He Says He Wants to Quit

It usually arrives on a Tuesday, not a Saturday.

Not after the loss, when you'd be braced for it, but three days later at the kitchen table over homework, in a flat voice, aimed at nobody: I think I'm done with lacrosse.

And every instinct you have is wrong. Talking him out of it is wrong, agreeing immediately is wrong, and asking him to explain himself right then is wrong. What he said is almost never what he meant, and the only way to find out what he meant is to not react to what he said.

The short version

Say almost nothing. Okay. Tell me more when you want to. Then let it sit for a few days.

Most of the time the sentence dissolves on its own, because it was never about the sport — it was about a hard week wearing a big word. Some of the time it comes back, in the same words, more than once, and that's your signal that it's real and worth a genuine conversation.

The thing you're trying not to do is make the first mention into a referendum. Once you've argued a kid out of quitting, he's learned that saying it costs him an argument, and he'll stop telling you what's actually going on.

What's usually underneath it

In my experience the sentence almost never means I don't like lacrosse. It usually means one of these, and they need very different responses:

"I'm embarrassed." Something happened — a bad game, a comment from a teammate, a coach's tone in front of everyone. Quitting is the fastest available exit from a feeling he doesn't have words for yet. This one fades within a week if you don't feed it.

"I'm exhausted." Two sports, a heavy school stretch, a growth spurt, or a season that's simply been too long. A tired young athlete will reach for the biggest lever in the room. This one is real, but the answer is rest, not retirement.

"I'm scared." Sometimes of the ball, and that's more common than parents realize and nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes of failing publicly again. Fear that goes unnamed tends to come out as a preference.

"Nobody needs me to be here." Not playing, sitting behind another goalie, or a coach who hasn't spoken to him in a month. This is the one that most often turns out to be genuine, and it's about belonging rather than lacrosse.

And occasionally: "I'd rather be doing something else." Which is a legitimate thing for a twelve-year-old to discover, and not a failure of anybody's.

Your job at the kitchen table isn't to diagnose which one it is on the spot. It's to leave enough room that he tells you.

Suggestions on what you can do

First, buy time without dismissing him. Okay. Tell me more when you want to does two things at once — it takes him seriously and it doesn't escalate. Then genuinely drop it. The silence is the part that works.

Watch the next ten days instead of asking about them. Does he still pick up a stick in the yard? Does he talk about teammates? Does he perk up at a game on TV? Behavior will tell you more in a week than a conversation will tell you in an hour.

If it comes back, ask about the week rather than the sport. What's been the worst part lately? gets you somewhere. Do you really want to quit? gets you a defensive twelve-year-old. Let him describe the situation, and the cause usually walks right out on its own.

Offer the smaller lever first. Almost every version of this has a step between keep going exactly as you are and stop entirely. A month off after the season. Skipping the summer team. Dropping to one practice a week. Playing out the season and deciding in July, when he isn't tired and nothing is on fire. Young athletes reach for the biggest lever because they don't know the small ones exist — showing him the small ones is often the entire intervention.

By age, roughly: with a third or fourth grader, this is nearly always a mood and it passes, so stay light and don't build it into an event. With a fifth through eighth grader, look hard at volume and at whether something social happened — this is the age band where quitting is usually about the room rather than the sport. With a high schooler, treat it as a real conversation between two people, because by then he's thought about it before he said it, and he deserves to be met at that level.

And if it's real, let it be real. A kid who's allowed to stop is far more likely to come back. One who's been argued into staying rarely gives you a second honest sentence about anything.

A few things worth avoiding

Try not to lead with what it cost. The club fee, the gear, the drive to Yakima — all true, none of it his to carry, and all of it teaches him that the honest thing to do is keep his mouth shut next time.

Go easy on you're not a quitter. It sounds like encouragement, and what it actually does is attach his character to a decision about a sport, which raises the price of telling you the truth.

Don't take it to the coach before you've talked to him about it. If he finds out you did, you've spent something you'll want later.

And try not to decide it tonight. Nothing about this needs resolving at the kitchen table on a Tuesday. Almost everything about it gets clearer in ten days.

The thing to hold onto

He picked the hardest position on the field, the one where every mistake gets a number on a scoreboard. Of course some weeks he wants out.

What he's asking, mostly, is whether wanting out is allowed. When the answer turns out to be yes, it usually stops being what he wants.

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A lot of "I want to quit" is really "I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing." That's the problem the daily program exists to solve. Three real days of a fifth-grade week are open on the site, no signup. Take a look at the free week.

Coach Greg — LAX Goalie Hub

Coaching from a coach — general information, not psychological or mental health advice. If what you're seeing goes beyond sport — it's lasting for days, showing up in sleep, appetite or school, or changing how your athlete talks about himself — talk to your doctor, a school counselor or a mental health professional.