I’ve known this season would feel different. I just didn’t know how different.
In the next several weeks, my daughter will play the final games of her hockey career. She’s a senior playing NCAA Division III, and when the season ends, so does a chapter that’s been open for most of her life.
She fell in love with hockey long before she ever put on a jersey. Her uncle—my brother—played at Western Michigan University. We had season tickets. She went to every game. And I mean every game. Even as a toddler, hand to God, she actually watched the play.
Not the mascot. Not the crowd.
The game.
She’s been skating since she was four. She’s 21 now.
Typing that out feels surreal.
At the same time, my son is finishing his youth hockey journey. He’s playing 18U AAA, and like so many families right now, we’re staring down the same looming question:
What comes next?
If you’re a hockey family, you know this moment—or you will. And I’ll be honest: it can feel overwhelming, even in the most level-headed households.
The Endings We Prepare For (But Still Aren’t Ready For)
We spend years focused on what’s next. The next level. The next team. The next season. The next goal.
We prepare for tryouts, showcases, recruiting rules, schedules, training plans, and transitions. But what we don’t talk about enough is the ending.
Not because it’s negative—but because it’s emotional.
For my daughter, hockey has been part of her identity for nearly two decades. The locker rooms. The road trips. The teammates who became family. The routine. The grind. The joy. The heartbreak. All of it.
For our family, it’s been early mornings, late nights, car rides that turned into life conversations, and living seasons by a hockey calendar instead of a normal one.
Knowing it’s coming to an end doesn’t make it easier.
Meanwhile… Chaos Everywhere Else
As if the emotional weight of endings (and transitions) isn’t enough, this moment in hockey is louder and more confusing than ever.
The college hockey landscape is changing. The junior hockey world feels more chaotic by the day. Agents, advisors, scouts, leagues, teams—everyone has an opinion. Everyone has a pitch. Everyone claims to know the path.
And families are left trying to sort through it all while doing their best not to make the “wrong” decision. Information overload is real, and uncertainty breeds stress.
Even families who communicate well. Even families who are grounded. Even families who understand the game.
This isn’t about weakness—it’s about volume. There’s simply too much coming at people, all at once.
What I’m Learning (As a Hockey Mom, Not a Consultant)
Here’s what this season has forced me to confront: Hockey was never supposed to define our kids. But it has shaped them.
And that matters.
My daughter isn’t losing hockey—she’s transitioning. Everything the game gave her still comes with her: discipline, resilience, leadership, time management, confidence, and perspective.
My son doesn’t need to have everything figured out in the next two months. Neither do we. The pressure to rush clarity often does more harm than good.
And as parents, our job shifts here. We move from being planners and drivers and schedulers… to being listeners, stabilizers, and reminders.
Reminders that:
- Their value isn’t tied to a roster
- Their worth isn’t defined by the next level
- And life after hockey isn’t lesser—it’s just different
Sitting in the Messy Middle
This season has taught me to sit in the middle.
The space between pride and sadness. Between gratitude and grief. Between excitement for what’s next and mourning what’s ending.
It’s okay to feel all of it.
If you’re a parent navigating a similar season—senior year, 18U, juniors decisions, college uncertainty—know this:
You’re not behind. Your family isn’t failing. And your stress doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It means you care.
What I Hope Hockey Families Hear Right Now
Slow down. Not everything needs to be solved today. Not every voice needs to be listened to. Not every opportunity is the right one.
This is a season for conversations, not panic. For reflection, not comparison.
For trust—in your kid, in your values, and in the foundation you’ve already built.
Hockey gives us so much. But it doesn’t get to take our peace on the way out.
The Game Still Matters—Even at the End
I don’t know exactly how the next couple of months will feel when the final buzzer sounds for my daughter. I do know there will be tears. Probably from both/all of us.
But I also know this: Hockey did its job.
It gave her a love, a community, and a set of tools she’ll carry forever. And as strange as it feels to say goodbye to something so familiar, I’m deeply grateful we got to say hello to it in the first place.
If you’re standing on the edge of a transition right now—uncertain, overwhelmed, emotional—you’re not alone.
We are right there with you.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
