If you've made (and failed) the same resolution three years in a row, it's not about discipline—it's about something much darker you haven't looked at yet

You know what? I've made the same New Year's resolution four years running. Four. Years.

Every December 31st, I'd write in my journal (one of 47 notebooks I've filled since discovering journaling at 36): "This year, I'll finally achieve work-life balance." And every year, by February, I'd be back to my old patterns. Working late. Skipping runs. Canceling plans with friends.

For the longest time, I blamed my lack of discipline. I bought planners, downloaded apps, read every productivity book on the shelf. Nothing stuck. Until my therapist asked me a question that changed everything: "What would actually happen if you succeeded?"

I went silent. Then I started crying, something I hadn't done in years. Because deep down, I knew the answer. And it terrified me.

The comfort of familiar failure

Here's what nobody tells you about repeated resolutions: sometimes we're more attached to the problem than we realize.

Think about it. That resolution you keep making? It's become part of your identity. "I'm trying to lose weight." "I'm working on my anger issues." "I'm attempting to save money." These aren't just goals anymore. They're stories you tell yourself about who you are.

When I kept failing at work-life balance, I got to remain the dedicated professional, the one who sacrifices for success. It was exhausting, sure. But it was also safe. I knew exactly who I was in that story.

What scared me more than burnout? The possibility of actually succeeding and having to figure out who I'd be without my familiar struggle.

Your shadow beliefs are running the show

Psychology calls them shadow beliefs, those unconscious assumptions that drive our behavior from behind the scenes. They're the real reason your resolutions keep failing.

Mine went something like this: "If I'm not constantly proving my worth through work, people will discover I'm not that special." Heavy, right? But that belief had been steering my choices since my twenties, long before I consciously decided to seek balance.

These shadow beliefs often sound like:
"Good things don't happen to people like me"
"If I lose weight, I'll have to deal with attention I'm not ready for"
"Having money means I'm greedy or materialistic"
"Being in a relationship means losing my independence"

Notice how each of these makes failure feel safer than success? That's not coincidence. Our psyche is brilliant at protecting us from perceived threats, even when those threats are actually positive changes.

 The secondary gains keeping you stuck

A client once told me she'd been trying to quit smoking for seven years. Seven! When we dug deeper, she realized her smoke breaks were the only time she allowed herself to step away from her desk, to breathe, to be alone with her thoughts.

The smoking wasn't just an addiction. It was serving a purpose she hadn't acknowledged. Psychologists call these "secondary gains," the hidden benefits we get from our problems.

My workaholism had plenty of secondary gains. It made me feel important. It gave me an excuse to avoid difficult personal relationships. It let me sidestep the question of what I actually wanted from life beyond professional success.

What secondary gains might your repeated resolution be providing? Does your messy house give you a reason to avoid hosting? Does your lack of savings mean you never have to confront your fear of investing? Does staying in a dead-end job protect you from the possibility of failing at something new?

The fear beneath the fear

At 36, I hit a wall. Full-blown burnout. The kind where you sit in your car in the company parking lot and can't make yourself go inside. That's when I finally started therapy and began excavating what was really going on.

Beneath my fear of work-life balance was a fear of being ordinary. Beneath that was a fear of not mattering. And beneath that? A deep, primal fear that I wasn't loveable just as I was, without all the achievements and accolades.

Your repeated resolution likely has its own excavation site. Maybe you say you want to find a partner, but beneath that is a fear of vulnerability. Under that might be a fear of being truly seen. And at the bedrock? Perhaps a belief that you're fundamentally flawed.

These aren't comfortable realizations. I remember leaving that therapy session feeling like I'd been turned inside out. But here's what I learned: you can't outrun these shadow beliefs with willpower. You can't discipline yourself past them. You have to turn around and face them.

Starting the real work

So how do you actually address what's been lurking in the shadows? First, you need to get honest about what's really going on.

Grab a notebook (trust me on this one) and write your repeated resolution at the top of the page. Then ask yourself: "What would change if I actually succeeded?" Write everything that comes up, especially the scary stuff.

Next, ask: "What am I getting from not changing?" List every secondary gain, no matter how small or embarrassing. Do you get sympathy? An identity? An excuse? Write it all down.

Finally, complete this sentence as many times as you can: "If I succeed at this, I'm afraid that..." Keep going until you hit something that makes your chest tight. That's where the real work begins.

When I did this exercise with work-life balance, I wrote things like: "I'm afraid I'll become irrelevant," "I'm afraid I'll have to face how empty my personal life is," and "I'm afraid I'll discover I don't actually know how to relax."

Each fear pointed to deeper work that had nothing to do with time management or discipline.

 The path forward isn't what you think

Here's the plot twist: you might not need to achieve that resolution at all. Once you understand what's really driving it, the whole game changes.

I thought I needed work-life balance. What I actually needed was to dismantle my belief that my worth was tied to my productivity. Once I started addressing that through therapy, journaling, and a lot of uncomfortable self-reflection, the balance issue resolved itself.

The resolution was never the real problem. It was just a symptom of something deeper that needed attention.

Final thoughts

If you've been making the same resolution year after year, stop beating yourself up about discipline or willpower. You're not weak. You're not lazy. You're protecting yourself from something that feels scarier than your current situation.

The question isn't "How can I finally stick to this resolution?" The question is "What is this pattern trying to tell me about what I really need to heal?"

This work isn't easy. When I started confronting my shadow beliefs, I wanted to quit therapy approximately every other session. But on the other side of that discomfort? Freedom. Real, actual freedom from patterns that had been running my life for decades.

Your repeated resolution isn't a failure. It's a invitation to look deeper. What you find there might be dark, but it's also where your real transformation lives.

And that's worth so much more than any resolution you could write in a journal.