Performance Anxiety Isn’t a Confidence Problem — It’s a Belonging Problem

Performance anxiety in elite athletes isn’t about confidence. Learn how safety, identity, and repair drive true mental performance.

Introduction

If you’ve played elite sport long enough, you’ve heard the same advice on repeat: *be more confident, calm your emotions, don’t let it get to you.*

And yet—some of the most talented, prepared, and experienced athletes still freeze, hesitate, or unravel under pressure.

That’s not a confidence issue.

That’s a **safety and identity issue**.

Athletes don’t need less emotion. They need to know that emotion won’t cost them belonging. That’s how regulation actually happens—and why modern **mental performance** work has to evolve.

Performance Anxiety Isn’t About Confidence

Here’s the uncomfortable truth for high-level sport: confidence doesn’t regulate the nervous system.

You can *believe* in your skills and still panic when a mistake threatens how you’re seen—by coaches, teammates, fans, or even yourself. When performance becomes proof of worth, the body treats mistakes like danger.

That’s when:

- Muscles tighten

- Decision-making slows

- Perfectionism spikes

- And performance anxiety takes over

This isn’t weakness. It’s biology responding to perceived social threat.

Why Safety, Identity, and Repair Matter More

Elite athletes are often praised for emotional control—but rarely taught emotional **repair**.

When anger, frustration, or fear shows up and isn’t met with safety, the athlete learns a silent rule: *this part of me isn’t allowed*. Over time, that creates guarded play, hesitation, and chronic overthinking.

True mental performance isn’t about suppressing emotion. It’s about building an identity that can withstand mistakes without collapsing.

When athletes feel safe:

- Emotion moves through instead of getting stuck

- Intensity becomes fuel instead of sabotage

- Perfectionism loosens its grip

Those are learnable skills—not personality traits.

Regulation Is a Skill That Can Be Taught

The best performers aren’t emotionless. They’re regulated.

They know how to:

- Recover after mistakes

- Repair internally and relationally

- Stay connected to their identity under pressure

That’s where modern mental performance coaching goes deeper than motivation or mindset hacks. It trains safety, identity, and repair—so athletes can compete freely instead of cautiously.

Conclusion

Performance anxiety isn’t about confidence. It’s about fearing what mistakes *mean*.

And when athletes learn that emotion won’t cost them belonging, everything changes.

That’s not softness. That’s elite-level mental performance.

**Ready to train the skills that actually hold up under pressure?**

Start where regulation really begins.

The Real Reason Athletes Think “I Don’t Belong Here”

Why elite athletes question belonging and how perfectionism, identity, and shame shape confidence under pressure.

Every athlete has a moment when the environment shifts from exciting to overwhelming.
For me, that moment happened at 15 at a US Development Camp. I walked into the rink, watched the speed and skill around me, and felt my chest tighten.

My brain didn’t register possibility. It registered threat.

“I don’t belong here.”
“The coaches will never notice me.”
“I’m not going to play D1.”

At that age, I thought this panic meant something was wrong with me.
But years later, as a therapist working with athletes, I understand the truth:

This wasn’t a talent issue.
It was an identity issue.

When Talent Isn’t the Problem, Identity Is

Athletes who grow up being “the standout” often fuse their identity with achievement. So when they step into a room where they are no longer the automatic best, their nervous system doesn’t interpret it as competition. It interprets it as danger.

This is the psychology behind that moment.

When identity is fused to performance:

• Perfectionism spikes

• Comparison becomes constant

• Shame overrides logic

• Confidence narrows

• Performance anxiety intensifies

Instead of thinking “I’m being challenged,” the body says “I’m being exposed.”

At 15, I didn’t see a chance to grow.
I saw evidence that I was slipping out of the category of “athlete who will make it.”

And because I didn’t yet have the capacity to separate identity from performance, I did what many athletes do:
I created a shield.

“I’m injured. That’s why I’m not keeping up.”

Not because I wanted an excuse, but because my identity needed protection.

Looking back, my struggle wasn’t about ability.
It was about not having the emotional framework to tolerate being average, or new, or developing.

What I Wish Every Athlete Knew About Identity

Feeling intimidated does not mean you lack talent.
It means you’re in an environment that is stretching you.

It means your nervous system is adjusting to a new level of competition.
It means your identity is being invited to grow, not collapse.

Confidence isn’t built in the moments you dominate.
It’s built in the moments you stay in the room long enough for your identity to expand.

If you’ve ever questioned your place, your ability, or your worth as an athlete, you’re not alone. This is a normal part of identity development, especially for high achievers. The goal isn’t to eliminate intimidation. It’s to understand it, stay present through it, and let it shape a stronger, more grounded identity.

The Sentence That Rewired My Identity as an Athlete

A powerful story about athlete identity, mental performance, and perfectionism. How one sentence can shape and distort who athletes believe they are.

Introduction

Every athlete has a moment that sticks. Not the biggest win. Not the hardest hit. It is usually the one sentence from a coach that hits harder than any collision on the ice or the field.

Mine came at a table my college team nicknamed “the table of tears.” It earned that name honestly. No one sat there unless something heavy was going on.

I was a sophomore coming off a great freshman year. But that year felt different. My confidence was slipping. My minutes were shrinking. I had been bumped down to the third line and I was pretending it didn’t bother me.

Then my coach called me in.

I sat at the table of tears with anxiety already buzzing in my chest. I cannot remember most of what was said. I only remember one sentence:

“You are looking a little slow. Why don’t you start hitting the bike after practice.”

That was it.
But for my 19-year-old brain, wired for performance, pressure, and perfectionism, that line did not land as feedback. It landed as identity.

The moment has stayed with me for years, long after my college career ended. Now that I work in Mental Performance, I finally understand why.

Why One Sentence Feels Like an Identity Earthquake

For athletes, identity forms early and intensely.
Many believe:

• I am the fast one.

• I am the reliable one.

• I am the goal scorer.

• I am the grinder.

So when performance dips or when a coach comments on your game, your brain does not treat it like simple information. It treats it like a threat.

Elite and high-achieving athletes are especially vulnerable for three reasons.

1. Shame remembers louder than context

The entire meeting disappeared from my memory.
The one line that stung stayed forever.

Shame shrinks complex moments into a single painful narrative.

2. Perfectionism interprets feedback as a verdict

Athletes who chase excellence often hear coaching through a distorted filter.

• Coach says something neutral.

• Athlete hears something personal.

It is not dramatic. It is biology.
The nervous system reacts to identity threats the way it reacts to danger.

3. Mental Performance skills help you separate a cue from a criticism

This is the Inside Edge angle.

Athletes can learn to:

• Normalize feedback

• Regulate the shame response

• Protect their identity during performance dips

• Interpret coaching without self-blame

These skills were not available to me when I needed them most.
But they are absolutely learnable now.

How Athletes Can Build an Identity That Can Handle Feedback

Most athletes do not need more grit.
They need identity flexibility.
They need the ability to adjust without collapsing.

Here is what I wish someone had told me at that table.

• Feedback is information, not a verdict.

• Identity is built, not given.

• You can train your brain to stay grounded when your role changes.

• Your performance is not your worth.

If you are an athlete replaying a sentence you cannot forget, or a coach trying to understand why something you said hit harder than expected, or a parent guiding a perfectionistic kid through a tough stretch, here is the truth:

Nothing is wrong with you.
You are human.
And your identity can grow, strengthen, and adapt.

Conclusion

The moment at the table of tears did not break me.
It showed me how fragile my identity used to be and how easily a young athlete can confuse feedback with failure.

Now I help athletes build identities that can handle pressure, recalibrate after setbacks, and grow through feedback instead of collapsing under it.

If you want to understand athlete identity more deeply and build mental performance skills that last far beyond the sport, Inside Edge can help.

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.