Relief Syndrome
Success is a funny thing.
You spend years grinding toward a goal. Relentless effort. Consistency. Persistence. Resilience. Pushing.
At first, everything feels out of reach. The goals seem massive.
But slowly, over time, things start aligning. You begin checking items off the list.
And there’s nothing quite like the moment you realize you’re actually doing the thing you once dreamed about.
But getting there comes with a lot of failure.
A lot of bouncing back. Learning. Retooling. Growing.
The climb isn’t for the faint of heart.
We glorify the climb. We celebrate the hustle. We constantly hear: “Keep going. You’ll get there. It’s only a matter of time.”
What nobody really talks about is this:
What happens AFTER you get the thing you wanted?
The money.
The title.
The business.
The car.
Whatever “it” is.
I’m convinced life is mostly about how you respond to what happens to you—not just what happens itself.
One thing I’ve become increasingly aware of as I’ve gotten older is what I call relief syndrome.
That deep exhale. That feeling of finally arriving.
It took me a long time to diagnose it.
A few years ago, I saw an interview with retired Alabama football coach Nick Saban talking about the concept and essentially coining the phrase. Arguably one of—if not the greatest—college football coaches of all time, he described success not as arrival, but as the discipline of showing up for what’s next.
Not resting.
Not assuming you’ve made it.
Not believing you’re entitled to stay on top.
That stuck with me because it perfectly captured the concept I’d been searching for in my own pursuit of greatness.
Earlier in life, every accomplishment felt more like survival or part of the process than success.
Winning a State Championship in 2005. Graduating high school. Career advancements. Degrees.
They mattered, but they never felt like “the top.” I didn’t even have the capacity to slow down and appreciate them during that season of life.
But recruiting was different.
Leaving higher education and transitioning into recruiting required a complete mental shift. You had to become comfortable being uncomfortable.
In recruiting, if you’re not hustling, you’re not eating.
That reality changes you.
You stop looking at work as something you simply show up for. You realize your output directly affects your outcome. And once you understand that, it becomes hard to ever fully turn it off.
Especially in the beginning.
You hang on every send-out (interview). Every email. Every presentation.
Eventually, though, you either burn out—or you realize this business isn’t life or death.
It’s about activities. Consistency. Numbers. Positioning yourself to capitalize when opportunities come.
Every deal has its own fingerprint.
That’s also why I created what I call “The Girlfriend Rule.”
Don’t talk about deals outside of recruiting colleagues until they’re deep into the process.
Too many things can go wrong. Too many variables can kill momentum. And people who don’t understand the business emotionally attach themselves to every potential outcome and every dollar tied to it.
The longer you recruit, the more calloused you become.
Your skin gets thicker.
And eventually, those scars help carry you to the top.
But the top is where the real story begins.
Because once you get there, one of three things usually happens:
You fall back down the hill.
You get punched in the face.
Or you realize you only get a brief moment to enjoy the view before figuring out what comes next.
I’ve experienced all three.
I’ve been humbled. I’ve slipped. I’ve had to claw my way back more than once.
And honestly, 10 years into recruiting, I’m still trying to master the consistency required to stay at the top.
That’s the hard part nobody talks about.
It’s important to celebrate your wins and appreciate what you’ve built. But you also can’t allow success to lull you into complacency.
Momentum is fragile.
People understand achievements require hard work. What’s harder to accept is that the work never really stops.
Coasting won’t sustain success.
I think that’s my next challenge in life and business—learning how to appreciate accomplishments without allowing relief syndrome to steal my edge.
This has taken years of self-reflection, trial and error, and intentional adjustment.
I’m still figuring it out.
But if nothing else, I’ll keep progressing. I’ll keep improving.
No matter what.