One of my biggest mistakes as a coach was with my first student. I failed to take responsibility for his physical development, and I failed to recognise what he was going through emotionally.
I left his fitness to other people and assumed they would do their job properly.
I believed my job was to concentrate on tennis while outside fitness trainers took care of physical preparation. The fitness support he received was not up to the standard he needed, and I failed to check whether it was actually helping him.
As a result, he lost approximately one year and six months of valuable development time. I had trusted others with an important part of his development without properly monitoring their work. That responsibility was mine.
I doubted his pain because the scans did not show a major injury.
He experienced knee pain for much of the year. MRI scans and other examinations did not identify a major injury. Because nothing significant appeared in those reports, I began questioning whether his pain was genuine. I even told him that he might be lying.
His pain was real, and I should have taken it seriously instead of questioning his honesty. I should have listened and sought appropriate medical guidance.
I failed to appreciate what he was managing.
He was balancing studies and tennis while dealing with knee pain. Despite these difficulties, he continued making time for the sport because he genuinely wanted to play. I was too focused on what I wanted him to achieve and failed to recognise his efforts.
After all that struggle, he reached a tournament final. And I still failed him.
He lost to a younger player. Instead of appreciating the achievement of reaching the final, I scolded him for losing to someone younger.
I turned his achievement into a failure.
The child ended up crying. What makes this memory even more painful is that my own mother encouraged me whenever I lost. Yet when a child who trusted me lost, I became the person who added to his pain instead of helping him through it.
He deserved a better coach that day. I was not that coach.
There is no excuse for my behaviour. I may have believed I was pushing him because I wanted him to improve, but good intentions do not excuse the way I treated him.
What I learned: A child's development is not just about tennis performance. It also involves physical well-being, confidence, enjoyment, education and emotional safety. I should have listened more carefully and recognised the effort before demanding results.
Whenever that child's memory comes back to me, I am reminded of the coach I must never become again.
One of my biggest mistakes was expecting children to understand everything I explained and execute it exactly as I wanted. When they could not, I sometimes became impatient and repeatedly pointed out their mistakes.
I forgot that children are not miniature adults.
Understanding an instruction does not mean a child can immediately apply it on a tennis court. Children need time to process information, practise skills, make mistakes and gradually learn to handle pressure.
I sometimes became too blunt because I believed making children's weaknesses obvious would help them improve. I also wanted visible progress quickly, and my desire to establish a good name as a coach sometimes influenced the pressure I placed on them.
I even discouraged some children from having too much fun outside tennis because I thought it would reduce their focus. I failed to understand that children need discipline but also need to enjoy the sport.
One incident showed me how badly I had misjudged the effect of my words.
There was a child whom I thought I could motivate by challenging him to compete better against another player. I expected him to take it positively. Instead, he became deeply distressed and went home crying.
I intended to motivate him, but the impact was the opposite. My intention did not erase the impact of my words.
There was another child who was very strong and athletic. I expected him to perform better because of his physical abilities. When he did not, I kept scolding him for not putting in enough effort.
What I failed to recognise was that he was struggling to connect with tennis. Being athletic does not automatically mean a child will enjoy the sport or develop a natural connection with it.
I confused being tough with being effective.
I expected children to respond to my coaching in the way I thought they should, rather than adapting my approach to the child in front of me.
What I learned: High standards matter, but they do not justify unnecessary pressure, careless comparisons or criticism that damages a child's confidence. Every child is different, and a coach must learn to recognise those differences.
A coach should challenge a child without forgetting that the child is still learning how to handle the world, not just tennis.
After setting up MindCraft, I hired a fitness trainer who was willing to work hard. I saw his work ethic and good intentions, but I failed to check whether he had the relevant experience to work with children aged 10–14.
I assumed that someone who understood fitness and was willing to put in the effort could automatically train children appropriately.
Good intentions are not a substitute for knowledge and relevant experience. Working with children requires an understanding of their physical development, needs and appropriate training methods.
The consequences were serious. Some children suffered injuries that affected their training for a period of time. Some of those children belonged to parents who had helped me secure the land for MindCraft.
I feel deeply guilty about what happened. I cannot simply blame the trainer. I was the person who hired him, assessed his suitability and entrusted the children to his care. The responsibility for that decision was mine.
What I learned: Before hiring a professional to work with children, I must look beyond their willingness to work and examine their relevant qualifications, practical experience and understanding of safe training practices.
I should have checked his suitability before placing the children in his care, not learnt the importance of that check through their injuries.
There was a child who was unhappy about certain things in his family life. His parents' protective nature had begun to feel restrictive to him rather than reassuring. Over time, he started believing that his parents would not understand his feelings and that opening up to them would only create more problems.
What concerned me even more was that he had started discussing these thoughts with other children and advising them not to share their personal feelings with their parents. I felt this was an unhealthy way of looking at parent-child relationships. I did not want him to grow up believing that parents could never understand their children, nor did I want him to encourage other children to develop the same thinking.
What worried me most was the possibility that he would continue suppressing his feelings and gradually develop resentment towards his own parents as he grew older.
I wanted him to understand that disagreements and restrictions did not necessarily mean his parents did not care about him. I believed that honest communication could help bridge the gap between him and his parents. I thought giving them an opportunity to understand his feelings was the right thing to do.
However, the child specifically warned me that his parents might react badly. He told me that they might stop him from playing tennis altogether if he expressed everything he felt.
I did not take that warning seriously enough. I believed they would understand him because they were his parents. I encouraged him to tell them everything, thinking that the conversation would help resolve the situation.
Unfortunately, his parents reacted exactly as he had feared. Their response was abrupt, harsh and discouraging. Instead of understanding what he was trying to communicate, they reacted in a way that brought his tennis journey to an end.
I felt terrible. The very outcome he had warned me about had happened, and I had encouraged him to take that risk because I believed I knew how his parents would respond.
I had good intentions, but I made a serious mistake. I was so focused on changing the mindset I believed he was developing that I failed to respect his understanding of his own family situation. He had warned me about the possible consequences, and I should have listened more carefully.
What I learned as a coach:
I should not assume that I understand a family's dynamics better than the child who lives within that family. When a child expresses fear about a possible consequence, I need to take that fear seriously rather than dismiss it because I believe the parents will react differently.
I also learned that having good intentions does not automatically make an intervention right. My responsibility was to listen, understand his concerns and help him think through his options, not pressure him into a conversation he was not ready to have.
I wanted to protect his relationship with his parents. Instead, I failed to recognise that my intervention could make the situation worse.
A REQUEST TO PARENTS:
When your child tells you that they are afraid to share something with you, please don't immediately dismiss it as stubbornness, disrespect or immaturity. Try to understand why your child feels that way. Your intention may be to protect your child, but that does not automatically mean your child experiences your actions in the same way.
Looking back at these incidents, I realise that becoming a better coach is not just about learning more tennis. It is also about recognising my mistakes, changing my approach and understanding the responsibility that comes with working with children.
1. I take greater responsibility for a player's overall development.
I no longer look at tennis and physical development as completely separate responsibilities. I pay closer attention to the quality of fitness support a player receives, and I recognise the importance of checking whether the people involved have the appropriate knowledge and experience to work with children.
2. I take a child's pain seriously.
I have learned not to dismiss a player's complaints simply because a scan or examination does not reveal a major injury. I listen to the child, take the concern seriously and recognise when appropriate medical guidance is needed.
3. I focus on progress, not just results.
Reaching a final, improving a particular shot, overcoming a weakness or simply showing consistency and commitment are all achievements worth recognising. I try not to let one disappointing result overshadow the progress a child has made.
4. I try to understand the child before deciding how to coach them.
I have learned that children have different personalities, emotional needs and ways of responding to feedback. I cannot expect every child to react to the same instructions, criticism or challenges in the same way. I need to adapt my communication rather than expect every child to adapt to me.
5. I am more conscious of the effect my words can have.
Being strict and maintaining high standards do not require humiliating a child, making unnecessary comparisons or damaging their confidence. I try to challenge players without forgetting that they are children who are still learning how to handle disappointment, pressure and emotions.
6. I listen more carefully when children share personal concerns.
I no longer assume that every difficult conversation between a child and their parents will automatically have a positive outcome. I have learned to take a child's fears seriously instead of deciding on their behalf how their parents will react. I should support children in thinking through difficult situations rather than pressure them into conversations they are not ready to have.
I know that these changes do not make me a perfect coach. I will still have things to learn, and I may still make mistakes.
But I don't want to become a coach who keeps repeating the same mistakes simply because admitting them is uncomfortable.
These experiences have changed the way I look at coaching, responsibility and the trust that children and their families place in me. I hope I continue to become better, not just at teaching tennis, but at being someone worthy of that trust.