The Recruiting Process Nearly Broke Me: A Mental Health Survival Guide

To the athlete who feels unseen right now

The recruiting process nearly broke me. I was fifteen and certain that playing Division I hockey would prove I was good enough. Maybe even special. I went to every camp, answered every email, chased every lead. I was invited to New York for the National Player Development Program, coached by Division I staff. I thought this was it. This was the moment everything would fall into place.

But the calls never came.

It felt heavy, like time slowed down. Each day turned into waiting. Waiting for my phone to ring. Waiting for someone to see me. Waiting to feel like I mattered.

In the locker room, my teammates were announcing commitments. They were signing letters of intent, getting interviewed by local papers, and seeing their pictures displayed at school. Parents would come up to me and ask if I’d heard from anyone yet. Some even reached out to coaches on my behalf, trying to help me get a call. They meant well, but it only made me feel smaller. I was the only senior on my high school team without a Division I commitment, and that silence was loud.

I had some conversations with Division III programs, but at the time that didn’t feel good enough. I was chasing an idea of success that had everything to do with status and nothing to do with fulfillment. What stood out most from that year wasn’t who called. It was who didn’t.

I started to believe what that silence seemed to confirm. That maybe I really wasn’t good enough. That maybe everyone else had been right all along.

The anxiety and worthlessness crept in quietly. I stopped feeling excited about games or practices. I went through the motions, detached from everything. I remember trying to make minor injuries sound worse than they were, just to feel noticed again. That’s how desperate I was to matter.

I didn’t talk about it with anyone because I didn’t know how. On the outside, I looked fine. But inside, I was unraveling.

At some point, though, something shifted. I realized that what I really wanted was to keep playing hockey. To stay connected to the game I loved. And that meant going where I was wanted.

Choosing to play Division III hockey was not the path I once dreamed of, but it turned out to be exactly where I was meant to be. I got to play right away, make an impact, and enjoy the sport again. That choice taught me one of the hardest and most important lessons of my life: sometimes not getting what you want is what clears the path for what you actually need.

If you’re an athlete in the middle of the recruiting process, feeling overlooked and questioning your worth, I want you to hear this: your value has nothing to do with who calls and who doesn’t. The silence says nothing about your potential. You are not less because someone else got chosen first.

Trust your heart. Go where you are wanted. Play because you love to play. The right fit is where you will grow, not where you have to prove that you belong.

If you’re a parent or coach walking alongside an athlete through this process, your support matters more than you realize. Acknowledge the disappointment. Say out loud how real it feels. Remind them they matter no matter what logo ends up on their jersey.

For me, the survival part wasn’t about pushing harder or pretending I was fine. It was about radical acceptance. It was about naming what I was feeling, aligning with my real values, and choosing to stop chasing external validation. I learned that peace comes when you stop running after someone else’s definition of success and start living in your own.

To the athlete who feels unseen right now: I see you. You are enough. The right people will see your worth without you having to prove it. Go where you can be yourself, where the love of the game still lives inside you, and where you can remember why you started in the first place.

Because that’s where you’ll find your edge again.

When Your Identity Dies with Your Jersey

For many athletes, the end of competition feels like the end of self.

Your jersey once defined you. You were known as “the hockey player,” “the runner,” “the gymnast.” The structure of practices, games, and seasons gave you purpose. The validation from coaches, teammates, fans, and even family reinforced your value.

Then it stops. Graduation. Injury. A cut from the roster. Retirement.

The silence that follows can feel unbearable. Without the game, you wonder who you are and where you belong. The external validation you relied on disappears, and what remains often feels empty.

This is the work I do with athletes who have retired from high-level competition. Together, we name the grief that comes when a central part of your identity ends. We look at the ways external validation has shaped your self-worth. And we begin the hard but important process of building an identity that extends beyond performance.

In therapy, this means learning to:

• Separate who you are from what you achieve.

• Recognize the ways perfectionism and external praise once drove you.

• Reconnect with values and strengths that remain, even after sport.

• Develop new ways of finding meaning, purpose, and belonging.

Transitions are painful because they involve loss. But they also create space for growth. Your discipline, resilience, and ability to push through challenge are not gone. They are skills you carry into the next stage of life.

My role is to help you take what sport gave you and rebuild a stronger, more complete identity; one that doesn’t depend on stats, wins, or applause.

Your jersey was never the whole of who you are. Therapy helps you remember that.

Why I Joined the Association for Social Work in Sport

Inside Edge exists for one reason: to give athletes a space where therapy feels like it belongs in their world. You carry pressure, identity struggles, and transitions that most people outside of sport don’t understand. My job is to make sure therapy meets you where you are.

That’s why I joined the Association for Social Work in Sport (ASWIS).

ASWIS is a national community of clinicians who work with athletes. By joining, I stay connected to the latest research, training, and conversations in athlete mental health. It’s not about adding another line to my resume. It’s about sharpening the tools I use with you every day.

When you sit in my office, you deserve a therapist who understands the mental grind of sport. You deserve someone who knows the language, the culture, and the hidden pressures. Membership with ASWIS helps me do that better.

Athletes face more than performance anxiety. You deal with injuries that shift your identity, transitions that leave you questioning your future, and comparison that eats away at your confidence. These aren’t side issues—they shape your life on and off the ice, court, or field. Being part of ASWIS keeps me grounded in that reality and connected to others doing the same work.

This membership is a commitment. It’s a reminder that your therapy matters, and that I take your world seriously. Inside Edge isn’t just about therapy in general—it’s therapy built for athletes, by someone who refuses to stop learning.

Brave, Not Fearless: Closing the Gap Between Who You Are and Who You Want to Be

When I played hockey, I felt like I was living two lives. The “me” on the ice was tough, competitive, ready to go. The “me” off the ice? Honestly, half the time I didn’t know who that was. And trying to keep those two versions straight was exhausting.

Maybe you’ve felt that too:

• The game version of you.

• The real-life version of you.

• And the constant switching back and forth.

It feels like you’re wearing two masks, and neither one really fits.

Here’s what I know now (and I wish I’d known it then):

• Everyone feels that gap.

• It doesn’t mean you’re broken.

• You can actually use it to grow.

Back then, I just wanted to be noticed. To be seen, heard, valued for who I was. I thought that made me weak. Turns out, that’s literally just being human.

But here’s where I messed up: I looked for that from everyone else first. Coaches. Teammates. Even strangers in the stands. What I didn’t realize was I had to give that to myself first.

• Confidence starts when you back yourself, even on bad days.

• Value shows up when you decide to show up as you, not some version you think people want.

• Worth doesn’t come from stats or wins. It comes from being real.

Hockey was never just a sport for me. It was a training ground for life. And life, just like hockey, doesn’t care if you’ve got it all figured out.

So here’s the part I wish someone had told me: stop trying to be fearless. Fearless isn’t a thing. I’ve never met an athlete who didn’t have doubts.

Be brave instead.

• Brave feels the fear.

• Brave feels the conflict.

• Brave shows up anyway.

Inside Edge is for athletes who get that. For the ones tired of playing two different roles and just want to be seen for who they are, not just how they perform.

Journal Prompt: Where do you feel the gap between who you are when you play and who you are when you step off the field (or ice)? What would “brave” look like for you in that space?

From Athlete to Therapist: The Story Behind Inside Edge

I played hockey all my life. My life revolved around the sport. When I turned 22 and graduated college my hockey career ended. I was met with a question I had never thought about before ‘who am I if I am not a hockey player’ and with that Inside Edge Therapy was born. 

I started playing hockey when I was 4 or 5 years old, the way most kids in Minnesota do, on a pond in the backyard. I watched my older brother playing and as soon as I could skate I fell in love. My mind went quiet on the ice and I felt more confident than I ever had. 

As I got older, I started to become more competitive. I was good and it felt good to get that feedback from coaches and peers. I started to get selected for high level teams and even competed at the national level with USA development camps. What I did not expect and was not prepared for was the pressure that came along with these opportunities. 

I began to silently struggle and didn’t know how to talk about what was going on.

I didn’t have the language for how I was feeling, but what I was experiencing was anxiety. I was struggling with performance anxiety, fear of failure, self-doubt, and constant pressure to prove myself. From the outside, I looked like I had it all together. On the inside, I was overwhelmed. The sport I loved had started to feel like a job I couldn’t quit, and I didn’t know who I was without my success on the ice. 

No one was really talking about the mental side of performance; not in a way that felt real. I didn’t know therapy could be for athletes. I didn’t know you could sit down with someone who understood the grind, the burnout, the expectations, and the identity loss that can come when the sports ends; whether you choose it or not. 

When I eventually left the game, it wasn’t a clean break. I grieved it. I questioned everything I thought I knew about myself. And that’s when I started to rebuild. 

I went on to earn my master’s degree in Social Work and become a licensed therapist. The more I learned about mental health, identity, and resilience, the more I wished I could go back in time and talk to that 16-year-old version of me who felt like she couldn’t mess up or let anyone down. The truth is, she wasn’t alone and neither are you. 

Inside Edge Therapy was born from that space. From the gap I felt as an athlete. From the silence that so many high performers live in. My mission is to help athletes and performers of all kinds find their voice again and to navigate pressure without losing themselves in it.