Rediscovering Joy & Reclaiming Ownership in Sport

Life has a way of kicking you when you’re already down. The past few years have been heavy—filled with grief, loss, frustration, anxiety, and a kind of stress that settles deep. In seasons like that, it’s easy to forget what joy feels like. It’s easy to forget the places that once made you feel most like yourself.

For me, that place has always been the ice.

Growing up, the rink was my safe place. Not because I “left my problems at the door,” but because something about stepping onto the ice made the noise quiet down. The cold air, the sound of blades carving into fresh ice, the rhythm of movement—it all gave me space to breathe, explore, and play.

I’m sharing this story because I see so many athletes struggling with pressure, fear of judgment, and the loss of joy. I want them to know they’re not alone.

After an especially difficult fall, my mom gently encouraged me to go to an open skate. I resisted.
I’m not the same skater I was ten years ago.

 

What if people judged me?
What if I couldn’t do the skills that once came so naturally?
What if I looked out of place—an adult, a coach—trying to skate for myself?

Looking back, those excuses feel small. Who decided skating has an expiration date?

Still, I waited until I knew the rink would be quiet. I laced up my skates with shaky hands, stepped onto the ice… and immediately felt my shoulders drop for the first time in weeks. The cold air hit my face, and something inside me loosened. I could breathe again.

My muscle memory kicked in quickly. I found myself doing the same warm‑up pattern I’d done thousands of times as a kid. Some movements felt stiff and unfamiliar, but others felt like coming home. I spent the rest of the session reintroducing my body to edges, turns, jumps, and spins—slowly, gently, without pressure.

I left the rink buzzing with something I hadn’t felt in years:
joy.
confidence.
pride.

Not because I skated well, but because I showed up.

The Power of Autonomy: What Alysa Liu Reminded Me

A few weeks later, I watched Alysa Liu skate at the 2026 Winter Olympics with a kind of joy and playfulness I’ve never seen on that stage. In an interview, she shared that after the 2022 Olympics, she retired because she felt she had no control over her skating. When she returned 2.5 years later, she did so with one condition: she would have full ownership over her training.

That autonomy changed everything. You could see it in every movement.

Watching her, something clicked for me.
Joy grows when you take ownership.
Confidence grows when you take ownership.

And I realized that’s exactly what I was rediscovering on the ice.

What Ownership Looked Like Then… and What It Looks Like Now

As a young athlete, my parents always told me I was in the driver’s seat. I set my goals, and they supported me. But my goals were still performance‑driven. I wanted results. I wanted to pass tests and skate well in competition. And sometimes, it felt like a job.

Now, skating for myself is challenging in a completely different way.
I’m not worried about scores or judges.
I’m worried about who might be watching.
I’m worried about whether my body can still do what my mind remembers.

But there’s freedom here too.

If I fall on a jump, I don’t have to try it again.
If I don’t want to turn on my left foot, I don’t have to.
Everything I do is for me.

I’m learning how to manage that freedom—how to untrain the part of me that believes I must always push, always perfect, always perform.

What I Want Youth Athletes to Know

Ownership matters.
More than talent.
More than results.
More than any external pressure.

When athletes aren’t in charge of their sport experience, they lose connection and passion. Motivation fades. Burnout creeps in. And eventually, they walk away from something that once meant everything.

Ownership looks like:

• choosing your goals
• deciding your training schedule
• having a say in when and how you compete
• taking responsibility for your effort
• caring about your growth more than anyone else does

 

When athletes own their sport, joy follows.
And joy is what keeps you going.

What I Want Parents to Know

Your desire to guide your child comes from love. But when guidance becomes control, athletes lose autonomy—and with it, confidence.

Healthy support sounds like:

• “What do you want?”
• “How can I support you?”
• “I’m here to help, but this is your journey.”

 

Over‑involvement looks like:

• choosing competitions without athlete input
• communicating with coaches on behalf of the athlete
• deciding training schedules alone
• pushing goals the athlete didn’t choose

 

Autonomy builds confidence.
Confidence builds joy.
Joy builds lifelong lessons that matter far beyond sport.

What Returning to the Ice Taught Me

I am my own biggest judge.
No one is watching as closely as I think they are.
And even if they are—who cares?

My training didn’t disappear.
My habits didn’t disappear.
My love for the sport didn’t disappear.

They were waiting for me.

Skating again helps me relate to my athletes on a deeper level. I’m practicing the same mental skills I teach them. I’m feeling the same nerves, the same doubts, the same excitement. And I’m reminded every time I step on the ice why mental skills matter—not just in sport, but in life.

Returning to the ice reminded me why I do this work: helping athletes discover what they’re capable of and build mental skills that support them long after sport ends.

The ice is my place to breathe again.

A Message for Any Athlete Feeling Pressure, Fear, or Burnout

Think back to why you started.
Think about what kept you going.
Think about the moments that made you feel alive.

Your sport is yours.
Your joy is yours.
Your journey is yours.

Take ownership of it.
Let it be yours again.