There’s a sadistic little saying in the Marine Corps: “Pain is weakness leaving the body.”
I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because my son Judge is in his fifth week of Officer Candidate School. But before I get to that, let me take you back a few years.
When Judge was a freshman at Holy Cross, he was also a Midshipman in their NROTC Battalion. One Sunday he called me, proud as could be, to share that he’d fought all day and his body was covered in bruises.
“Fought? Like… with your fists? Who?”
I went straight into mom mode — and not just any mom mode, but problem-solving mom mode. Does someone not like my child? Do I need to step in here and call “the manager?” Did something happen?
He laughed and explained. His fellow midshipmen had gone on a long hike, stopped in a field, and their instructor told them to drop their packs and put in their mouthguards. They were going to fight until he said “stop.”
The kids were confused. Fight? They’d never done that before.
The instructor explained: War is violent. It’s gritty, it’s bloody, and it’s dirty. The problem is that none of you have ever been punched in the face. How can you talk tough and do tough things if you don’t know how to react to pain?
So they fought. They wrestled. The truly beat the sh*t out of each other.
“Even the girls?” I asked. I mean, I didn’t do that in NROTC. When I served, girls were excluded from combat arms roles.
“Even the girls,” Judge confirmed. “Admittedly, Mom, we didn’t go as hard on them as we did the guys.”
I guess that made me a little relieved.
Officer Candidate School: Week Five
Fast forward to today. Judge is in his fifth week of OCS — and this is when things get real. The early weeks are about instruction and inspection; the middle weeks are about evaluation under pressure. Candidates are pushed through grueling field events designed to test whether they can lead when they’re exhausted, soaked, hungry, and hurting: small unit leadership evaluations where they navigate terrain and make decisions while being scrutinized at every turn, endurance courses run in full gear, obstacle after obstacle, and the infamous Quigley — a chest-deep trench of cold, muddy water that candidates wade and crawl through, weapon held high. It’s a crucible in every sense of the word. The point isn’t the misery itself. The point is discovering what’s still there when comfort is stripped away.
And here’s the thing: I’m not worried. I’m actually relieved. Every hard experience he’s had up to this point — mental, emotional, physical — has been preparing him for exactly this.
A Better Version of the Saying
So back to that Marine Corps ism. Pain is weakness leaving the body. My lived experience compels me to offer an edit:
Pain is wisdom entering the mind.
Pain is a powerful teacher. The lessons live in discomfort — specifically, sustained discomfort. And some amount of misery is going to be necessary on the path ahead, no matter what path you’re on.
Nobody wants to hear that. We all want the spoils of glory, but we’d rather get there by pressing the easy button. We’ve given up the grapple.
We’ve even done it with AI. We no longer have to wrestle with our creative struggles — we’ve got a buddy who’s willing to do our work for us, and who doesn’t complain when we ask for the fourth or tenth edit.
The Question Worth Asking
Now, my guidance isn’t to go out and get punched in the face. That’s not a workplace requirement, and it’s certainly not a life requirement.
But here’s what I want you to sit with, because it’s what I’m sitting with this week:
- What pain are you hiding from?
- Where is comfort shielding you from growth?
- What’s the work you’re not doing — on the job, in your life, in your relationships — that’s keeping you from being prepared to live fully and experience the glory of this life?
I hope you’ll take the time to reflect on it with me, too.
