Regression or Rest: The Discipline That Saved Me

Oct 28

There have been times in my life when I’ve found myself in dark places—mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Places I didn’t intend to visit, but somehow ended up anyway.

What’s strange about those moments is how quietly they come on. One day, you’re managing life; the next, your thoughts have sunk so deep that you can barely recognize yourself.

For a long time, I thought getting out of those places required a miracle.
But what I’ve learned is that the hardest part isn’t changing your mind—it’s keeping it changed.

Even after that “I’m done feeling like this” revelation, it takes real work not to slide back into old thought patterns.
The human mind will always drift back to what it knows. The work is in the returning—again and again—to what serves you.

Reframing the Regression

I used to see my low periods as regressions.
I’d feel motivated for months, make progress, hit milestones—and then fall back into old habits, old mindsets, old fears.

But over time, I realized something: every time I came out of one of those so-called regressions, I had something new to show for it.
A lesson. A degree. A refined mindset. A deeper self-awareness.

So maybe those weren’t regressions after all.
Maybe they were periods of rest.
Maybe they were necessary pauses that allowed me to breathe, reflect, and reorient before the next stretch of growth.

That shift in perspective changed everything.

Structure Saved Me

When I joined the Navy at 20, I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but structure was saving me.
The military gave me something that most people search for their whole lives—a clear, visible goal system: rank, routine, accountability, standards.

There’s something powerful about knowing exactly what’s expected of you, and exactly what progress looks like.
You show up, you meet the standard, you grow. There’s no ambiguity.

When I transitioned out of the military, that structure was gone—and I didn’t realize how much I depended on it until it wasn’t there.
For the first time in my adult life, no one was telling me when to show up, how to measure progress, or what “success” even meant.

And that lack of structure felt like chaos. It wasn’t depression—it was disorientation.

Eventually, I realized I had to create my own system of discipline.
My own accountability.
My own visual progress markers.

That’s when I started applying the same principles I learned in uniform—consistency, physical readiness, mental alertness, and attention to detail—to my civilian life.

I learned that freedom doesn’t mean doing whatever you want.
Freedom means having the structure that allows you to operate at your best.

Education as Anchor

Through every shift, one thing has remained constant for me: education.
Every time life knocked me down, school pulled me back up.

It became the thread that connected all my seasons of growth.
From my associate’s degree to my master’s to my PhD, education gave me something to measure, something to master, and something to believe in when everything else felt uncertain.

And yet, it wasn’t just about the degrees—it was about proving to myself that I could finish.
That I could stay the course long enough to see something through.

When I look back now, I realize that what looked like instability on paper—changing majors, changing goals, changing directions—wasn’t instability at all.
It was refinement. Every pivot was part of my evolution.

The Psychology of Goals

Humans are goal-seeking creatures. It’s built into our DNA.
We need something to reach for—something that gives our days meaning and shape.

When the military gave me clear targets, I thrived.
When life after the military took them away, I had to learn how to build my own.

That’s why I believe so strongly in the power of goals—not because they’re trendy or motivational, but because they’re necessary for survival.
Without goals, the mind drifts. With them, it sharpens.

And goals don’t have to be grand or glamorous.
Sometimes, they’re as simple as “get out of bed,” “finish this course,” or “stay consistent.”

Every goal matters, because every goal is a signal to your brain that you’re still moving forward.