just their job, but their sense of worth, identity, and external validation?
The challenge is that when leadership operates from a place of personal needs—whether that be job security, reputation, or external perception—it inherently places the needs of the young athletes behind their own. And this leads to the deeper question: What is the true purpose and intent behind coaching? If the answer is to positively impact and influence young players, then every decision should be filtered through that lens.
Yet, all too often, the day-to-day reality contradicts this purpose. Coaches and directors may say all the right things in marketing materials and parent meetings, but their actions—or inactions—send a different message. I understand how difficult it can be to sit in a leadership position, where expectations from players, parents, and club administrators are relentless. But I also believe that challenges present opportunities for growth—not just for players, but for the leaders shaping their environments.
Perhaps one of the greatest blind spots and weaknesses in the youth soccer club culture is the way communication (or lack thereof) between coaches and families plays out. A very common, almost predictable scenario unfolds in clubs across the country:
A player or family feels their needs aren’t being met.
The parents attempt to communicate this to the coach.
The coach—who has likely been conditioned to avoid parent communication—ignores or deflects.
The parents, feeling unheard, share their frustrations with other parents.
The collective dissatisfaction builds, creating a divisive culture within the parent group.
The players, highly observant and aware, sense the tension and begin discussing it amongst themselves.
Eventually, this dynamic trickles back to the coach, who withdraws further, feeling attacked and isolated.
At the core of this pattern is a simple, human reality: self-protection. Coaches are often not given the tools, guidance, or support from leadership to navigate these interactions with openness, curiosity, and humility. And so, they default to avoidance—not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know how to handle the situation in a way that doesn’t feel like a personal attack.
But what if we shifted our mindset? What if we, as leaders, recognized that our role is not to control outcomes but to create an environment where players and families feel heard, valued, and supported? Imagine a culture where, instead of resistance, parents were met with openness. Where a coach could confidently say, “I hear you. Let’s talk about what’s best for your child.”
Shifting a bit- Another weakness and one of the biggest sources of conflict in youth soccer is the resistance coaches have when players seek new opportunities. Why is this? Could it be that, deep down, many coaches tie their value to team success, and losing a key player feels like a direct threat to their worth and identity that they have built? The subconscious thought process might go something like this:
If a good player leaves, we may lose more games.
My value as a coach is judged by wins and losses.
If we struggle, I may be seen as less competent or respected.
If one player leaves, others might follow, and I need to prevent that.
But when we coach with a deep alignment to our purpose, these moments of transition wouldn’t need to be met with fear or resistance. Instead, they could be handled with confidence and grace, because we would know—with certainty—that our role is to serve the player’s best interests, not our own.
Ultimately, this all comes down to leadership. Parents want to trust that their child’s well-being is the coach’s priority—not just in words, but in consistent actions. They want to know that communication will be met with curiosity, openness, and empathy. When these qualities are present, trust is built. And when trust is built, coaches earn the unwavering support of families, not through force or control, but through genuine care.
So I leave you with a few questions to consider—not as an accusation, but as an invitation to reflect:
Why do you coach?
Who are you coaching for?
Who are you coaching? The top 2% or the 98%
Who are you actually serving?
How do you ensure that your actions align with your stated purpose?
How can you lead in a way that instills trust rather than fear, openness rather than defensiveness, and long-term player development over short-term wins?
These are not easy questions. But they are essential ones. And my hope is that by embracing them with humility, we can all play a part in building a culture where young athletes are truly put first.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. I appreciate the work you do and the impact you have on the lives of so many young players. If this message sparks any thoughts, I’d love to hear them.
