The Wisdom to Walk Away: Lessons in Letting Go from a Green Beret

Real strength isn't always holding the line. Sometimes, it's knowing when to walk away.

We live in a culture drunk on perseverance. "Never quit." "Keep pushing." "Die before you give up." These mantras sound noble—especially in the military world, where grit is currency—but they're also dangerously incomplete.

After 25 years in Army Special Forces, I've learned the hard way: real resilience isn't about blindly grinding forward. It's about knowing what to quit, when, and why. And sometimes, quitting is the most courageous move you'll ever make.

The False Dichotomy: Tactical Quitting vs. Strategic Abandonment

Not all quitting is created equal. There's a huge difference between giving up out of fear or discomfort (tactical quitting) and walking away with intention after thoughtful reflection (strategic abandonment).

I learned this distinction firsthand in 2005 during Delta Force selection. Midway through, I developed severe Achilles tendonitis. I couldn't climb hills. I couldn't meet time hacks. I made the decision to self-select out—not because I lacked the heart, but because I understood the outcome if I stayed. That wasn't weakness. That was strategy.

I returned a year later, healthy and ready, and passed. But I wasn't hired. The rejection letter described me as "inappropriate for the unit." That single word, “inappropriate”, hit like a hammer. Not because of the career implications—but because it hit a much older wound. It was belief I had carried since childhood: You're not good enough. You don't belong.

Overcompensation and the Long War Within

My response? I overcompensated—hard. I went into even more selective arenas within Special Operations and thrived. I played the role. Wore the mask. Became the man who would never be rejected again. I weathered the storm and screamed into the void.

But even that didn't fix the wound. You can stack accolades a mile high and still feel hollow if the pursuit is built on fear instead of purpose.

The Myth We Live

There's an ancient myth about a king named Sisyphus. His punishment for defying the gods was to roll a boulder uphill for eternity, only to watch it tumble back down each time he neared the top.

I think a lot of men live like that—not because the gods cursed them, but because somewhere along the way they learned that their worth was tied to effort. To achievement. To suffering. So they keep pushing the same boulder. Day after day. Year after year.

But here's the truth no one tells you: If you're the one choosing the boulder, it's not punishment—it's performance. And the only way out might be dropping the stone and asking, "Was this ever mine to carry?"

The Identity Trap

We don't just fear quitting. We fear what it says about us.

"I am a Green Beret, therefore I must endure."
"I am a father, therefore I must never show weakness."
"I am a leader, therefore I must always have the answer."

These identity statements become invisible prisons. We wear them like armor, but over time they start to choke us. Maybe the most powerful force keeping us locked in paths that no longer serve us is identity. As James Clear emphasizes in "Atomic Habits," we are what we do repeatedly. This creates a challenging dynamic when circumstances change.

Consider the athlete whose identity is bound to running, despite physical pain that makes walking difficult for days afterward. "I am an athlete, therefore I run" becomes a prison rather than a motivator when the activity no longer serves wellbeing.

When I didn't make the final cut for Delta, I turned that into a statement about who I was. That single word—"inappropriate"—became gospel. For years, I let it define me. And that was the real war: not with the Army, not with the selection process, but with myself.

Warning to the reader: If reading this triggers scoffing or emotional recoil—if your first thought is "I'll quit when I'm dead" or "I'd rather die than give up"—then pause. That reaction might not be strength. It might be a signal. A blaring red flag that you've built your identity on performance, not truth. That reflex to reject the very idea of quitting? That might be the first real step on your authentic journey—if you've got the guts to investigate why.

Quitting the Internal Narrative

Eventually, I quit something far more important than any mission or path—I quit the belief that I had to earn my worth.

That didn't happen overnight. It took years of therapy, the unshakable love of my wife, and men in my life who weren't afraid to say "I love you" and mean it. Slowly, I let go of the idea that I had to be perfect to be loved. This was hard, harder than any selection to any elite unit I’ve ever attended.

That's what I want folks—especially the ones who look like they've got it all figured out—to hear: the most powerful thing you may ever quit is the internal script that says you're only as good as your achievements.

The Art of the Pivot

You don't have to abandon your values to walk away. You can pivot while staying true.

Quitting doesn't have to mean loss. Sometimes, it's just a shift in method—a new path to the same goal.

Instead of "I'm an athlete, therefore I run," try:
"I value physical wellbeing, and that might look different depending on the season I'm in."

Instead of "I'm a warrior, therefore I suffer," try:
"I'm a warrior, and I train for longevity—so I can keep fighting the fights that matter."

That reframe matters. It lets you keep your purpose intact while giving yourself permission to evolve. It may sound like a cop out, but I promise you, it is not.

Five Questions to Ask Before You Quit (or Push Through)

1. What am I really chasing here—and why?

2. If I were starting fresh today, would I choose this path?

3. What would I tell someone I love if they were in my shoes?

4. What am I missing by continuing down this road?

5. Am I doing this for my values—or to prove something to someone?

The Paradox of Quitting

Viktor Frankl, who survived the Nazi concentration camps, wrote: "If there is meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death, human life cannot be complete."

I don't disagree. Suffering can forge character, deepen empathy, and reveal purpose. But there's a critical distinction: not all suffering leads to meaning. Some suffering is just suffering. Resilience is often defined as not quitting. That's a partial truth.

Resilience is knowing when to stay, and when to walk away. When to dig in, and when to pivot. When to suffer for something bigger—and when suffering is just ego disguised as virtue.

The most important "quit" of my life wasn't a career move. It was the moment I stopped trying to prove my worth to the world. I walked away from the story that said I had to earn love through pain.

And on the other side of that? I found peace.

Sometimes, the most courageous act is not pressing on. It's saying, "This no longer serves me," and having the strength to lay it down.

Because the Green Beret motto—De Oppresso Liber—isn't just about liberating others.

Sometimes, the one who needs liberating… is you.