For 11 years, my husband poured his heart into one high school football program. And somewhere along the way, I did too.
When you’re a coach’s wife, football has a way of becoming part of your identity. The school colors become your colors. Friday nights become sacred. The players become kids you love, their families become friends, and the community becomes home. You celebrate the wins, hurt over the losses, and see all the hours, sacrifices, and pieces of his heart that no one in the stands ever sees.
Then you start raising a family in the middle of it all.
Our son has grown up with football in his blood. Friday nights, practices, coaches, players, film, bus rides, and conversations about the game are just part of life. Watching him completely buy into what his dad does has been one of the sweetest parts of our journey. He doesn’t just cheer for the team; he believes in it because his dad does. He wears the colors proudly, knows the players, celebrates the wins, feels the losses, and wants to be right there in the middle of it all.
So when it was time to leave after 11 years, my heart was broken. I couldn’t imagine cheering for another team, wearing different colors, or watching my husband stand on a different sideline. It felt like we weren’t just leaving a school, but leaving a piece of who we were; a place where we had built a life and raised our family.
But then something unexpected happened. I learned that your heart really can love another team. Not because the first one means any less.
Those 11 years will forever be part of our story. But I realized that my love for Friday nights was never really about a school, a mascot, or a set of colors. It was always about him.
Watching our son make that transition might have taught me that more than anything. Dad’s team became our team. New colors filled our wardrobes, new players became “our boys,” and a new sideline started feeling like home.
This transition has also strengthened our marriage in ways I never expected. When everything familiar changes, you learn very quickly who your constants are. We’ve had to rely on each other more than ever, tune out the noise, trust each other, and remember that before we ever belonged to a football program, we belonged to each other.
And for the coach’s wives just beginning this life, or the ones standing in the uncomfortable space between an old team and a new one, there are a few things I’ve learned along the way.
*Just listen. Even when you have absolutely no idea what defensive front he is explaining to you. Let him talk. Let him vent. Sometimes he doesn't need you to fix anything; he just needs the one person he trusts enough to hear it all.
*Show up. Surprise him at practice. Be the first one on the field after the game, win or lose! Decide that no game is too far away. Your presence says more than you probably realize.
*Take care of the small things. Make sure the game day polo is clean. Write out the weekly schedule. Remind him about the thing he will absolutely forget, but try your best to do it without sounding like you're nagging him. During football season, sometimes love looks a whole lot like making sure his clothes are clean and telling him where he's supposed to be tomorrow.
*Always choose his side. There will always be noise. People will question decisions when they don't know the whole story. Don't let their opinions make you question the man you know. You know his heart. You know what happens behind the scenes. You know how much he cares about those kids and his program. Be the place where he doesn't have to defend himself.
*Make time for each other. It doesn't have to be elaborate. Send the text. Bring takeout to the press box and call it dinner together. Worship together on Sunday morning. Find little pockets of time and protect them. Football can consume everything you give it, so don't forget to give something to each other, too.
*Give him grace. The season is hard on everyone. There will be long days, tired conversations, stress, and moments when neither of you has much left in the tank. Be patient with each other. Remember that he's tired and stressed, too. When you feel like you’re at your wits' end, tell him. He’d rather be prepared for the meltdown! It's always better to join sides than to hold grudges.
Eventually you realize something important about being a coach's family. Teams change. Jerseys change. Stadiums change. Communities change. Players graduate. Seasons end. Chapters close, sometimes before you're ready for them to.
The one thing that doesn’t change: the coach that comes home to you every night.
I once thought my identity was tied to a football program we loved for 11 years. I needed that goodbye to understand something I should have known all along: We were never on the same team because we wore the same school colors. We were on the same team because we chose each other.
So wherever Friday nights take us, whatever colors we're wearing, and whatever name is painted across the end zone, I'll be there.
Because wherever he is, that's my team.
This space is about supporting the women behind the sidelines. We’ve created a few favorite wear-on-repeat pieces inspired by this life, just in case you want to check them out!