I Wasted Years Doing This the Hard Way

By: Tazamain Khan

For the longest time, I believed that doing things the hard way was something to be proud of. I equated exhaustion with dedication and pain with progress. If I wasn’t tired, stressed, or overwhelmed, I assumed I wasn’t trying hard enough. Somewhere along the way, struggle became my standard for success.

That mindset followed me everywhere.

I worked longer hours than necessary. I avoided tools that could save time because I wanted to “earn” results. I refused help, convinced that doing everything on my own made the outcome more meaningful. When something felt difficult, I leaned into it. When it felt easy, I questioned its value.

Years passed like that.

Despite all the effort, my progress was slow. I was constantly busy but rarely satisfied. I crossed items off my to-do list, yet I never felt ahead. What frustrated me most was watching others move forward with less stress. They seemed calmer, more focused, and somehow more effective.

I told myself they were lucky. Or privileged. Or cutting corners.

The truth was harder to accept.

They weren’t avoiding work. They were avoiding unnecessary struggle.

Still, I didn’t change. Admitting there might be a better way felt like admitting I had wasted time. And I wasn’t ready to face that.

The breaking point came quietly.

One night, after spending hours on a task that should have taken far less time, I stared at my screen and felt nothing. No pride. No motivation. Just exhaustion. I realized I was tired not because I worked hard, but because I worked inefficiently.

That’s when I asked myself a question that changed everything:

Am I actually growing, or am I just repeating the same habits because they feel familiar?

For the first time, I slowed down instead of pushing forward.

I started paying attention to how I worked, not just how much. I noticed patterns. I often started from scratch instead of learning from others. I spent time figuring things out the long way when guides already existed. I avoided systems because I thought struggle built character.

What it really built was resistance to change.

So I experimented. I watched tutorials instead of guessing. I used tools instead of forcing manual work. I asked people questions instead of assuming I had to suffer to learn. I stopped glorifying burnout and started valuing clarity.

At first, it felt uncomfortable—almost wrong. Like I was cheating.

But the results spoke louder than my pride.

Tasks that once took days were finished in hours. Mistakes I kept repeating disappeared once I understood the process behind them. My work became cleaner. My progress became visible. And most importantly, I stopped feeling constantly behind.

The biggest shift wasn’t external—it was internal.

I realized I had tied my identity to struggle. Letting go of that meant accepting that pain isn’t proof of commitment. Effort matters, but direction matters more. Working hard on the wrong approach doesn’t make you disciplined; it makes you stuck.

That realization hurt, because it came with regret.

I thought about the years I spent doing things the hard way simply because I believed I had to. The opportunities I delayed. The energy I drained. The growth I postponed by refusing to adapt.

But regret is only useful if it teaches you something.

Now, I approach work differently. Before starting, I pause. I ask whether there’s a smarter way. I look for frameworks, examples, and systems. I respect my time instead of trying to prove something through exhaustion.

I still work hard. That part hasn’t changed.

What has changed is my relationship with effort. I no longer measure progress by how tired I am at the end of the day. I measure it by clarity, consistency, and results.

If I could speak to my younger self, I wouldn’t tell them to stop trying or dreaming big. I would tell them to stop glorifying struggle. To understand that ease doesn’t mean laziness and efficiency doesn’t mean shortcuts.

Sometimes, the hardest lesson isn’t learning how to push forward.

It’s realizing you’ve been pushing the wrong way.