Defying Gravity - the truth behind my graduation ceremony

Last week, I walked across a stage at the University of Edinburgh and collected my doctoral scroll. If you saw the photos, you probably saw the smiles, the cap, the gown, my kids shouting “Go on Mum!” - the triumphant moment.

But as with all triumphs, what you didn’t see is the gravity I had to fight to get there.

Because I’m not an “academic type.”

I hated school.

I struggled in school.

And for five long years of my PhD, imposter syndrome sat on my shoulder like a constant shadow. I questioned myself more times than I can count. I doubted my ability, my place, my voice.

The only thing stronger than that self-doubt was my passion. I cared too much about this project to walk away from it. I cared too much about sport parents, about the dynamics at home, about the emotional climate surrounding children in sport and wanting to make their experience as the best it could possibly be.

And one particular moment anchored me:

A young boy wrote on his feedback form, after his parents took part in my Super-P workshop:“No more shouting.”

Those three words stopped me in my tracks.

They reminded me that this work isn’t about theory or titles or academic confidence. It’s about families. It’s about children feeling emotionally safe. It’s about parents having tools, support, and guidance in an environment that often overwhelms everyone involved.

Youth sport is filled with incredible highs, yes - but also failure, pain, tears, frustration, and heartbreak. And that’s true for parents as much as for children. You rarely see that part on social media. You don’t see the arguments in the car, the self-doubt after a bad training session, the worry about burnout, or the pressure parents silently carry.

We only see the medals.The smiles.The polished posts.

But the truth is: every family is fighting their own gravity.

During my PhD, I finally admitted my imposter syndrome to my supervisor - who is one of the most qualified, accomplished women I know - and she burst out laughing. “Jen,” she said, “I have it too.”

It hit me: if she felt like that, then maybe confidence isn’t the prerequisite for stepping into challenging spaces.

Maybe courage is.

Maybe honesty is.

And maybe the greatest gift we can give our children in sport is showing them that being vulnerable, struggling, and getting back up again is normal - and human.

So if you’re a sport parent feeling unsure, overwhelmed, or like everyone else seems to be coping better than you… please know this:

You are not alone.Being a sport parent is tough.Being involved in youth sport is tough.

And it’s absolutely OK to acknowledge that - to yourself, to your child, and to others.

I’ve defied a lot of gravity to get to that graduation stage. And now, it's my mission to make sure you don’t have to carry yours alone.

I’m here to support you. I’m here to make you feel heard.

Always.