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Call us today at 1.888.407.1530
Zoom Sessions with Athletes all over the World
Offices across Canada & USA: Greater Toronto Area, Vancouver, Arizona, New York, London, Colorado, California
Bio Highlights:
Education: PhD Sport & Exercise Psychology, York University
Core Clients: Hockey, Baseball, Soccer, Racing, Combat Sports, Skiing, Business Executives
I was 15 years old, sitting in the passenger seat of my older brother’s car on the way home from yet another hard day at camp.
It was mid-August, with another hockey season on the horizon. The off-season was coming to an end and training camps were ramping up.
On the drive home, we did what we always did. We talked hockey.
We talked about camp that day and how exhausting it was. We talked about what we were excited about, what this upcoming season might look like, and inevitably, everything that would be required of us over the next several months.
Except my brother and I were looking at the road ahead from two very different perspectives.
He had already gone through the gauntlet of junior hockey and the stresses of earning an NCAA offer. He had dealt with difficult coaches, healthy scratches, injuries, and the constant uncertainty of trying to get to the next level. In his final year of junior, he even broke his back and returned within 12 weeks to keep his college offer alive.
Sitting beside him, I knew exactly how much he had sacrificed to keep rising the ranks. And as we drove home that day, I found myself confronted by a question I had never really asked myself:
Was I going to do the same? Was I going to sacrifice as much as my brother did? Train as much as he did? Put my heart and soul into getting to the next level just like he did?
The answer was no, but yes.
I loved hockey and I loved competing. For most of my life, I wanted nothing more than to be as good as my older brother. But sitting beside him that day, I also knew what continuing to chase his level of performance would require.
I just wasn’t willing to make the same sacrifices he had. But I knew that I still wanted to rise the ranks somewhere, somehow.
I just needed to find something else that I could be equally obsessed about.
My parents were never shy about their opinions of what I should do with my life.
Doctor, lawyer, or engineer. Pick one and get it done. There was no room for confusion.
So when I chose to shift my obsession from hockey to Psychology, it wasn’t exactly the path they had envisioned for me. To them, and to myself, I was failing from the very start.
So I responded the way I had watched my brother respond time and time again: I raised the stakes.
If I was going to prove I had made the right decision, I couldn’t just earn an undergraduate degree. I had to go all the way and get a PhD. I wanted to become the first person in my family to reach a level of education that previous generations never had the opportunity to pursue.
I had stopped pursuing the next level in hockey, but I hadn’t stopped chasing the next level in life.
And before long, the same pressure I had watched overwhelm and consume my brother was beginning to overwhelm and consume me.
My brother was struggling to earn his spot in an NCAA lineup, whereas I was enrolled in a specialized Psychology program, preparing for graduate school in Clinical Psychology.
At the time, I didn’t even know Sport Psychology was a profession, it simply wasn’t talked about when I was an athlete. But I began applying what I was learning in university to help my brother strengthen his mindset and take his game to the next level.
One weekend, I went to visit him and watch his team play.
In classic college fashion, they had back-to-back games Friday and Saturday. He had been healthy scratched Friday night, but was told he would be in the lineup for the Saturday game. He was both distraught from being left out of the lineup and extremely anxious about having to be at his best the next day in order to stay in the lineup going forward.
So after the game, we found a bench at the end of a hallway in the rink to have a chat.
At one end was the main lobby, full of players, coaches, families and the usual post-game commotion. At the other end, it was calm and quiet. The two of us could finally chat.
We started talking about his frustration with being scratched, the pressure he was feeling, and his overwhelming fear of failure. He was constantly worried about falling short of the expectations that he and my parents had of him. The uncertainty around whether or not he would have success at the college level was completely consuming him.
As I sat there listening to him, I realized something that would eventually change the direction of my life:
I was experiencing exactly what he was experiencing on the ice, but in the classroom.
We were in different arenas, but experiencing the same pressure.
We started talking about the relationship between effort and results and about how easy it was to believe that if you worked hard enough, sacrificed enough, and did everything right, your desired results should follow.
That conversation became the foundation for what I now call the Slot vs Vending Machine Mentality.
The premise is simple: stop expecting your results to perfectly match the work you put in. Instead, embrace the uncertainty of rising the ranks and keep putting yourself in a position to succeed. This way, you spend less time consumed by the pressure of what might happen and more time immersed in what you can actually do in the moment.
Over the next few games he went from worrying about his coaches’ opinions, scared to make mistakes, and overthinking every little detail to being calm with the puck on his stick, creative in the offensive zone, and physically dominant all over the ice.
Soon after, I was sharing mindset tools and ideas with his teammates, and that’s when it hit me:
I could combine my love for sport with my passion for Psychology.
Ever since that moment of realization, I never looked back. I was finally as obsessed with Psychology as I once was with hockey.
But I wasn’t just helping my brother change his relationship with pressure. I was beginning to change my own. Instead of constantly worrying about whether all of my hard work would eventually pay off in a PhD, I started focusing on how clearing my mind and bringing my attention back to the present moment would allow me to be more mentally tough than ever before.
It turned out that the answer to my question on that car ride home all those years prior, really was, “no, but yes.”
I wasn’t going to chase my brother up the ranks in hockey. I had found my own ranks to rise.
My brother went on to become assistant captain as a sophomore and earned the captaincy in both his junior and senior seasons, all while maintaining Dean’s List status in the classroom (I take complete credit for that, of course).
Meanwhile, I went on to complete a specialized undergraduate degree in Psychology and Master and Doctoral degrees in Sport Psychology, all the while working with Dr. Cassidy Preston to turn CEP Mindset from just an idea in our heads into a company of over 20 coaches supporting athletes across the world.
Today, I serve as Vice President at CEP Mindset, helping lead the company and ensure every athlete receives the highest-quality coaching possible.
But more importantly, I’ve had the honour of working with athletes at virtually every level, from youth chasing their first big dream, to college and semi-pro players grinding to get to the next level, and pros competing on the biggest stages.
After working 1-on-1 with hundreds of elite athletes myself, and helping support hundreds more through our team at CEP, I’ve realized something remarkable, despite their differences, the underlying struggle is almost always the same:
Rising the ranks is an absolute grind.
I understand that car ride home with my brother very differently now.
At 15, I thought I was deciding whether I was willing to do what he had done to get to the next level.
But what I didn’t understand yet was that choosing a different path wouldn’t allow me to escape the pressure that came along with rising the ranks. I would simply experience it in a different arena.
Because the better you get, the more is demanded of you. Expectations grow, mistakes are more costly, and opportunities become more meaningful.
Sooner or later, the feeling of being overwhelmed and consumed starts to creep in.
I know now that the answer isn’t to get rid of that pressure. It’s to change your relationship with it.
To shift from being consumed by pressure to immersed in the moment.
That’s what allows you to continue to rise the ranks, both in sport and life.
You can learn more about Coach Nick by clicking the video below:
Bio Highlights:
Education:
Playing Background: Hockey Canada U22 National Team Camp, Canadian championship with Team Québec, NCAA Division I college hockey (two Frozen Four appearances), professional overseas, and prep school hockey.
Core Clients: Hockey, Soccer, Swimming, Volleyball, Softball/Baseball, Business Executives
Hockey was my life from as far back as I can remember, but it was a challenging and wild ride. It was like a rollercoaster ride with many achievements and highs, but also full of fears and self-doubt.
I genuinely loved hockey and thought I was doing everything possible to develop as a player. My focus was on everything to do with my physical development, but I failed to take control of my mindset.
I played with the boys until I was 18 – mainly because it was my only option.
When I first started, everyone was always complimenting me on how good I was for a girl, but it was not long before I was told I sucked and should not play with boys.
I endured those negative comments for a long time and am so glad I did…
That experience taught me that my work ethic and strength were my superpowers, and fortunately, they served me well my entire career.
The environment I played in and the coaches I played for demanded that I push myself in order to keep up with the pace and physicality of the game. They pushed, and I responded… I knew I could not let myself fall behind.
I would describe myself as the “little engine that could” on all my teams. I worked and always went hard, whether we were up by 5 or down by 5 in games. I showed up consistently at practice, ready to pay attention and go hard until the whistle, and even when my teammates told me to cool it, I never did.
I dedicated myself to hitting the gym, got jobs to pay for gym memberships and personal trainers, and grew really strong.
Because of the intensity and drive, I turned into a highly effective power forward.
My strength and hard work are why I won a Canadian Championship with Team Quebec, gota an NCAA D1 hockey scholarship, was invited to the Canadian U22 tryout camp, and was invited to play professionally in Switzerland.
The problem was I didn’t own my successes along the way. Instead, my mindset was full of negativity, self-doubt, and fear.
I had a knack for attributing any success I experienced to external factors rather than acknowledging my own role in it. It was never because of just me; I never owned it…
I attributed my team’s success and personal success to other factors:
“I got lucky today”
“It’s my team that is good, not me”
“Wow the other team played really bad”
I believed, as an elite athlete, you should never be satisfied…
I felt like I did not deserve to be where I was ALL THE TIME, which took an emotional toll on me, and the fear paralyzed me when I was on the ice.
As they say, I was my own worst enemy, and I never took charge of my mindset.
The biggest downfall was that I played with fear. My mind was overrun by it, to the point that I would blackout when I had the puck.
There was so much tension in my body, that I panicked, and I held my stick so tight I could not make a play to save my life. In college, it was the worst. I managed to get about 0.5 points per game because I went hard to the net, but whenever I had a lot of time and space, I had the all-out “YIPS.” It was not pretty…
All this fear was because I spent so much time trying to prove myself and worried about what other people thought of me.
“Who is watching me today? What if they think I suck?”
“What if I make a mistake to upset my team?”
“Will my coach stop playing me?”
These thoughts were endless, and the overthinking was constant.
Every mistake I made weighed me down. I could not let go of them or accept them… I never owned my capabilities.
I put everyone’s opinion of me – ahead of my own…
Causing my career to fly by in a state of constant worry and disappointment.
Even though there was so much displeasure and discomfort during my career, I still loved hockey, and the day it came to an end was devastating for me. Luckily, I knew what my next steps were.
From the first hockey camp I worked in college, it was clear that coaching would be what I pursued when my career was done.
After playing in Switzerland, I got my first coaching job at a hockey academy, which ultimately led me to coaching in college for 18 years. Coaching became the avenue that allowed me to stay connected to the sport and it fulfilled me just as much as playing. I loved it.
As a coach, I could see that my athletes were struggling with the same things I did in my playing career. It hit close to home, and I felt like I had to help them. I used what I had learned in my psychology and leadership degrees, and read over 100 books in order to help with their mindsets.
This became my new passion, learning and understanding the importance of mindset.
After 18 years of coaching college, it was time to move on to my next thing, and I recognized that my calling was to be a Mental Performance Coach.
The transition from coaching to being a Mental Performance Coach was a little bumpy at first, but once I connected with CEP Mindset my dream finally came true.
As I got to work with more athletes 1-on-1, I found myself drawing from the reservoir of my personal struggles and the raw frustrations I felt throughout my career.
My role as a Mental Performance Coach is not just a profession; it’s a passion that comes from my own challenging experiences as an athlete.
As part of the CEP team, I get to help athletes navigate their own journeys and, most importantly, not let fear hold them back, as it did for me. Instead, I help them embrace their love of the game and the process, which paves the way for them to achieve Consistent Elite Performance.
You can learn more about Coach Sara by clicking the video below:
Bio Highlights:
Education: MA, Applied Behaviour Analysis, Brock University
Core Clients: Football, Hockey, Tennis, Soccer, Golf, Combat Sports
I’m 8 years old and sitting in the Stoney Creek dressing room before our team’s first practice.
My coach asks “who wants to try goalie?”
I freeze.
Part of me wants nothing more than to shoot my hand up. I idolized every Leafs goalie, always pretending to be “The Cat” while playing road hockey with my friends.
But the other part of me is paralyzed by fear – fear of letting my teammates down, fear of looking silly, fear of not being good enough.
And most of all, a fear of getting hurt.
A few years earlier, I had broken my femur in soccer. Months in a body cast left me physically healed but mentally scarred.
That injury lived rent-free in my head. It made me play the “What if?” game.
“What if I get hurt?”
“What if I embarrass myself?”
“What if I blow it?”
So, I didn’t raise my hand.
Injuries gave me the excuse to stay quiet, play small, and avoid risk.
I let fear hold me back and I never got to play goalie.
I went on to play competitive hockey as a defenceman growing up, but always wondering what my career would look like if I had raised my hand.
Once high-school came, I made the football team. This became my priority. This was my chance to rewrite the story.
My coach told me I’d get to play both sides of the ball and I was fired up.
And then one drill changed everything.
It’s called the Oklahoma Drill. Two players line up head-to-head and see who can drive the other back. The biggest lineman on the team stepped up. Nobody wanted him.
The biggest lineman on the team was up next, and nobody wanted to go up against him.
“Finally”, I thought, “This is my chance to prove myself”.
We hit, and pain shot through my hand like fire. I tried to gut it out for a few games, but every snap felt worse. The X-rays confirmed it – broken hand, badly.
I missed nearly the whole season. By the time I returned, my aggression was gone and my confidence had vanished. Instead of diving back in, I played it safe, haunted by the fear of re-injury.
Another dream shelved. Another “What if?” added to the pile.
High-school ended, and I was off to university shortly – but football was still tugging at me.
The regret that I felt motivated me to take another shot.
I trained through the summer, hit the weights, and walked onto campus ready to prove myself. This was supposed to be the rewrite.
Then it happened again.
A torn pectoral muscle – a sharp pain that shot through my whole body. A feeling I’ll never forget.
One second I was driving the bar up, the next I couldn’t even lift my arm.
While everyone else was chasing glory, I was chasing range of motion.
Maybe bobsleigh could be my shot.
I had the size, power, and speed to earn an invite to Canada’s development program. For the first time, it felt like a door opening.
But when the day finally came, the same doubts crept in.
I stood on the sidelines, telling the coaches I wasn’t at 100% yet (even though I was cleared).
Every trial felt like a reminder that the world was moving on without me. My potential teammates laced up, ready to go to war together – while I hovered around convincing myself I wasn’t “ready”.
The truth? I was terrified. Terrified my chest would snap again. Terrified I’d collapse in front of everyone. Terrified the coaches wouldn’t see what I had to offer, and I was wasting their time.
Each time the coaches reached out – You good to go? You ready to come back? – their voices carried hope.
And each time, I turned away.
I told myself I needed “more time,” but deep down I knew I was running from the very thing I said I wanted.
Every ignored call felt like another grain of sand slipping through the hourglass of my career.
By the time I picked up tennis, the pattern was already familiar: bold in practice, hesitant in matches.
The difference this time? I had a coach who understood me.
For years I tried to figure it out alone, hiding behind teammates, injuries, and excuses. But now I had someone in my corner who saw the fear I couldn’t name.
After one timid performance, he told me:
“I give you permission to lose. Stop playing scared. Take the risks. Losing is where you learn. And those lessons will turn into wins.”
It felt like a door unlocked. Mistakes weren’t proof I was failing – they were proof I was growing. Losing wasn’t the end – it was part of the process.
That was the shift I’d been missing all along.
It wasn’t tennis by itself that changed me. It was realizing that with the right coach, the right guidance, and the right mindset, I didn’t have to figure it all out alone.
And for the first time, I started playing free.
I finally understood my biggest opponent wasn’t across from me – it was inside of me. Fear had dictated my choices for too long.
But once I learned to embrace risk, welcome mistakes, and play without fear – sport became fun again.
That’s what pulled me into Mental Performance Coaching. I knew other athletes were carrying the same fears and doubts. And I wanted to help them break free sooner than I did.
Because the same skills that help you take risks in sport are the ones that carry you through life.
My passion now is simple: to make sure athletes don’t let fear dictate their story. To help them play free, bold, and without regret.
I know what it’s like to sit on the sidelines wondering “What if?” – and I know the freedom that comes when you stop asking and start living the answer.
You can learn more about Coach Adam by clicking the video below:
Blair has over 13 years of experience as a Professional Dancer, Assistant Dance Captain & Cast Manager, as well as an additional 17 years of training. Over the last 3 decades, she has lived and experienced first hand the highest of highs & lowest of lows that come with pursuing a career in the Performing Arts.
As an Mental Performance Coach with CEP Mindset, Blair is able to personally understand the pressure her athletes are dealing with leading into competitions & being judged, the fear that comes with learning new skills & tricks, and the confidence issues associated with physical appearance.
Blair’s mission in connecting with other performing artists is fueled by her passion for dance and helping them see that when you prioritize having a healthy and strong mind over results, you will be able to fully enjoy being an artist & achieving consistent elite performance.
Core Clients: Dancing, Performing, Figure Skating, Gymnastics
Bio Highlights:
Education: MSc., Educational & Sport Psychology, Florida State University
Sport Background: 10+ years of competitive volleyball, former Division II athlete at UCCS, awarded student-athlete of the year (2018) and RMAC Summit Award (highest overall GPA in final competition, 2018) – still holds the program’s career dig record.
Core Clients: Volleyball, Softball, Baseball, Golf, Basketball, Soccer, Swimming, Gymnastics, Hockey
I like to say I was born competitive—probably because I had a twin brother beside me from day one.
Growing up, we were close but completely different. He was the chill, go-with-the-flow type, the kind of person things seemed to come naturally to. I was the emotional one. The stubborn one. The one who wanted to push. While he found music and fell in love with playing guitar, I found volleyball—and quickly, I was all in.
Even though our interests couldn’t have been more different, I still felt like everything between us was a competition.
Board games turned into feuds. Bowling nights felt more like competitions than just fun outings. Grades were always something I tracked, even if he wasn’t. I wasn’t just trying to keep up, I wanted to be better. I had to win.
Looking back, it wasn’t just about beating my brother—it was about proving something to myself.
And while that kind of drive led to a lot of success, it also built unhealthy habits that I didn’t recognize at the time.
I was constantly striving. Constantly working harder. Pushing limits. Over time, that drive turned into a growing obsession with being “the best.”
By high school, volleyball had become more than just a sport. It was an identity. Every practice, every drill, every rep—I gave it everything. That work ethic earned me a spot on a college team, and I even became a starter my freshman year.
On paper, I was doing everything right. But the pressure I put on myself kept rising.
After games, while others celebrated, I’d fixate on the mistakes. A missed serve. A moment I hesitated. Even when people told me I played great, I couldn’t hear it over the reel of “should have’s” playing in my head.
Despite things going well for me, I didn’t feel successful. I felt stuck in a loop of “not good enough.”
All in all, my obsession with being “perfect” was killing my love for the game. It felt like a dark cloud of mistakes would overshadow even the brightest moments—mine and my team’s.
The love I had for volleyball started slipping away, the mistakes always took center stage.
In my 10 years of being a highly competitive volleyball player, I had the pleasure of playing at the collegiate level, being a four-year starter, earning the RMAC Summit Award (highest overall GPA in final competition), and even setting a school record for most career digs.
Any logical person would say—that’s A LOT to be proud of.
But the truth was, I couldn’t fully feel that pride at the time. I was too caught up in the pressure I put on myself. I was getting in my own way.
During my college volleyball career, I realized how much I wished I had more tools to handle what I was going through mentally—not just physically or technically.
That’s what drew me to sport psychology. I wanted to understand the mental side of performance.
One of the main learnings was around untangling perfectionism and competitiveness. The key is swapping out perfectionism with a healthy dose of perspective.
Highly Competitive + Perfectionism = Fear of failure → which leads to downward spirals, getting stuck in your own head, and losing touch with the love of the game.
Highly Competitive + Perspective = Healthy ambition → fueled by the mental tools to zoom out, the self-compassion to reset, and the ability to stay connected to the love of the game.
It took me a while to come to these realizations.
After I finished my collegiate career, I went on to earn my Master’s in Sport Psychology from Florida State University and began a career as a Mental Performance Coach.
Since then I’ve dedicated my life to supporting athletes of all ages, levels, and sports. Just like my twin brother and I, every athlete is different. That’s what makes this work so meaningful. Everyone’s story is unique, and their challenges are personal.
Now, as a Mental Performance Coach at CEP I get to help athletes strengthen their mindset, build self-awareness, and develop tools that not only help them perform—but thrive.
It pains me to see how many athletes get caught in the perfectionism trap—robbing them of confidence, joy, and fulfillment in their sport. Just like it did for me.
But that’s why I love to help athletes understand themselves better, untangle perfectionism and competitiveness, and build the tools they need to perform with freedom, perspective, and confidence.
You can learn more about Coach Natasha by clicking the video below:
Bio Highlights:
Education: MC., Master of Counselling, City University of Seattle
Sport Background: 10 years of competitive hockey at the junior, college, & professional levels
Core Clients: Hockey, Baseball, Basketball, Soccer, Volleyball, Football
Have you ever loved something so much that — while you’re in it — the rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s an experience of being fully immersed, also known as the flow state. This was my experience growing up playing hockey in a rural town where there wasn’t much else to do.
I started playing from a very young age and hockey quickly became my first love. It felt like my safe space — full of peace and joy where nothing bad could happen.
Like every young Canadian hockey player, I had dreams that were going to take me far. The only thing that could hold me back was fear.
This fantasy quickly turned into my nightmare. Starting with the seeds of doubt that were planted at the age of 11.
“I’m not good enough.”
This was the message that perpetually swirled around in my head. The voice significantly overpowered anything and everything.
But how was it created? Where did it come from?
Only one season prior, I had all the confidence in the world. What changed?
It started with authority figures that I looked up to in my life. As a kid, I was very impressionable, and learned abundantly and quickly from those around me.
Being a student of the game, I needed help reflecting on what was going well and what I could work on to get better. Instead, those who were most influential to me continuously highlighted all the things I did wrong, as well as everything I wasn’t doing or doing well enough. This wore on me.
This inadvertently created a standard or expectation that was unrealistic — a perfectionist mindset.
Eventually, the “I’m not good enough” became my default self-talk — my inner voice. So in addition to the consistent external criticism of my performances, I became my own worst critic.
Everything I did, good or bad, that voice in my head found a way to criticize me and find something insufficient about my performance. I could do hundreds of things right but my focus was only on the things I did wrong, even if it was only one.
Perfection became the expectation, which is ironic because perfection doesn’t exist in sport. So when perfection wasn’t achieved and my performance wasn’t up to the standards I expected of myself, I would pick apart my performance. I was ruthless with myself and wouldn’t stop until I was demoralized and left feeling ashamed and humiliated with my performance.
Not a very good model for success, is it?
It’s very clear to see now that my confidence was completely shattered. Given that my entire identity was being a hockey player, I suffered outside of hockey as well. Well-being and performance have a bi-directional relationship with one another. This means that mental health and mindset both have significant influence on each other.
I was stuck in a never-ending feedback loop: self-deprecating thoughts, feeling inadequate, unworthy, and scared, performing poorly, leading to more self-doubt and fear, all of which confirmed that the voice in my head was right — I wasn’t good enough.
I was afraid of being trapped in the loop through shortcomings and mistakes, so inevitably I played timid, scared, and in constant fear of making mistakes. This didn’t do me any favours, and made things even worse because I wasn’t performing even close to my potential.
Cue the feedback loop once again. The more it happened, the further stuck I became in the cycle — this is a classic negative reinforcement loop — which I had no clue I was in at the time.
The hockey rink became something that crippled me inside. A place where I felt most vulnerable to the exposure of the weakest parts of myself. A terror I had never experienced before. It was like walking into the spotlight on a stage by myself, knowing that thousands of people watching were about to watch me make a fool of myself, and that horrible sense of not feeling like I was enough. This dynamic and fear ruled my experience of playing the game I loved for the next 7 years.
When you sustain the experience I described over a number of years, it’s more than enough to wear you down to the point where you no longer enjoy it. My love for the game had been completely taken away from me, and I blamed the game for it instead of all the things and people that contributed to the place I was in mentally, including myself. But how are you supposed to understand that as a kid when your only job should be to love the game and enjoy the experience.
Mixing in adversity, setbacks, and disappointment in myself, and the dreams that I felt the game had robbed me of, I decided to part ways with it after my 18-year-old season, only my second in junior with two years left of eligibility to play. From my perspective, the game had given me everything and then took it all away, and I was done with it.
In a way, it was freeing. I was no longer prisoner to my own critical self-talk, at least in the rink anyways. The voice had grown enough that it infected all other parts of my life, but on the ice it was the worst.
Finally, I felt like I could do what I wanted to do and make my own choices — for me. I felt liberated. I decided to move out and go to University, and then I found out the University had a hockey team.
I reflected on my journey and whether it was something I was even slightly interested in — of course, I was. So I decided to try out, but with no expectations, no pressure, no overthinking.
As you can probably guess, it felt different. It felt like I had autonomy and freedom to make my own choices. I didn’t choose to play for anyone else but myself, and that was empowering.
Once I realized it was my choice to play and that I didn’t need to, nor did I have any expectations of myself or from others, it freed me from all the voices of doubt, perfectionism, and fear.
I felt like I did when I was a kid, reconnecting with the love and joy for the game, and that made all the difference. I was a new me — the rebirth of a new player.
After walking on to the University of Victoria Vikes men’s hockey team, I refound my passion. My love for the game was reignited and everything came rushing back to me — my skills, my emotion, my desire, all of it.
I played there for 5 years before playing two seasons of professional hockey in Sweden, something both myself and others had written me off for. I never could have imagined after that last year of junior that I would one day be playing pro in Europe. I had fulfilled my dreams just in a different way than I pictured, and that was okay.
Don’t get me wrong, it was nothing to brag about but I was proud. I had been through so much adversity and learned so much through all of it, including how much strength and resilience I had. The challenges I went through helped me grow in ways I never thought possible. I can only imagine what my experience would have been like if I had someone to help me through those tough times.
My experiences have led me to believe that while winning and success are great, we learn the most about ourselves, and about life in general, through our suffering. It is only through suffering that we can begin to truly appreciate our life, have gratitude, and find our purpose.
This brings me to where I am now, where I can provide a space for athletes to talk about and work through their struggles and setbacks. I am so extremely passionate about this work because I know what it is like to suffer alone and in silence, and having someone there to connect and empathize with you is so powerful.
With my educational background and training, as well as my personal experiences in sport, I found myself able to bring both of my passions together to give others the support I never had. It was then that I found a new purpose.
My job now is to empower others to reach their goals and dreams by acknowledging their challenges, embracing their strengths, and finding their own inner resilience. I guide them to develop and utilize strategies, tools, and techniques that can enhance their performance and overall well-being. The transformative nature of this work is not only beneficial for sport, but also for navigating the challenges of life.
You can learn more about Coach Luciano by clicking the video below:
Sean Mahoney is a member of the Association for Applied Sport Psychology (AASP), and a Master’s candidate in the Sport and Performance Psychology program at the University of Denver. For as long as he can remember, Sean has been fascinated by human performance and how to gain an edge over the competition. For most of his athletic career, he focused on the physical aspect of performance but neglected the mental. Because of this, he struggled with performance anxiety, focus issues, and limiting beliefs pertaining to confidence and self-doubt. His lack of focus on optimizing his mental game prevented him from reaching his full potential.
Sean’s sport career began at a young age, but changed course after he suffered serious neck injury just before his senior year of high school. The injury caused him to retire from sport and set him on course for a long journey of injury recovery. This experience led him to realize the importance of the mental aspect of injury recovery, and ultimately the mental aspects of performance in general. Sean‘s unique life experiences have fuelled him with passion and drive to help others think, feel, and perform to the highest range of their capabilities as consistently as possible.
Sean has worked with youth, amateur, and professional athletes from a wide range of sports. Sean has worked with both teams and individuals and has experience working with adaptive sports and athletes with disabilities.
Education:
Core Clients:
Bio Highlights:
Sport Background:
Education: MS., Sport and Performance Psychology, California State University, Fresno
Core Clients: Swimming, Water Polo, Hockey, Track and Field, Basketball, Tennis, Competitive Shooting
I’m at the doctor’s office with my mom for my 7th-grade physical, standing against the wall getting my height measured. “5’11,” my doctor says, confirming that I’ve officially grown over a foot in a single year… “Shoot up like a weed” as my grandma would say.
But they also send me for an X-ray. The result — I am diagnosed with double-curve scoliosis.
I’m a kid facing a life-altering decision… undergo spinal surgery that would fuse metal rods into my spine as I grow, or wear a back brace 24 hours a day. Am I even allowed to be making a decision that big at 13?
After weighing the options, my parents and I decide to start with the less invasive choice: the back brace, to see if it could mitigate the adverse effects. With this choice comes an even harsher reality — I can’t play “land sports” anymore due to the compressive effect on my spine and the risk of worsening an already bad situation.
I have a big triathlon coming up that I’ve been preparing for for months…
Can’t I have one last go?
Am I ever going to feel normal again?
Am I ever going to feel like me again?
With some hesitation and a lot of unregulated emotions, I began thinking about what life would be like with swimming as my primary sport. I had never just focused on one thing, and I took a ton of pride in that. Playing multiple sports had given me the ability to holistically develop as an athlete because I avoided specializing early.
But without much of a choice, I turned to the water.
The Transition to the Pool
After a full year of staring at the black line at the bottom of the pool for countless yards, I’m mentally burnt out from the repetition.
Warm up. Pre-set. Kick set. Main set. Cool down. Repeat.
The physical support that my back brace had given me, now was weighing me down mentally. I’m unmotivated, uninspired, and underwhelmed by how bland the world feels compared to who I was before that doctor’s appointment.
A friend from swim had invited me to a pre-season water polo practice, it was “bring a friend” day and I was the lucky selection… or so I thought.
After that practice, I swore to my 14-year old self that I would NEVER do THAT again… How do people pick a sport like water polo?! You can’t touch the bottom of the pool… you can’t grab the ball with both hands… if you don’t want to play defense, you will most certainly pay for it… theres only a few minutes between each quarter to catch your bearings… and while doing all of this, people are trying to DROWN YOU?! I hate it…
But I keep showing up.
I quickly fell in love. The challenge, the team, the competitiveness of it all spoke to me in a way that was completely different from swimming – and every other sport I grew up doing.
The balance between the two sports is everything that was missing. I’m mentally stronger than I have ever been, and it’s all because of an unexpected finding at the doctors office.
After three years of being a dual sport athlete and creating success in both swimming and water polo, I can’t imagine one without the other. Do I have to pick just one to do in college? There’s no way to do both…
But is there?
NCAA Division-I Career
I begin my dual-sport collegiate career as a biology major at one of the most competitive universities known for sending brilliant undergraduates straight into dental, physical therapy, and medical school. Trying to manage rigorous academics, two sports, and freshman life runs me into the ground — and it does.
A question that I often ask myself arises from this specific adverse moment, “So what? Now what?”
The weight of knowing I could do more becomes the chip on my shoulder. I make the decision to step away from swimming to focus strictly on water polo, work hard in the classroom, and begin to develop exponentially.
With the rapid increase in my capabilities, my role on the team shifts, and with that shift, came a new obstacle – pressure from performance expectations.
The doubt in my abilities slowly starts creeping in — filling the cracks in my confidence, whispering its way into my mind. I go from barely touching the water my freshman year to becoming a critical piece my sophomore year.
I can execute the tactics in practice with ease. But in games, I feel the game moving at lightspeed, I can’t keep up, my head is barely staying above water.
The water has turned into quicksand. My heart rate skyrockets, my hands vibrate, and my vision pins. I feel myself spiraling; I don’t know what’s going on; everything is happening too fast.
After a few ‘quicksand’ games, I ask for help.
I’m handed a single breathing exercise and sent on my way with a smile and a pat on the back.
“You’ll be alright, Sav. It’s just a phase. You’ll get through it.”
I know I need more. There has to be more… right?
Stumbling into Sport Psychology
That spring, I sat in my first sport psychology class… and I found exactly what I had been searching for. I experimented with the concept of reset routines — what we do when the moments feel bigger than we can handle. I fell in love with the science of building composure, resilience formed through repetition, and mental clarity achieved through breathwork.
Within two weeks, I had changed my major to psychology and added several sport science classes. That summer, I was invited to try out for the national team. After a grueling week of being pushed to my physical limit — with numerous opportunities to practice my new love for mental skills training — I was selected to represent Team USA at the World University Games.
I came back to school my junior year ready to dominate and train incredibly hard that fall. I was becoming the version of myself I always knew I could be… and then I broke my thumb in practice a week into the season. And then, two days after I’m cleared to play, COVID sends everyone home. I completed my bachelor’s degree alone on my computer in my childhood bedroom.
Coach Sav
I’m sitting at home — depressed and frustrated — when my phone rings. I’m asked if I want to help coach a local girls’ water polo club in the Central Valley. Little do I know this conversation will alter the trajectory of my heart — and the hearts of so many others. The next day, I receive my acceptance letter into the Sport and Performance Psychology program of my dreams.
Over the past six years, I’ve had the honor of coaching water polo at nearly every level: youth, middle school, junior varsity, varsity, club, and NCAA Division I.
My path has been filled with bumps, sharp turns, and unexpected drop-offs… and the only way out has always been through. When your back is against the wall and you feel like there isn’t a way out… How long does it take to realize you can break the wall down behind you?
Perfect progression was never something I experienced. It was all about setbacks, fear, and finding new ways forward.
That’s why I love being a mental performance coach: to help athletes do the same — to adapt when plans fall apart, to grow when comfort feels safer, and to play with confidence no matter what life throws their way.
You can learn more about Coach Savannah by clicking the video below:
Education: MA., Counselling Psychology, University of Victoria
Core Clients: Hockey, Baseball, Soccer, Lacrosse, Basketball
“You’ve been cut.”
Every athlete goes through their career hoping that they never have to hear those words, but here I was. My first year trying out for a BC Premier League baseball team, and a coach has sat me down to tell me that I would not play for a team that I had been giving everything to make.
The extra batting practice, bullpens, workouts, all for nothing.
For a while, I questioned everything. Was all the time I had spent on baseball worth it? Should I just focus on hockey?
As a 2-sport athlete, hockey felt like the answer. I had been working just as hard on the ice and figured if baseball wasn’t going to work out, I can focus my attention on my time at the rink.
I began to have hope on my perspectives of making a junior hockey team, to make up for a lost opportunity in baseball. I treated hockey like a second chance.
But hockey had its own way of teaching me that things don’t always work out the way you expect.
Focused on Others
I ended up making a junior hockey team. At that point, I thought the hard part was over. I thought everything would be smooth sailing from there.
Oh, was I wrong.
I quickly started comparing myself to everyone else on my team. There were a lot of players ahead of me in the depth chart. They were getting more ice time, getting powerplay and penalty kill time, and being trusted in key moments of the game.
Me on the other hand, I was getting the odd shift, maybe getting some ice time in the last 5 minutes of a period, but most of the time watching the game from the bench.
I understood that as a rookie on the team, I had to earn my way up. But, I kept on comparing myself to my teammates.
I started watching everything. The lineup card, the clock, who was going over the boards, who was on powerplay. I watched the players sitting beside me on the bench and wondered why they were getting opportunities that I wasn’t.
This not only impacted me mentally, but my physical ability began to suffer. I was so focused on what others were doing, I wasn’t taking time to work on my skills.
I started getting even less ice, the coach had less trust in me, I even spent some games in the stands as a scratch.
I was in a downward spiral with no way out.
Control the Controllables
During the holiday break, I had some time away from the rink to reflect on my season so far.
I was around my friends and family who were asking about my season. They asked me how I was playing, how much fun I was having, how excited I was for the second half of the season.
These are all questions I did not expect. In my head, I was thinking they would be asking about playing time, power player opportunities, if I was playing on the first line. But, all the people around me only cared about how I was enjoying the game, not the comparison I had with others.
As I was answering them, all I was thinking about was how I wasn’t getting playing time or getting more opportunities with the team. I had been so focused on others and the things that I couldn’t control, I had completely forgotten about reflecting on my own game and what I was able to control.
In fact, I forgot to love the game.
I remember having a conversation with my dad while watching the world junior hockey tournament on TV that winter. He asked me what my goals were for that season. I told him I wanted more goals, assists, playing time, powerplay time, all the things that every hockey player wants.
What he told me next has stuck with me for years.
“What are you going to do to make it happen?”
I paused and thought about his question and what he was asking me. I realized that he wasn’t asking me about the things that I couldn’t control, but the things that were in my control.
This is the moment where my mindset shifted.
I realized that I couldn’t decide how much ice time I was going to get. I couldn’t control which players were ahead of me on the depth chart. However, what I could control was how I responded. I could prepare, compete, listen to feedback, be a good teammate, work on my craft in practice, and ultimately make sure that I was ready when an opportunity came.
This revelation didn’t suddenly make me a top-line player. I still wanted more. But I started to understand that having more opportunities comes from development, and development doesn’t ONLY happen when you’re being rewarded.
From this, I started to not only perform better, I started to love the game again.
When I got back on the ice for the second half of the season, I had a whole new perspective on the game.
In my first game back, my ice time did not change one bit. If anything, I probably saw less ice than usual. In the past, I would’ve sulked and focused on how much ice time others were getting.
This time around, it was different. Instead, I thought about how I could make the most of the next shift and make an impact with limited playing time. After the game, instead of complaining about my ice time, I thought about ways I could get better in our next practice or off the ice.
By the end of the year, not only had my game improved, I started to gain the coaches’ trust and got to play some meaningful minutes, despite being one of the youngest players.
I ended up playing 4 years for that junior hockey team and loving every moment. As I developed with the team, I got more and more opportunities and because of focusing on what I could control, I was ready to take on any opportunity that was thrown at me.
The Best of Both Worlds
Looking back, I think baseball had already started teaching me the same lesson that hockey would later reinforce.
Getting cut in baseball forced me to confront a difficult question:
What do I do when the outcome isn’t in my control?
Baseball taught me how to respond when a door closed. Hockey taught me how to keep growing while waiting for another one to open. These lessons stayed with me long after I stopped playing and continue to shape the counsellor and mental performance coach I’ve become.
On paper, counselling and mental performance can look like different professions. But to me, they’re deeply connected. In both roles, I am actively listening, asking questions, building relationships, and helping someone move toward the person they want to become.
Similar to how I took lessons from both baseball and hockey, I can now take learnings from both counselling and mental performance and ultimately guide my work with athletes. Counselling taught me to slow down and listen. Mental performance has taught me how to turn that understanding into action.
For the longest time, I felt like I had to choose one path. But, sometimes, the best path isn’t choosing one over the other.
Sometimes, it’s learning to live in both.
You can learn more about Coach Gabe by clicking the video below:
As a former member of McMaster University’s women’s soccer team, Emilie intimately understands the demands and challenges athletes face on and off the field. Although she encountered many challenges as a high-level athlete, particularly struggling with self-doubt and overthinking, Emilie was able to make a remarkable transformation when she began to embrace the principles of sports psychology.
Through dedicated practice and guidance, Emilie learned to manage her mindset, overcome self-doubt, and channel her focus effectively, ultimately leading to a significant improvement in her game. This pivotal shift not only elevated her performance on the field, but also instilled in her a deep appreciation for the profound impact of mental training on athletic success and enjoyment.
Drawing from her academic and athletic journey, Emilie is driven by a deep passion to optimize athletes’ performance through principles of sport psychology, just as she once did. Her ultimate goal is to empower athletes to consistently unlock their full potential – ensuring they perform at their peak level day in and day out.
Education: M.Sc., Kinesiology – Sport Psychology, Dalhousie University (currently enrolled)
Core Clients: Soccer, Basketball, Volleyball, Softball, Baseball, Figure Skating, Dance
James C Nellis is a Licensed Associate Counselor and High-Performance Coach who makes his home in Scottsdale Arizona. James’ expertise is in helping elite athletes, teams, and business professionals increase their performance, improve their understanding and relationship with self, and develop an overall sense of internal congruency and well-being.
James grew up as a highly successful athlete in the sports of hockey, golf, and baseball. Although James played all three sports at the highest levels in Canada, hockey became his main focus, but injuries ended his competitive playing career. James then turned his focus to business and launched a career in the financial services industry. He cofounded Regency Advisory Corporation in 2003, a financial services firm catering to high net worth business owners in Western Canada and sold the business in 2013 after a successful 10 years of serving clients. James’ focus since then has been personal development and working to help others. His ability to honestly self asses, to be open to feedback from others, make sound decisions, listen to an assess the needs of others, and communicate his intentions directly are his greatest strengths. James works with my clients to deliver key strategies and tactics helping them to develop in the areas of self-confidence, communication, process focus and growth mindsets, achieve their personal goals, understanding positive self-talk, develop visualization skills, accountability, and self-efficacy.
Education:
Bio Highlights:
Education: MSc., Applied Counselling Psychology, Yorkville University
Core Clients: Endurance Sports, Basketball, Soccer, Individual Sports, Hockey, Football
For over a decade, I coached top high school, collegiate, and professional runners across Canada and the U.S.
I helped athletes step onto some of the sport’s biggest start lines—fit, focused, and ready to perform. I knew how to build a peak. I knew how to prepare the mind and body. And I thought I knew what pressure felt like.
So when I stepped away from high-performance coaching and decided to start racing again myself, I figured I had an edge.
I had the background. I had the science. I had the mileage. Surely I could jump back in and compete at a high level.
Then came the World Half Ironman Championships.
I had qualified on my very first attempt. It should’ve been a dream scenario.
But instead, I found myself staring at my computer screen, hovering over the “Cancel Registration” button—heart pounding, stomach twisted in dread.
Do I really deserve this? What if I embarrass myself?
The injuries that led me into triathlon had healed. My training was solid. But the pressure of competing on a world stage triggered something deeper—a fear I couldn’t outpace.
I clicked cancel.
And for a split second, I felt relief.
Then came the shame.
To prove it wasn’t fear that stopped me, I turned pro the next season. If I was a professional, I told myself, I’d have to show up. I’d have to race.
But I registered for four events that year… and started none of them.
The truth hit hard:
I wasn’t physically broken. I was mentally blocked.
I had spent my life chasing high performance.
As a coach. As a professional triathlete. As someone who completed graduate degrees in Coaching, Counselling Psychology, and Health Administration—all in pursuit of excellence.
But none of that prepared me for what I really needed: a roadmap for navigating pressure from the inside out.
That realization didn’t come all at once. It came in flashes—like sitting in the parking lot of another race I didn’t start, staring at my running shoes, willing myself to believe I still belonged.
Or lying awake the night before a race, knowing deep down I would find some reason not to show up.
It wasn’t just missed races—it was missed trust in myself.
It took time to rebuild. To stop tying my worth to results, and start tying it to how I showed up in the moments that mattered. When I mastered this and started getting back on the start lines I not only had more joy, and fun, but performed better, and fell in love with my sport again!
That rebuilding process became the foundation for everything I teach now.
What I learned the hard way is what eventually led me to CEP.
At CEP, we believe mindset isn’t about thinking harder or hyping yourself up—it’s about training your mind with the same intention and structure you use to train your body.
That belief is what led me to create the IGNITE Method—a six-step process built to help athletes and high performers move from stuck to steady, from inconsistent to elite:
I: Identify Your Mental Barriers
G: Generate Your Best Traits
N: Nurture Your Pre-Performance Routine
I: Instill Focus Under Pressure
T: Train Your Mental Skills Daily
E: Evaluate and Grow After Every Performance
IGNITE is practical, repeatable, and transformational—and it reflects the exact journey I wish I had when I needed it most.
Today, through my work at CEP, I have the privilege of supporting Olympians, NCAA athletes, executives, and emerging stars as they strengthen their mindset like they strengthen their physical powers so they can achieve Consistent Elite Performance.
I understand what it feels like to be stuck, to doubt, to wonder if you’ll ever break through.
And I also know what’s on the other side of doing the work: freedom, clarity, and the ability to compete with full confidence.
This is why I feel so privileged and lucky to be able to wake up every day and help the next generation of athletes think bigger, strive for greatness, and reach for goals they once thought impossible. It’s an honor to support so many high-performers as they break through mental barriers, unlock their potential, and show up with full confidence, on and off the field.
In the end, the greatest victories aren’t the medals or the times or the records.
They’re the moments you choose to show up—fully.
You can learn more about Coach Brant by clicking the video below:
Hayley has always had a strong passion for organization, efficiency and supporting teams to reach their full potential. Her success as an Administrative Assistant is driven by her diverse experiences, both in the office and beyond, which have given her a deep understanding of the importance of overcoming challenges and staying focused.
Hayley has also competed in competitive art shows throughout her youth. In these competitions, Hayley faced many of the same stressors and mental blocks that athletes often encounter, like self-doubt, pressure, and the challenge of maintaining focus under stress.
Her personal & professional experience make Hayley an extremely valuable first contact at CEP. In your intake call, Hayley will do her best to utilize all of her experiences to connect and empathize with you, and ensure you are matched with the best CEP Coach for you.
Education: Honours Diploma – Office Administration, Durham College
Alana’s background in Psychology, as well as Child & Youth Work has allowed her to dedicate her career to connecting with people and providing services that truly make a difference in their lives. Her approach as an Administrative Assistant is fueled by not only education, but personal experiences as well.
Alana was a competitive gymnast for 10 years, eventually becoming a gymnastics coach for 5 years. She has learned firsthand the value of discipline, dedication, and resilience. As a coach, she had the privilege of fostering growth and helping young athletes realize their potential—lessons that extend far beyond the gym.
Being the first point of contact at CEP, Alana speaks with full understanding of the tremendous value of developing mental skills and being mentally tough. Alana is committed to optimizing your intake call to ensure you are matched with the best CEP coach for you.
Education: B.A., Psychology, Brock University
Baylie began her academic journey at Western University in 2021, where she was a member of the Women’s Rugby Team during their undefeated season before transferring to Trent University in 2022. At Trent, Baylie earned both academic and athletic scholarships and was recognized as Rookie of the Year. While her athletic career has been marked by both personal and team successes, she understands firsthand the challenges of transitioning between teams, adapting to new environments, as well as managing pre-game nerves and fear of failure.
Early success in her sport made it difficult for Baylie to focus on anything beyond outcomes. This pressure caused her to struggle with her love for Rugby, even turning down opportunities she had once dreamed of due to fear of failure. She noticed that in games when the stakes “didn’t matter”, whether it was because the outcome wouldn’t impact standings or the game was purely for fun, she played better than ever. Recognizing that this wasn’t just a coincidence, Baylie began to truly understand how large of a role mindset plays in performance.
Through her work as a Mental Performance Coach and Administrative Assistant at CEP Mindset, Baylie is dedicated to guiding athletes in overcoming mental barriers, rediscovering their passion, and building the resilience needed to succeed both on & off the field of play.
Education: B.Sc., Psychology – Health & Wellbeing Specialization, Trent University
Core Clients: Rugby, Basketball, Flag Football, Football, Track, Wrestling
Bio Highlights:
Sport Background: 5 years played in WHL, U17 Team Canada West, 2 NHL camps, 5 year varsity hockey player (University of British Columbia), 3 years of professional hockey in Europe.
Education: B.A., Psychology, Commerce – University of British Columbia
Core Clients: Hockey, Golf, Soccer, Lacrosse, Track, Basketball, Football
I just finished training camp and preparing for my first exhibition games as a 16 year old in the WHL.
I’m waiting in line for a drill when the trainer leans over the glass with a visor in his hand – the symbolic crowning into junior hockey. I had made the team.
To this point in my hockey career, everything had gone according to plan. An elite minor hockey player, high draft pick, championship season in U18, now making the WHL at 16 years old – I was riding high and anticipated this being the start to another successful season.
My skillset put me in a position where the usual adversities, like overthinking, were not a factor.
But my rookie season was a different animal.
Opportunity, roles, and expectations were dependent on the smallest of details – it wasn’t ‘just a game’ anymore.
Questioning Everything
I was a young player in and out of the lineup on a contending team, trying to earn ice time – but on a short leash.
I wanted to make plays and contribute but I also couldn’t make mistakes.
So I played safe and kept the puck on the boards, dumped it in, didn’t go through the middle. This felt like the right move at the moment.
But I eliminated my best quality – my playmaking and creativity. I felt like I was trying to survive every shift rather than make an impact.
It was a lose / lose.
“But I am a skilled player – I create offense”
“What do they want me to do?”
“I can’t do anything right”
This overthinking led to what I refer to as ‘Paralysis by Analysis’ – I had totally lost trust in my instincts and actively questioned every play on the ice. I was so concerned about not messing up.
Everything became personal, developing emotional components that did not exist. Criticism and correction from my coaches was more than the moment itself, I felt they had it out for me.
This entire season had me questioning who I was as a player. The overthinking carried a lot of weight and I definitely wasn’t having fun.
Figuring It Out – Or So I Thought
Those growing pains in my first season weren’t all for nothing. I learned the professional side of the game and the level of work involved. So that off-season I trained rigorously and prioritized my development.
This was my draft year, so I needed to make some changes. I showed up to camp in the best shape of my life, dominated pre-season, and I was starting to generate some buzz with my play through the first month.
Then a play happened that I’ll never forget.
The final seconds ticked down of a blowout game, I crossed the red line and dumped the puck to close things out. Turning back to celebrate with my teammates, I take an unsuspecting but routine hit. As I go down, my skate gets caught in a rut, and I feel my ankle snap over the side of my boot. In shock, I try to skate off, but my blade is no longer making proper contact with the ice.
I was in survival mode the next 72 hours, a delirious state until I was released after surgery. Then reality struck.. I would not be playing for a very long time.
This sidelined me for nearly the entire season. I returned prematurely just before playoffs and struggled to find my rhythm in a team that was a well oiled machine. Maybe I was hesitant because of my injury? Maybe I had lost my confidence? Maybe it was all luck at the start of the year? The overthinking returned. I was back to fighting for my spot in the lineup and searching for answers; it felt like I had to be perfect all over again.
Amongst a sold out crowd in the Rose Garden, there I sat in the media booth as our team’s playoff run came to an end. I was almost relieved.
Back Against The Wall
Mid summer, I had returned from a run at the lake when my coach called – I hesitated before answering, predicting what this might be about.
It started off fine, he asked about summer, my family and sympathized with how my season had gone.
But then the elephant in the room was addressed – what were they going to get from me next year? As I began pacing up and down the deck as I often do on the phone, he illustrated that my back was against the wall, I needed to prove myself once again.
My heart fell into my stomach, envisioning countless scenarios of how this unfolds. It seemed like a make or break moment for me; either I take control and own my game, or risk my career fading into the abyss.
Something changed for me at that moment. The control, perfection and micro-managing every moment now seemed futile.
Things just got real.
The change I needed had to be internal. One that didn’t rely on outcomes. One that I could control.
“What is my role? What Impact can I consistently have to create value in my game”
I had been playing on a short leash, because I perceived my game through success and failure.
But going into my third season, I would lengthen my leash through my attitude and intensity – things I could control.
I realized it’s not about being perfect, it’s about the consistent attitude and approach you play with – high energy competition buys you more leash.
And it did. I wasn’t walking on eggshells anymore and overthinking every play, because I developed confidence in my ability to consistently play with the same intensity and compete.
Sure enough, my offensive game returned; My effort afforded me to make mistakes.
This Time Was Different
I had become a valuable player for my team, and rarely questioned it. After a brief injury, I returned to the lineup on a lengthy road trip, where I didn’t miss a beat.
During the team meal following the game, the coach called myself and another player for a chat. Taken by complete surprise, he sat us in a booth and informed us we were involved in a blockbuster trade. Without time to process things, we found ourselves hugging and saying farewell to our teammates.
They travelled to the next city, while we were shipped off to play the following evening for our new team.
A familiar script played out in my head.
“I have to start over again”
“What if things are different with this team”
“What kind of role will they play me in?”
As I sat in the dressing room with my new team, still processing the last 24 hours, a lighthearted hockey phrase broke the silence: “They didn’t want you, but we do”. Regardless if that was entirely true, I was valued in my current position. The threat of uncertainty no longer lingered, I was excited for the opportunity. The environment didn’t matter, I knew how I would show up. It turns out my leash wasn’t in direct relation with my coach, it was a mentality that I could apply wherever. I had confidence in my identity and compete – they would see this along with the other elements to my game.
Not without its challenges and a plethora of injuries, I carried this mentality through the rest of my junior career, leading to multiple NHL camp experiences.
Another Choice
I had always valued academics, but was faced with a difficult decision – pursue a professional career at my peak or play university hockey and access my WHL scholarship. This presented an avenue to dive into another passion of mine, sports psychology. I had developed an interest in the mental game through personal trials and triumphs – now I had the opportunity to leverage this relationship while learning and continuing to play.
I spent the summer contemplating my options, but I had a small window to decide – so I trusted my gut. Academics it was. I enrolled at the University of British Columbia.
As I began my scholastic journey, some concepts directly correlated, others I was able to bridge the gap. But what I came to find was that whichever thoughts I fuelled, became my actions. This applied to all areas of life – certainly hockey; my career had illustrated that.
My time at university was shaped by an incredible group of teammates, enriched by broadening my studies through psychology and business, and highlighted by two national championship appearances.
My Mental Toolbox
Following graduation, I pursued the opportunity to play professional hockey in Europe. What may have seemed daunting in the past, I embraced as an incredible opportunity – which it was.
While in Europe, I felt compelled to utilize this mental toolbox of skills that I had accumulated over the years – but not just for myself.
I further pursued my passion in sports psychology through an opportunity to work with athletes from across the world, helping them overcome similar obstacles that I encountered. This allowed me to transition from playing to coaching in a field that I have lived and studied.
Now retired from playing, my mission is to support dedicated athletes in pursuit of fulfilling their capabilities.
As athletes, we care – so we want to control. But oftentimes we cannot and the unknown is uncomfortable. This crippled me for years. Now I help others develop their own perspective and identity, something I learned the hard way, so that they can find consistent confidence.
You can learn more about Coach Austin by clicking the video below:
Bio Highlights:
Education:
Sport Background:
Core Clients: Track and field, endurance sports, triathlon, dance, figure skating, gymnastics, individual sports.
“You deserve to find out how good you could be.”
These words quite literally changed the trajectory of my life.
But first, let’s rewind a few years.
Growing up, I was a competitive dancer. You could find me at the studio four or five hours a day, four to five times a week. Multiply that by 12 or so years.
Dance introduced me to the idea of performing under pressure. Unlike points-based sports where outcomes are determined by clear metrics (e.g. either the shot goes in or it doesn’t), my routines were judged subjectively—every movement open to scrutiny. Were my toes pointed enough? How high did I jump? Did I stay composed from start to finish?
At the time, I was focused entirely on the physical —cleaner turns, higher jumps, sharper lines— trying to refine my technique to make every movement as strong as possible. While I was training my body to be strong and resilient, it wasn’t until I transitioned into adulthood that I began learning how to train my mind.
After graduating from university I started running casually — a 5k here, a 10k there — but without any real direction or goals. That’s when I began working with a run coach.
One of the first things he said to me was, “You deserve to find out how good you could be.” Those words stopped me in my tracks. It was the first time someone had voiced such clear belief in my potential.
Just a few months into working with this coach, I ran my first marathon in 3 hours and 33 minutes. To some, that might seem impressive—but it was far from the goal I had set for myself.
I had spent months training to run a sub-three hour marathon, so falling more than 30 minutes short of my goal was a disappointment to say the least. I didn’t just feel like I had let myself down—I felt like I had let my coach down, too. And honestly? I was embarrassed.
When the race started to unravel, so did my mindset. I could see my goal slipping through my fingers as the minutes ticked by. And the longer the race went on, the louder the negative thoughts became.
I thought about the early morning alarms. The countless long runs and workouts I pushed through when I didn’t feel like it. All those sacrifices, made in pursuit of one singular goal. And here I was – on the day that mattered most – and it felt like my body didn’t show up for me. But not in the way you might expect. Physically, I largely felt fine. Mentally? That was another story.
That experience opened my eyes to a truth I couldn’t ignore: there was a gap between my physical preparation and my mental readiness. While I had trained my body for the demands of the 42.2 km distance, I hadn’t prepared my mind for the pressure that came with it. I realized then that mental fitness isn’t just an added bonus—it’s a requirement for high performance.
So, I got to work.
With the help of a Mental Performance Coach, I started building the mental resilience I needed to show up to start lines with not just a strong body—but a strong mind, too.
We worked on managing nerves in the lead-up to big workouts and races. I learned how to notice unhelpful thought patterns and replace them with more constructive ones. I practiced reframing failure—not as proof I wasn’t good enough, but as feedback I could learn from. I started approaching challenges with a mindset rooted in curiosity and self-belief, rather than fear and self-doubt.
The work I did with my Mental Performance Coach didn’t just change how I showed up – it changed my results.
Five weeks after racing my first marathon, I laced up my shoes again—this time finishing in 3 hours and 3 minutes. And while I won’t pretend that shaving 30 minutes off my time didn’t feel good (it absolutely did), the best part was how confident I felt from start to finish.
Fast forward a few years. I’ve raced the Boston Marathon twice, competed internationally at the elite level, and ran my most recent marathon in 2 hours and 46 minutes. While the most obvious difference is the 47 minutes I’ve been able to shave off my marathon PR, what’s less visible is the behind-the-scenes work it took to show up to workouts and starting lines with confidence.
The real growth didn’t come from simply running faster splits or longer runs—it came from changing what was happening inside my head. I began to ask myself questions like:
Oftentimes, performance breakthroughs come from what happens internally (e.g. mental), not just externally (e.g. physical). Today, I stand on starting lines with a calm mind, knowing that I’ve not only put in the physical work, but also the mental work, to succeed.
Mental strength isn’t something you either have or don’t—it’s built with intention and it lays the foundation for Consistent Elite Performance.
That belief, sparked by a simple statement from my coach years ago, still drives me—both in my own training and in the work I do with athletes.
As a Mental Performance Coach I help athletes and high performers build the same kind of mindset that helped transform my own running and help me close the gap between potential and performance. I’ve lived the pressure of competition, navigated setbacks, and come out the other side with a clearer understanding of what it really takes to perform at your best—day in and day out.
My background in high-performance sport, combined with my clinical training, allows me to understand the unique pressures athletes face—both on the surface and beneath it. Whether it’s managing nerves, bouncing back from failure, or trusting yourself when it counts, mental strength is the common thread behind Consistent Elite Performance.
Because you deserve to find out how good you can be—and have the mindset to make it happen.
You can learn more about Coach Elaina by clicking the video below:
Bio Highlights:
Education: Ph.D., Sport & Performance Psychology, York University
Sport Background: Played 10 years of competitive hockey at the junior, collegiate, & pro ranks
Core Clients: Professional Athletes (all sports) & Business Executives
It is the opening night of my NHL draft year. I’m 17 years old and I’m in the starting lineup. I’m standing on the blue line for the national anthem reviewing the big goals I’ve set for this season — I can feel the adrenaline buzzing through my body. It’s a crucial year to perform, get drafted, and make it one step closer to achieving my childhood dream of playing in the NHL.
But the puck drops… and nothing goes the way I imagined.
You see, I had a history of wearing my emotions on my sleeve. As a kid, when things went wrong, I’d slam my stick, doubt myself, spiral into frustration, and overthink every mistake. There were nights I rode the emotional rollercoaster so high I thought I was unstoppable — and others where I crashed so low I questioned if I even belonged on the ice.
I was outcome-obsessed and this created a constant battle in my head. Every shift felt like I had to produce points, and every glance from a coach, a parent, a scout carried the weight of judgment. When I got a point early in a game, I played loose and confident. But when I didn’t — when the bounces didn’t go my way despite how well I was playing — the tension crept in. I’d grip my stick tighter, second guess my decisions, and fall into a downward spiral that I couldn’t pull myself out of.
I was Mr. Inconsistent.
I’d go from playing confident and free to looking like a completely different player performing well below my capabilities.
To say the least, my mindset in my NHL draft season could make or break me. In game 1 of the season, I play with confidence and excitement from being in the starting lineup.
But I don’t register a point. My confidence drops. Making me go into the next game a little more tense and tentative. Game after game this cycle continues. By the 15-game mark, I’m slouched in the dressing room with zero points and zero confidence. The coach calls me into his office. He doesn’t sugarcoat it: without points, my ice time was going to be cut.
And it was. I ended up being a healthy scratch — which means I wasn’t even on the bench, I was in the stands, eating popcorn.
At 17-years-old all I wanted was to be out on the ice chasing down my dream, but instead I was forced to sit in the stands and watch all my peers chase down their dreams.
That happened to me 48 times that season — that’s a lot of popcorn!
My confidence was shattered. I could barely make a pass in practice. When I did get into a game and get a measly few shifts I played safe, scared, and timid.
Not surprisingly, I finished the season with zero points. Zero. And in case it’s not clear, you don’t get drafted to the NHL with zero points.
But the worst part wasn’t failing miserably at my goals nor eating all the stale popcorn.
The worst part is when the season ends and I go back home to North Bay, Ontario. It’s a pretty small town, and I’m the only guy playing in the OHL at the time—so I’m not a big deal, but I am kind of a big deal in a small town.
And someone has the nerve to say, “Hey, if I played 34 games in the OHL, I would have at least put up 1 point.”
My stomach drops. I feel like I just took a knife to the heart. I can’t decide if I want to fight him on the spot or run home, crawl under the covers, and cry.
All I can muster back is “You think I didn’t try to put up a point… ?”
I stumble away, my mind goes blank and my body goes numb as my entire identity is brought into question. I start to wonder:
I have just wasted everything I worked for my whole life?
Can I even bounce back from this?
Should I just give up?
I wanted to quit so bad.
But I realized my entire mindset that year had been about putting up points, getting drafted, and rising the ranks. I was consumed with the external results. So much so, that I lost touch with the love of the game.
The only way for me to move forward with the game was to get back to why I played in the first place. I asked myself:
What would my 10 year old self say to do?
What did I enjoy so much about the game back then?
Could I find and experience that same joy again in this new context?
The answers became clear. I was able to reconnect to the love of the game and it helped me break free from the weight of all the the external results and expectations.
By focusing on my passion and what I loved about the game in the first place it fueled the grit I needed to pick myself up and move forward. It ensured I did not let this failure define me.
I went on to play 8 more seasons of competitive hockey including a cup of coffee in the pro’s. I made great friends and memories – including winning a championship in junior hockey and I still love competing against my friends on the outdoor rink today.
This moment also started me on the path to finding a new approach to the mental game – one where my confidence could withstand the pressures, adversities, and distractions that come with elite sport.
I faced many more challenges in my career — a broken jaw, being sent down, and the constant battle of confidence. It took me nearly a decade of trial and error to piece together a mental game that worked.
It wasn’t easy. The sports world is full of cliché advice: “Stay positive.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Be confident.” None of that helped me. I needed real strategies — personalized and practical — that could keep me connected to the love of the game and help me play my best consistently, no matter what the scoreboard said.
That search became an obsession. I studied, tested, and refined everything I could about the mental game. Eventually, it drove me into academia, where I earned my Ph.D. in Sport Psychology from York University. Along the way, I’ve read 100’s of books and learned from world leaders in human performance like Dr. John Demartini and Todd Herman.
Through that blend of lived experience and science, I built what has now become the CEP Mindset System — a proven framework that has helped tens of thousands of athletes and high-performers play with reliable confidence, achieve Consistent Elite Performance, and, most importantly, stay connected to the love of the game.
I’ve dedicated my career to making sure athletes don’t have to fight the same battles I did. They don’t need to spend years riding the rollercoaster of inconsistency, gripping their stick too tight, or figuring it all out the hard way.
Because at the end of the day, sport should be fun. It’s an opportunity to develop life skills, build relationships, and fully express yourself — but it’s a shame when the joy of sport gets stripped away.
The good news? Mental performance is no longer dismissed as “soft.” It’s now recognized as a cornerstone of success and well-being — helping athletes thrive not only in sport, but in life.
That shift, combined with our proven system, has propelled CEP into one of the largest Mental Performance Coaching firms in North America. With a team of 20+ coaches and growing, our mission at CEP Mindset is clear: to change the culture of sport by helping athletes build healthier, stronger mindsets — one athlete at a time.
Danielle Hanus, MAAs a former competitive swimmer for over 20+ years at the international level competing for Canada both on the Junior and Senior National Teams, Danielle is no stranger to the struggles of sport on mental health. Danielle struggled with performance anxiety, nerves, plateau, the results trap and less than ideal coaches. These aspects led her on her journey to rediscover herself and her athletic identity – personally working with Sport Psychologists and Mental Performance Coaches. Throughout the work with coaches she learned to move away from being her own harshest critic, to remembering why she loves competing in the first place – having fun and enjoying the journey!
Danielle is currently enrolled in a Masters of Arts in Counselling Psychology program, where she holds a Registered Psychotherapist Qualifying status. She works to create a bond between coach and athlete in a collaborative manner that invites experiences, mental health, and psycho-education into Counselling and Mental Performance. Working with athletes of all ages, Danielle believes there is a lot of knowledge that can be learned and shared across cohorts – and that mental health is foundational in any athlete’s career. Danielle’s coaching objective is to help athletes develop collaborative alliances where evidence-based practices and interventions can be adapted to every athlete’s individual needs and goals.
Education:
Core Clients: Swimming, Hockey, Gymnastics, Track & Field, Individual Sports
Monica Russell, MAFor Monica, being an athlete has always been a central part of her life, providing both purpose and joy. Having played high-level soccer for over 17 years, she understands firsthand the dedication, discipline, and resilience it takes to perform at a high level. Along her journey, she faced challenges with injuries, performance anxiety, pressure, fear of failure, and transitioning out of competitive sport. Monica also recognizes how rewarding and enjoyable sport can be when approached with the right mindset.
Monica is currently completing her Master of Arts in Counselling Psychology, building on her academic background with an Honours degree in Psychology and a minor in Kinesiology. Her path into counselling is rooted in empathy for athletes who discover their purpose and identity within sport. She believes that integrating psychological principles and tools in an athlete’s training not only yields enormous advantages, but also supports athletes in becoming the best version of themselves – both on and off the field.
Monica is dedicated to helping athletes overcome mental barriers, reach their goals, and reconnect with the joy that inspired them to play in the first place!
Education:
Core Clients: Soccer, Basketball, Volleyball, Hockey, Running, Golf
Bio Highlights:
Education: Master of Science (M.Sc.), Kinesiology – Sport Psychology Specialization, Brock University (Currently Enrolled)
Sport Background: 5+ years playing and coaching University rugby (OUA), 10+ years playing competitive hockey growing up (OMHA)
Core Clients: Hockey, Rugby, Lacrosse, Volleyball, Track & Field, Soccer, Baseball
It’s my second year of university and I’m 30 minutes away from starting my first university rugby game.
I’ve put in countless hours to get to this point, grinding through practices, studying game film, and pushing myself in the gym.
But all I can think about is how anxious I am.
I try to create excitement and energy but all I can hear are the thoughts of:
“Am I good enough?”
“Do I even deserve to be here?”
“Why am I like this?”
I tried convincing myself that once the game started, I would lock in and all of this would go away.
Except that made it all worse.
Within the first minute, I make a mistake and we lose possession. Then I injured my ankle, and just like that my day is done. Our team lost handedly.
Even though the other team won on the scoreboard, it felt like my performance anxiety was the real winner.
Grinding It Out
Despite the difficult start to the season, I tried my best to push through and come back stronger.
I was fighting for a starting spot, and I wanted it more than anything.
So, I decided to work harder. That meant showing up to practice early and staying late, asking the right questions, and being a vocal leader on the field.
After a week, the coach took notice. Just as we had finished up a late night practice, he pulled me aside and said the starting spot was mine.
I should’ve felt on top of the world – every athlete wants this. This is what we live for as competitors.
Instead, I instantly felt anxious and doubt clouded my mind.
My mind was focused on the pressure and expectations coming from my coach and teammates, rather than appreciating the hard work paying off.
It wasn’t easy, but I was trying hard to not let my anxiety ruin gamedays. I wanted to show up well for my team and live up to their expectations.
And slowly, I started noticing small wins in myself. Wanting to show up for my team. Feeling real disappointment after a loss, instead of just relief that it was finally over. Something in me was fighting its way back.
Then, in the second-last game of the season, I remember getting tackled as I was passing the ball off to my teammate. Next thing I know, my head is going straight into the ground. I was dazed and confused as to what had just happened, but I got up and kept playing.
As I rejoined my team on defence, I suddenly felt like I was dreaming. Nothing felt real. I knew something was seriously wrong and immediately took myself out of the game.
On the sideline, I realized I had a concussion. It was a crushing moment, all that work, for what felt like nothing. I had no idea how long recovery would take or what symptoms lay ahead, but I knew my recovery journey had begun.
Trying To Find The Joy Again
After taking 3 months off in the winter, I was cleared to return to rugby.
With the university season not starting until the fall, I was eager to hit the ground running for my summer season. I felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle the challenges ahead.
I was really focused on enjoying the sport and finding that lost passion and excitement.
A few games into the summer, playing some of my most enjoyable rugby, I was beginning to feel more like myself.
Then out of nowhere, it happens again.
As I tackle an opponent out of bounds, my head smashes into the ground.
I “instantly” get up, only for my teammate to tell me “you were knocked out.”
Then, I realized my vision wasn’t clear. Black dots filled my field of view, making it impossible to focus.
Another concussion.
The Decision
During my recovery, I was worried about how many concussions I had sustained and the lasting impact they might have had.
I began noticing lingering symptoms, including blurred vision at times and a spinning sensation whenever I lay down.
The concern for my health continued to grow. So, I spoke to my family and medical professionals and knew the decision had to be made.
I decided to retire from rugby.
I thought this decision would upset and disappoint most people.
Instead, the moment I said the words out loud, I felt instant relief.
For the first time in years, I didn’t have to walk into a locker room bracing myself, or stand in a warm-up faking excitement I didn’t feel. The performance anxiety that had followed me onto every field, every single game… it was just gone.
I was able to return to the rugby field as a coach. I remember watching my old teammates battle it out and seeing that joy on their faces – the same joy I used to feel.
For the first time since my retirement, a different feeling showed up.. A flicker of “what if” that got louder the more I watched my old teammates play.
What if I’d gotten to leave rugby on my own terms, grateful, whole, appreciative of everything it gave me, instead of being pushed out by anxiety and injury I never learned to face?
A New Dream Emerges
This regret fueled a passion for mental performance. I became obsessed with learning how I can support athletes in ways that I felt unsupported. We all carry our own version of struggle, but no athlete should have to face it alone. I know what it’s like to freeze up before the game even starts, but I also know the power of playing with confidence and clarity.
I wanted to make sure no other athlete had to sit where I once sat – thirty minutes before kickoff with their hands shaking and stomach in knots – questioning if they’re good enough to be here.
Now, at CEP Mindset, I am able to live out my passion and dream of helping athletes improve their mental performance. Knowing I’ve helped an athlete avoid the same road I once traveled is the most rewarding part of what I do. That’s what gives me purpose.
I began my undergraduate journey at SUNY Canton, before transferring to Suffolk University, where I played varsity women’s hockey and was proud to be part of the program’s inaugural season. During that year, I earned multiple athletic awards and took on a captain role for the following season. These experiences helped shape my confidence both on and off the ice.
Following a strong first season, my role as a goaltender shifted from starting almost every game to having to now share the ice, presenting new mental challenges that pushed me to grow in ways I hadn’t experienced before. While studying psychology, I began to better understand the connection between mindset, performance, and identity. The abrupt end of my collegiate career due to COVID-19 was a difficult turning point, but it ultimately sparked my passion for sport psychology.
I went on to complete my Master’s degree in Sport and Exercise Psychology at the University of Portsmouth. I’ve been working as a mental performance coach for the past year and have coached hockey goaltenders since I was 16, blending technical development with a strong emphasis on mindset.
Today, I’m passionate about helping athletes build confidence, navigate pressure, and enjoy their sport while performing at their best.
Education: MSc., Sport and Exercise Psychology – University of Portsmouth
Core Clients: Hockey, Soccer, Tennis, Distance Running
Chad is a former Division I baseball player, earning a medal at the Canada Summer Games, and becoming a two‑time medalist at the European Baseball Championship. Despite his achievements, Chad’s playing years were marked by inconsistency, self‑doubt, and an identity tied too closely to on‑field results. Relying on physical talent alone left him vulnerable to the mental highs and lows of performance.
His love for the game was reignited when he began studying the psychological skills that elite performers rely on – shifting focus from results to the process, and from raw ability to a durable, resilient mindset. These tools reshaped how he trained, competed, and evaluated himself. They didn’t just elevate his they rebuilt his confidence and reconnected him with the enjoyment of the game, showing him firsthand how mindset can unlock the potential that talent alone can’t reach.
Chad went on to complete a Master’s in Counselling, expanding his ability to help athletes navigate the psychological barriers that limit their development. His work is grounded in evidence‑based approaches and real‑world experience across multiple sports. As a coach, his mission is clear: provide athletes with a practical, reliable blueprint for managing the mental side of performance. He is passionate about equipping athletes with a mindset they can trust – because a resilient approach to sport becomes a resilient approach to life.
Education: MA., Counselling Psychology, Yorkville University
Core Clients: Baseball, Golf, Basketball, Hockey, Tennis
Bio Highlights:
Education: Doctor of Philosophy (Ph.D.), Applied Health Sciences – Brock University, currently enrolled
Sport Background:
Core Clients: Hockey, Golf, Lacrosse, Football, Baseball, Track & Field, Basketball
I still remember standing at center ice as the captain of my team accepting the OMHA championship trophy with my red hat on.
Everything had gone exactly according to plan.
We had won the championship. I wore the “C.” I had earned myself a spot at the next level for the following season. I felt like I was on top of the world.
That’s where I made my first mistake.
I was convinced that hard work had gotten me there, so naturally I believed the answer to every future challenge was simple:
Train harder than everyone else.
My Obsession With Hard Work
I became obsessed with physical preparation. I took extra skating sessions and always tried to hit my max lifts at the gym. I’d do hill sprints until my legs burned and stick handle every day in my basement.
If someone was doing ten reps, I did twelve. If a workout was optional, I was there. I convinced myself that if I could skate longer, lift more, and outwork everyone around me, I would achieve everything I wanted.
Then the next season started.
The team gathered in the dressing room before our first exhibition game. Our coach stood at the front with a handful of jerseys draped over his arm.
“This year’s captain is…”
My name wasn’t called.
The drive home was quiet. I stared out the passenger window replaying the moment over and over, wondering what I’d done wrong. For the first time, I questioned whether I was actually the player I thought I was.
That doubt followed me onto the ice.
The more I tried to prove I belonged, the tighter I played. My hands felt heavy. A game that had always felt instinctive became something I overthought.
Before long, my confidence was living and dying with every point on the scoresheet, and my identity followed close behind.
Losing Myself To Find My Game
By the end of the season, I had made up my mind.
I was done with hockey.
I packed up my hockey bag after our final game, carried it into the garage, and left it there. For weeks, I didn’t touch it. I avoided conversations about next season. Every time someone asked if I was excited to get back on the ice, I’d shrug and change the subject.
The game that had been my entire identity suddenly felt like the last place I wanted to be.
But as the months passed, something unexpected happened. I didn’t miss the pressure or proving myself.
I missed hockey.
I missed the rink and my teammates. I missed the feeling of a crisp pass landing on my tape. Somewhere beneath all the frustration, I realized the love I had for the game had never disappeared, it had just been buried under a season of self-doubt.
So I decided to come back.
One practice, after another frustrating stretch where nothing seemed to go right, my coach asked me to stay behind.
I assumed we were going to work on my shot or talk about my positioning.
Instead, he leaned against the boards and said,
“What’s going on?”
I shrugged.
“Nothing.”
He looked at me for a second before saying something I’ll never forget.
“Your emotions are controlling the way you play.”
He had nailed everything happening in my head.
Then he suggested something no coach had ever suggested before: learn how to manage your mind.
I wish I could tell you I listened, but I didn’t.
I walked out of the rink convinced he was wrong. In my mind, the solution was obvious. Train harder, so I added more workouts. More skating & shooting, so I added more ice-time.
I thought I was being productive, but nothing changed at my next game. I was still gripping my stick too tight, second-guessing every decision, and just trying to not make mistakes
The Questions That Changed My Career
I had a moment in the dressing room after the game when it finally hit me. My mind really was holding me back. It was in that moment that I stopped trying to outwork the problem and started trying to understand it.
That decision changed far more than my hockey career.
As I learned how to regulate my emotions and separate my identity from my performance, I started trusting myself again. I played with swagger. I started actually enjoying hockey again.
And I realized something I wish every athlete understood much earlier.
No amount of physical training could fix what’s happening inside my own head.
That realization forced me to start asking different questions. Why did some athletes thrive under pressure while I struggled? Why did my confidence and motivation disappear when things did not go my way? How could I be one of the most physically prepared athletes on the team, yet still watch others find greater success? More importantly, why had no one ever taught me the psychological skills that were just as important as the physical ones?
Those questions led me to study psychology.
I fell in love with sport psychology during my undergraduate degree and became fascinated by understanding how our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors influence performance.
Why I Do This Today
That passion eventually led me into research, mental performance coaching, and now my PhD, where I study the psychological factors that influence athlete well-being and performance.
Every project I work on comes back to one belief: The mind shapes how we perform, how we respond to adversity, and ultimately who we become as people and performers.
Today, I coach athletes because I’ve lived both sides of that journey.
I know what it’s like to believe that simply working harder is the only way to get better.
I know what it’s like to lose confidence, question your identity, and feel trapped by unrealistic expectations.
And I know what it’s like to discover that some of the biggest breakthroughs don’t come from training your body, they come from training your mind.
I don’t coach because I have all the answers. I coach because learning these skills fundamentally changed the way I viewed sport, competition, and myself.
Now my mission is to help athletes experience that same transformation, so they can stop fighting their own minds and start becoming the athlete they’re truly capable of being.
Dylan is a former soccer player who deeply understands the mental demands of high-level sport. He played over 15 years of competitive soccer with Woodbridge Strikers Soccer Club, where his team won the Ontario Cup and finished second at the Canada Soccer National Championships in 2015. Dylan went on to play with the men’s soccer team at Laurentian University, and later transitioned into coaching.
As an athlete, Dylan faced many of his own performance challenges throughout his athletic career, such as injury setbacks, performance anxiety, and feeling unsupported and lost. As a coach of youth and elite level soccer, Dylan brings experience supporting youth development, while helping elite performers navigate the pressures of high-performance sport.
Today, Dylan works with athletes across multiple sports, helping them build confidence, manage pressure, and develop the mental skills needed to consistently perform at their best. He believes that mental performance is an extremely useful skill that needs continuous development throughout an athlete’s career.
Mental performance coaching helped Dylan find new meaning as an athlete and an ‘extra gear’ on the field, he wants to do the same for you.
Education: M.H.K, Human Kinetics – Sport Psychology Specialization, Laurentian University
Core Clients: Soccer, Basketball, Baseball, Hockey, Track and Field
Mckenna is a former university varsity soccer player and aspiring mental performance coach with a passion for helping athletes unlock their full potential. In university, Mckenna was a four-time Academic All-Canadian and a student-athlete mentor where she supported first-year student-athletes with managing the demands of sport, academics, and life. She also played competitive basketball throughout high school.
Mckenna developed a deep appreciation for the mental side of performance through her personal experiences in elite sport. The transition from high school to the university level was a significant challenge, as she navigated increased competition, higher expectations, and the pressure to perform. This experience became a turning point, highlighting the powerful role that confidence, mindset, and self-belief play in performance.
In September 2026, Mckenna will begin her Master’s in Human Kinetics with a Concentration in Mental Performance Consulting at the University of Ottawa. She is committed to building a career as a mental performance coach and helping athletes develop the skills needed to perform with confidence, resilience, and consistency.
Education: B.A.,Human Kinetics – University of Guelph
Naomi brings a strong foundation in organization, client care, and meaningful connection to her role. She holds a B.A. in Psychology from Western University and has experience in administrative work at a non-profit children’s grief centre, where empathy and attentiveness were essential. Her background in customer service further supports her ability to create a welcoming, supportive environment for every individual she connects with.
With a background in dance and experience performing in concerts as a singer and guitarist, Naomi understands the pressures that can come with performing at an elite level. These experiences shaped her ability to navigate nerves, self-doubt, and the mental demands of performance and competition.
As a first point of contact at CEP Mindset, Naomi is committed to helping each parent and athlete feel heard, supported, and confidently matched with the right coach for their needs.
Education: B.A., Psychology – Western University
Jordyn is a former NCAA gymnast and track & field athlete. She trained and competed in gymnastics for 19 years, winning six state titles, four regional titles, and setting a state record in vault. An ankle injury then forced Jordyn to switch sports – competing as a long jumper in her sophomore year of college, helping her team win a conference championship in 2025. Despite her accomplishments, Jordyn’s athletic career was marked by injuries, performance anxiety, and tough coaching situations from an early age.
Growing up, gymnastics defined Jordyn’s identity. When that chapter ended unexpectedly, she had to rebuild both her athletic career and her sense of self. Starting fresh in a new sport required her to face self-doubt and the challenge of rebuilding her confidence in a completely different environment. Through this process, she learned how important a strong mindset is for performance and well-being. What once felt like setbacks, became Jordyn’s purpose: to be the support system she wished existed during her athletic career.
As a mental performance coach, Jordyn helps athletes tackle mental blocks, build lasting confidence, and develop a resilient mindset they can rely on in any situation. She is committed to creating a safe and supportive space where athletes feel understood and empowered, focusing on developing the whole person, not just the athlete.
Education: M.S., Sport and Performance Psychology, Lock Haven (In Progress)
Core Clients: Gymnastics, Track & Field, Dance, Wrestling, Acrobatics/Tumbling