I used to think being a head coach meant being the strongest man in the building.
Every problem was mine to fix. Every phone call, mine to take. Every loss, mine to carry home and replay until 2:00 AM.
When David handed me the keys to a program at twenty-seven years old, I felt like I had something to prove every single day after that. So, I proved it the only way I knew how—by carrying everything myself. Recruiting calls after I’d already graded a stack of math tests. Parent texts answered at eleven at night because I didn’t want anyone thinking I wasn’t all-in. Film breakdown after film breakdown, convinced that if I just worked hard enough, alone, the program would hold together.
I volunteered to work Friday night football games. Every time someone asked for help, I was there to lend a hand. It didn’t matter if I was tired or completely worn out; it’s who I am. I wanted to help.
It didn’t feel like burnout yet. It just felt like the job.
Then came a stretch I won’t forget—a tight series we should have won, a decision in Chickamauga that cost us a region title, and the kind of season where you start wondering if you’re actually any good at this. I was exhausted in a way sleep didn’t fix. I was doing everything right by my own standard and still felt like I was failing everyone.
That same year, I read a book by Coach Matt Deggs called 15 to 28. One sentence stopped me cold: “We need them way more than they need us.”
I’d had it completely backward. I thought the program needed me to be unbreakable. What it actually needed was a coach who wasn’t pretending he could carry it alone.
The Danger of the Endless “Yes”
That sentence cracked open something I’d been avoiding for years. I wasn’t just tired; I was carrying weight I was never asked to carry by myself. I forgot that as a leader, it is completely okay to say no sometimes.
Great teachers and great coaches struggle with this constantly. Because you are dependable, you get hit with the bulk of the “extra” work. Administration dumps things on your desk because they know you can handle it, or because they know you’ll say yes no matter what. Whether that “yes” comes from a place of wanting to serve, a fractured relationship where trust was broken, or a good relationship where someone just knows they can count on you—always agreeing comes at a massive price.
When you say yes to everything, you eventually put yourself in a dangerous position, thinking you are necessary for everything to succeed. The organization becomes built entirely around you. If you aren’t careful, you become prideful, believing the program can’t exist without you.
Expectations do not dictate ability. You cannot do everything and do everything well. When you spread yourself thin, you sacrifice your best energy where it is most needed: your family, your work, and your soul.
The Work Is Never Finished
This isn’t a lesson I just learned once and tucked away. The story isn’t finished; we are always working, evolving, and growing.
Even this past year, we got tested on this very principle. In January, one of our coaches’ job demands suddenly flipped, making him unable to be with us. Another coach had to step away for personal issues—and let me be clear, personal and family issues must always come first.
We had a hard year. I was used to having four or more coaches at every single practice, and suddenly, we only had two.
The old version of young Coach O would have tried to redline his engine, work twice as hard, and drag the weight of four men across the finish line alone. But we didn’t do that. Instead, we worked together. We worked smarter. We leveraged our training equipment to our advantage, and we relied heavily on the leadership within our player group to help maintain the right standard.
As leaders, we have to possess broad enough shoulders to bear the work, but small enough egos to let others share the load and take the glory.
The True Framework of a Yoke
Jesus spoke about this exact weight a long time before sports psychology or leadership blogs did.
Matthew 11:28-30 isn’t a verse for people who’ve given up. It’s a verse for leaders who are still showing up every single day—and quietly drowning in the expectations:
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
A yoke is built for two. It is never a tool for solo labor—it’s a wooden frame that joins one animal’s strength to another’s. When Jesus says “take my yoke,” He isn’t telling you to drop the plow and quit the field. He’s telling you who is supposed to be pulling right beside you.
The invitation isn’t to stop working; it’s to stop working like you’re the only one strong enough to hold the entire program up.
Secured worth means your identity is no longer riding on whether you can perform a miracle by yourself. The rest offered here isn’t the absence of labor—it’s the presence of someone strong enough to share the load. That changes the type of tired you feel. It makes your leadership sustainable instead of corrosive.
Move the Weight This Week
If you are overwhelmed, in over your head, or letting unrealistic expectations injure your soul, you need to change your pace. Take out a sheet of paper today and write down three things you are carrying that were never meant to be carried alone.
Then, hand one of them over. Delegate it to an assistant coach, talk to your AD, lean on your spouse, or take it straight to God in prayer and actually leave it there when you drive away from the complex.
You don’t have to be the strongest man in the building. You just have to be honest about the weight, and willing to be yoked to the One who can actually bear it.
The scoreboard will lie to you and tell you that isolation is strength. The Red Letters say otherwise.
Let’s get to work. — Coach O
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