Breaking the Loop: What It Took to Finally Move Beyond My Pain

Eventually, the usual tricks stopped working.

Longer warm-ups, a couple ibuprofen, some light stretching—none of it made a difference.

I couldn’t get out of bed like I used to. I couldn’t sleep through the night. Even the simple things felt different. The way I put on my pants. The way I got out of the car after work.

It was all just… harder.

My motivation to train faded. I started skipping workouts, telling myself I’d do some mobility instead. The weekend hikes we used to love became rare. I was nervous about how my back would feel after, especially after hours of sitting in the car. (Even now, long after the worst of the pain has passed, I still catch myself moving with hesitation. Bending differently. Bracing out of habit. The patterns I built during those painful stretches are still in me.)

That’s when I realized the pain had become more than physical. It was starting to take over my identity.

I was a Doctor of Physical Therapy. A coach. A former college athlete. I was supposed to have it figured out. I was supposed to be the one helping people out of pain. But I couldn’t even help myself.

I still remember one of the lowest points.

I was working in an outpatient orthopedic clinic in Goose Creek. On my way to bring a patient back, I stomped my right foot into the ground with every step. The numbness in my leg was so distracting during the last session that I could not focus on what the person in front of me was saying.

…And I was supposed to be the expert.

I remember thinking, “maybe this is just my life now. Morning stretches to loosen up, pain meds at lunch, a heating pad at night.”

I started to believe that might be okay. I started to settle.

The fire pit, the gym, and the flare-up

Fast forward just over a year, and I had made a lot of progress. I had acknowledged the pain, addressed the biggest issues, and was getting back to normal life. I was training again. I was feeling stronger. At the time, I thought I was almost out of the woods.

Looking back, I wasn’t even close. I was just stuck deeper in what I now call The Pain Loop.

My fiancée and I were staying at her parents’ house between contracts. A few days in, I decided to build a fire pit in their backyard. They had a little dead space and some extra materials, and I figured I could make something cool. It actually turned out pretty well—though I don’t think they’ve ever used it. Still, it felt good to create something with my hands and move my body with purpose.

The next day, my back felt a little sore. Understandable after all that lifting. We headed to our old gym—a place we always loved visiting when we were back in town. That day’s class had step-ups, sumo deadlifts, and a few other things I don’t totally remember. Since we were early, I figured I’d run the 5K loop a friend had just timed himself on. I wasn’t much of a runner back then, just the occasional fair-weather jog. But I wanted to see how I measured up.

I didn’t beat his time, but I came close! And that was enough to convince me I was back. Then, I joined the workout, and gave it everything.

Afterward, I noticed my back was tight, so I went to hang from the pull-up bar.

And that’s when it happened.

My back seized up in that familiar, all-consuming way. The kind of warning sign I had ignored too many times before.

I tried to keep it quiet. Walked slowly to the corner of the gym. Laid down. Tried everything I could think of. Gentle stretching. Foam rolling. Just trying to keep it from spiraling. But it was too late.

By the time we got back to the house, I could barely lift my legs out of the car. I leaned on anything I could find to make it to the second floor. Eventually, I crawled into bed and hoped it would all feel better in the morning.

It didn’t.

After a few days of rest, lots of doom scrolling, a heating pad, and my mom’s old TENS unit, I started to feel a bit better. I decided to go downstairs and try to be normal again.

Then… I sneezed.

I was hunched over in the kitchen, reaching for the fridge door, and as soon as I felt the sneeze coming, I knew. That sharp jolt of panic shot through my body. I braced myself, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

But it was worse.

The pain snapped back with full force. All the progress I had made in the last few days was gone in an instant. It took me weeks to get back to walking normally. Months before, mornings didn’t start with stiffness and stretching.

The Pain Loop and what finally changed

And during that time, I finally saw it for what it was.

The Pain Loop.

This cycle I had been stuck in for years. Every time I hit rock bottom, I made promises to myself: I was going to do things differently. I was going to take care of my body. I was going to stay consistent.

But the second I felt better, I reverted back to the same patterns. I stopped doing my rehab. I ramped up the intensity too fast. I told myself I was fine.

I wasn’t (clearly).

Deep down, I knew I was doing it all wrong. But I didn’t know what the better path looked like.

The Pain Loop is powerful. It keeps you in survival mode, always looking for a sign that things are finally better so you can go back to how things were. But those old ways are usually what got you stuck in the first place.

Breaking that loop takes clarity. It takes a shift in mindset. And most of all, it takes consistency in the right direction.

A different kind of roadmap

That’s what my hybrid programming model, The Beyond Pain Operating System, is built to do.

It’s not just a fancy workout program. It’s a roadmap. A framework to help you find clarity around what is actually holding you back, what matters most right now, and how to move through pain instead of around it.

It’s about helping you find consistency to play the long game—rewiring how you think, resolving the underlying issues, rebuilding your body and mindset, and reintegrating all of that into a life filled with progress and purpose.

You’ll regain confidence in your body’s ability to handle stress, in your own ability to make smart training decisions, and in your capacity to respond to setbacks without spiraling back into fear or frustration.

Most importantly, you’ll step out of The Pain Loop and into a version of training and living that feels strong, fun, and sustainable.

Because I used to think I had to prove I was out of pain before I could move forward.

The reality is, I was actually afraid of losing myself… rather, never finding myself again. My ego couldn’t handle waiting another few weeks or months to be the strong guy again.

I was afraid to do the unsexy work. So, I skipped ahead to the “fun stuff.” Ironically, that kept me stuck.

The true turning point for me was when I really gained clarity on what I was avoiding or not acknowledging and bought into the process of consistently (slowly) doing the work. 

I learned how to move THROUGH my pain, instead of just trying to “hope” my pain away. 

I learned how to work through not just the physical roadblocks but, more importantly, the mental and emotional roadblocks that held me back.

I moved BEYOND my pain, once I learned how to move THROUGH my pain.

Now, I know that real progress happens when you move through it.

And that’s where freedom lives.

Thanks for reading,

- Tyler

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P.S. Ready to break out of the pain loop?
Book a free 15-minute consult and let’s talk about what’s been keeping you stuck—and how we can change that.