Welcome to the Movement. What I am here to do.

I used to think performance was everything.

Push harder.

Go faster.

Prove them wrong.

Prove myself right.

Back then, performance lived in my body as tension. A constant tightening in my gut. A background hum that never shut off. Slowing down didn’t feel like rest—it felt dangerous. Like if I stopped, even for a moment, something essential would collapse.

From the outside, it looked like I was living the dream. Sponsorships. Riding in the X Games. Traveling the world. A career built around doing what I loved for a living. I was checking every box I had once believed mattered.

But the truth is, I wasn’t thriving.

I was surviving.

I turned pro at 17. BMX was my obsession and became my identity.

At twenty-one, I was diagnosed with the first brain tumor. Then another. And then more diagnoses that followed me for over a decade.

Those diagnoses didn’t just interrupt my career. They disrupted the identity I had been living inside long before the scans and surgeries. Long before I had to confront the reality that I might die. Not because my body had betrayed me—but because I could finally see how much I had been betraying myself, trapped in the illusion that if I performed at a high enough level, I would be enough. I would be accepted. I would be safe.

I had built my life around strength and endurance. Around perseverance. Around never slowing down. I told myself I was driven, disciplined, focused. What I didn’t see at the time was how much of that drive was fueled by fear. Fear of being bad or wrong. Fear around not being wanted. Fear that if I stopped pushing, everything I had built—and everything I thought I was—would disappear along with my existence.

For the first time in my life, I was forced to sit still long enough to ask a question I had been outrunning for years:

"Who am I if I’m not chasing my vision and doing what I’ve always done?"

That question didn’t arrive as insight.

It arrived as discomfort.

What followed wasn’t a breakthrough moment or a clean reinvention. It was years of torturous unraveling. Of watching old patterns surface and judging myself for participating in them. I realized that the same mindset that helped me rise in BMX was now keeping me trapped in a circle governed by survival.

I was performing for approval and operating on overdrive, unknowingly afraid of what it meant to be the real me.

Calling fear “focus.”

Calling pain “passion.”

And yet, beneath all of it, something quieter was still alive. Something I hadn’t learned how to listen to. A truth I had never been taught to trust.

I wasn't bad. I wasn’t broken. I didn’t need to keep proving anything. That slowing down didn’t mean I was falling behind. That my value was never meant to equate to output. And that expressing my emotions didn't make me weak.

What I eventually saw—clearly, and without judgment—was that I had been living inside a survival pattern most of my life.

Not because I was weak, but because my nervous system had learned that suppressing was safer than feeling. That staying busy was safer than being present. That momentum was protection. And once that kind of pattern outlives its usefulness, it doesn’t set you free. It keeps you locked inside your own mind, believing the next achievement would finally quiet the tension inside of you. If only you could sacrifice a little more joy in your life, maybe you'll become successful enough to earn it back.

Maybe you’ve never had a tumor. But you know what it feels like to always be “on.” Whether you’re building a business, raising a family, competing, creating, or simply trying to better your life... To succeed externally while feeling disconnected internally. To keep achieving and fixing and striving, yet never quite arrive. To feel like rest is earned, not allowed. To feel uneasy in stillness, like silence might expose something you’re not ready to face.

That isn’t a bug, it’s a feature.

It’s survival.

My work is no longer about pushing people to perform at a higher level. It’s about helping them step out of survival and back into themselves. When you're defined by the displease of your own life, you start pursuing something outside of you to prove you're enough, not broken, or whole—and that pursuit only reinforces what you believe you are not.

This is the work I now do with people who appear successful, but feel scattered, depleted, or quietly burned out. People who sense that the old way of operating no longer fits, but don’t yet know what comes next.

The work isn’t about hacks or hustle. It’s about learning to work with your nervous system rather than override it. Letting go of outdated identity scripts built around proving and pressure. Creating simple, intentional systems that support real life instead of consuming it. Dissolving unconscious patterns that drive overthinking, control, and scarcity.

I’ve lived the cost of ignoring what’s happening inside while chasing what’s happening outside. I know what it’s like to confuse survival with success.

Now, I help others break free from the same mental prisons—so performance is no longer driven by fear, but guided by coherence. The paradox is that when you step outside of the mental prison, what is often referred to as “outside your comfort zone,” the things that led to your success become even more powerful. Rather than an energetic signature of survival, which leads to force and costly expenses, the energy informing your behavior becomes a creation-informed signature that leads to flow and results beyond what you can fathom. That’s the beauty of the physics supporting this process; what was once predictable and painful becomes full of potential and excitement.

If you ask me what I want for the world, it’s this: more humans who are free.

Free to be with themselves.

Free to trust their bodies.

Free to choose authenticity over addiction to achievement.

Free to walk a path aligned with their soul.

Because when you stop living from survival, you start leading from wholeness. And people who lead from wholeness don’t just build better businesses or careers—they create healthier families, teams, and communities.

MITO isn’t just a brand or community to me. It’s a movement rooted in evolution—reclaiming energy, creating space, and remembering how to choose again. Everything I create—my coaching, my writing, this space—serves one purpose: helping people return to who they are, so they can create the life they’re truly excited about.

If you’re here, I believe it’s for a reason.

Maybe something in your life feels off. Maybe you’re tired of running on mental caffeine and emotional autopilot. Maybe the old version of you no longer fits—and you’re ready for something more honest.

You don’t need to push harder here.

You don’t need to prove anything.

We’ll build what’s next quietly.

One breath at a time.

One aligned choice at a time.

One liberated human at a time.

— Josh P.