Addicted to Achievement

How the Military Shaped My Drive and Why I’m Learning to Slow Down

From the beginning of my military career, I was taught that success meany constantly striving for more. Everything was a competition, and "merit-based" rewards reinforced the idea that free time was wasted time. At basic training, you wanted to be assigned the best jobs, excel on tests, and shine during the mock deployment “Beast” week. In 2013, graduating with all four ribbons—the basic training ribbon, the Global War on Terrorism (GWOT) ribbon, the marksmanship ribbon, and the honor graduate ribbon—was a coveted achievement. And once you tasted that sense of accomplishment, it became addictive.

The stakes were even higher in specialty schools like the Defense Language Institute (DLI), where I learned Arabic. Better grades earned privileges, like avoiding an additional mandatory class hour. Falling below a certain threshold risked academic counseling, being washed back, or even removal from the program. Unlike college, this wasn’t just about earning a degree—it was my job, and I was terrified of failing. Every step of the way, there were awards and distinctions: honor graduate, commandant’s award, and more. Later, the pattern continued in professional military education, such as Airman Leadership School.

Even after training, we were encouraged to track every accomplishment on our "I love me sheets," tallying achievements for annual performance reports. The culture rewarded doing more—volunteering, taking on extra duties, pursuing higher education—anything to stand out. For over a decade, I lived in this environment, driven to surpass my peers in every way, personally and professionally.

As a young Airman, I juggled being a single mom to a toddler, attending community college to finish my third associate’s degree, volunteering as a firefighter/EMT, and earning a spot in a competitive Military Language Internship Program. Earlier this year, I managed several months alone with my three kids while my husband attended Officer Training School and moved ahead of us to a new assignment. During that time, I worked full-time, completed my last four classes to earn my bachelor’s degree, cared for our chickens, packed the house for a move, and still got the kids to church every Sunday.

Even now, with my last nursing school final ending on December 13, I’ve read eight books and volunteered 51 hours at the firehouse in just a few weeks. The truth is, I don’t know how to relax. I always feel like I should be doing something, or I feel guilty.

I recently transitioned from an intelligence job to a full-time nursing student, and the switch has been strange for many reasons, but one of the biggest has been how it’s changed my sense of achievement. Since graduating high school and joining the Air Force (less than two months later), I’ve always had external metrics of success—grades, awards, and performance reports. I graduated from every military education program with at least an honor graduate, won periodic performance awards in my units, and earned every degree summa cum laude. My standards are sky-high; for years, the military reinforced them with social and material awards.

But now? No one cares about my 4.0 GPA in nursing school. As long as I meet the program’s minimum passing threshold, the detachment overseeing my commissioning program doesn’t track my performance. There are no quarterly awards and no performance reports. For the first time, I must shift from being extrinsically motivated—seeking recognition and rewards—to being intrinsically motivated. I must focus on mastering skills and becoming the best nurse for myself and my future patients, not for a ribbon or a pat on the back.

It feels vulnerable to admit this. Part of me feels bratty and whiny to say I want more recognition. But realizing this has been eye-opening. The military shaped my brain chemistry to crave achievement and purpose, and now I have to redefine success on my terms.

When I return to the "real" Air Force after nursing school, I want to approach leadership differently. I know I’ll be working with Airmen who feel the same pressure I’ve felt—like they can’t slow down. Instead of pushing them to juggle work, college classes, volunteering, and additional duties to check all the boxes, I want to help them set meaningful goals that genuinely excite them. Goals that align with their values and interests, not just what someone with high standards says they should do to be the "best."

Recognizing my addiction to achievement has been a humbling process. It’s a part of who I am, shaped by my years of military service. But I’m learning that I need to find joy and fulfillment in things that truly matter to me rather than constantly needing to prove myself to others.

As I continue this journey, I want to grow personally and help others, especially fellow service members, appreciate the value of intrinsic motivation. Encouraging meaningful goals and balanced lives can lead to healthier, happier, and more fulfilled Airmen, nurses, or whatever roles we take on in the future. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is permit ourselves to be—to enjoy the moments between the milestones.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn how to relax along the way.

---

TSgt Emalee Mahr has provided exquisite intelligence support to thousands of operations across the globe.