I Went to a Therapist to Fix My Restlessness—Turns Out I Just Needed a Purpose

For most of my adult life, I’ve been on this hamster wheel of proving myself. Master something. Move on. Get bored. Repeat. It’s like my brain had a standing appointment with burnout and was afraid to cancel it.

And look, on paper, it sounds impressive—military career, culinary school, catering company, financial advisor, karaoke host, part-time DJ, and now full-time teacher. But when I really started to dig into why I couldn’t just be for a second, the answer wasn’t “because I’m just a high achiever.” Nope. The real answer, as my therapist helped me realize, was more like: “I’m constantly chasing worth.”

Yeah. That one stings a little.

See, I had this drive—not ambition, not curiosity, not a hobbyist spirit—but a need to prove that I was good at something. And not just good. The best. And then, once I hit that level, I’d say, “Cool, what’s next?” and start the whole process over again.

Enter therapy. Cue the uncomfortable breakthroughs.

I started digging into Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), which, by the way, sounds way less intimidating than “acceptance of self through confronting all your lifelong patterns of avoidance.” But that’s basically what it is. And as I talked with my therapist (and myself, a lot), one big question kept coming up:

Why do I feel like I have to keep starting over to feel like I matter?

Turns out, the answer was simple and deeply annoying: I didn’t believe that what I was doing—at that moment—was enough. I didn’t trust that sticking with something meant growing. I thought sticking with something meant settling.

Then came teaching.

Now listen, I didn’t exactly plan to become a middle school math teacher. But once I stepped into that classroom, something clicked. I wasn’t bored. I wasn’t restless. I didn’t hate waking up early (okay, maybe a little, but I did it). I was challenged—but in a way that fed me instead of draining me.

I realized: This is it. This is the thing I was meant to do.

And I don’t want to run away from it. I want to get better at it. I want to master it. I want to be the kind of teacher that makes kids love learning—by showing them different ways to think, by using their strengths, by creating a classroom where shortcuts aren’t lazy—they’re brilliant strategy.

Cooking? It’s still in the mix.

I’m still catering. I still love food. But now it’s something I get to do, not something I need to master to feel whole. It’s in my back pocket. It’s how I unwind. It’s how I make a few bucks and serve up joy. But it’s not who I am anymore. And I’m okay with that.

And all the “extra” stuff I’m doing—hosting karaoke, DJ’ing events, writing blog posts like this—it’s not me trying to prove myself anymore. It’s me showing up in different ways to teach. To connect. To be part of something bigger than myself.

So what’s the point of all this?

Well, one: therapy is not just for people in crisis. Sometimes it’s just the mirror you need to stop chasing your own tail.

And two: if you’ve been feeling like you always need to “do more” or “be more,” maybe it’s not about doing anything new. Maybe it’s about letting yourself stay—stay in the thing you love, stay in the craft you’re building, stay in the belief that what you’re doing matters. Because it does.

Especially if you’re doing it for the right reasons.

Not to prove your worth—

But because you’ve finally realized you already have it.

If any of this resonates with you, feel free to share it or drop a comment.

I’m just out here trying to make sense of things, one breakthrough (and math lesson) at a time.

—Brian

About the author

Brian Meerbott is a Navy vet turned chef turned middle school math teacher who finally found his purpose—helping kids (and grownups) learn in ways that make sense to them. He believes in shortcuts, second chances, and karaoke as a valid form of therapy.