For six straight years, I never missed a Friday night football game. Not one.
Our boys were two grades apart, so from the time the oldest started high school football until the youngest graduated, my Friday nights were spent under the lights. Rain, cold, sweltering heat, long road trips—I was there. Bundled up in layers in November, sweating through kickoff in August, and even huddled under umbrellas in sideways rain.
If they were playing, I was in the stands.
It wasn’t just about watching them play. It was about being present—for them, for my husband on the sidelines, for the other families who had become part of our Friday night crew. There’s a rhythm to those years. Your life moves in weeks, from one game to the next, until you can’t imagine being anywhere else.
But here’s the thing: life shifts. Seasons change.
My husband coaches both football and wrestling, and those seasons run together. From the first scrimmage in early August until Presidents Day weekend, there’s a game or match nearly every single weekend—six and a half months of constant competition. The moment football season wraps, wrestling season takes over, and the cycle starts again.
And somewhere along the way, I realized—being a supportive wife doesn’t mean I have to be in the stands for every single one.
Sometimes being supportive means I stay home to clean, wash clothes, and cook so he has meals waiting when he gets home late.
Sometimes it means checking in on the parents and our kids, and keeping our grandson so others can go.
Sometimes it means I stay home with my feet up, reading a book or watching some mindless show, so my mind and heart can be clear enough to focus more time and energy into our relationship.
Because support doesn’t always look like showing up in person. Sometimes it’s holding things together at home. Sometimes it’s making sure he comes back to a space that feels peaceful. Sometimes it’s giving yourself the rest you need so you can show up well the next time.
I didn’t always think this way. For years, I carried an unspoken rule that being there in the stands was the only way to prove I was invested. Even when I was exhausted, even when the weather was miserable, even when I had a hundred other things piling up at home—I went. I wore that “perfect attendance” like a badge of honor.
But perfection isn’t sustainable. And it’s not required.
Somewhere between late-night bus drop-offs, early Saturday tournaments, and endless laundry piles, I began to understand that showing up doesn’t have to mean physically being there every time. Sometimes showing up means protecting your own energy so you can love well and give more when it really counts.
That’s when I started giving myself grace to skip a game here and there—and that’s when I realized I wanted other coaches’ wives to know this, too:
I hereby grant you permission to sit this one out.
If you need to catch up on rest, sit one out.
If your house needs attention, sit one out.
If your heart feels drained and you need quiet to recharge, sit one out.
If you just want to watch the livestream in your pajamas while eating dinner at a normal hour, go ahead and sit one out.
You are still a supportive wife. You are still part of the team. You are still showing up for your husband, your family, and your community.
I still follow the games—listening on the radio, refreshing the score updates, celebrating every big play. I still pull on my team gear and cheer for the boys, even if it’s from my living room. But I’ve learned that stepping away now and then doesn’t make me less supportive. It makes me sustainable.
Because here’s the truth: being a coach’s wife is a marathon, not a sprint. There are years when you’re all in, every single week, and there are years when you find a new rhythm. There’s no shame in either one.
When my grandson is old enough to play, I’ll be right back in those stands every Friday night, rain or shine. Until then, I’m letting myself enjoy the balance—being present when I can, and giving myself the grace to sit one out when I need to.
And honestly? That’s made me appreciate Friday nights—and my husband—more than ever.
So if you’re reading this from the bleachers, I’m cheering with you. And if you’re reading this from your couch at home, I’m cheering for you, too.
Because sometimes the most supportive thing you can do… is sit this one out.