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: