Why uncertainty makes us panic — even when we want the goal

One of the most confusing experiences in pursuit of a meaningful goal is noticing that the moments we care about the most are often the moments when our nerves show up the hardest. Not just excitement, but the kind of nerves that tighten our thinking, disrupt our decision-making, or lead us to do something that doesn’t align with what we know would help.

It can look like self-sabotage from the outside. After all, why would someone get in their own way when the goal matters so deeply?

But what’s happening in these moments is not a lack of desire, motivation, or discipline. More often, it’s a response to uncertainty.

Long-term goals place a unique demand on the brain. They require sustained effort without immediate payoff, trust in a process that doesn’t always produce linear results, and patience while identity, skill, and confidence catch up to intention. Along the way, the brain is constantly scanning for feedback — for signs that the effort being put in now will eventually lead somewhere worthwhile.

That’s because the brain doesn’t just like goals. It likes evidence.

Small wins, milestones, and moments of confirmation matter because they create predictability. They reassure us that the path we’re on makes sense and that we can imagine how things might unfold. When those markers are present, even difficult work feels manageable. When they’re missing, uncertainty grows.

This is where nerves tend to escalate. Nerves don’t show up simply because something is important. They show up when the brain can’t confidently predict what happens next. When the outcome is unclear — especially when it carries emotional weight — the nervous system interprets that ambiguity as a problem that needs solving.

This is particularly true in the middle stages of a long-term goal. Early on, novelty and excitement can carry us. Near the end, momentum and belief often take over. But the middle is different. Effort is high, rewards are sparse, and visible progress can feel inconsistent or nonexistent. The brain starts asking harder questions: Is this working? Am I on the right track? How long is this going to take?

There’s a concept I return to often: when pursuing a meaningful goal, roughly a third of the time should feel good, a third neutral, and a third genuinely hard. When that balance is intact, most people stay engaged even when things aren’t easy. But when the “good” third disappears — when there are no wins, no clear markers, no emotional payoff — discouragement isn’t far behind.

In those moments, the nervous system looks for something it can count on. It wants to resolve the uncertainty. And sometimes, that resolution comes in the form of behaviors we later label as self-sabotage: rushing, tightening up, over-controlling, playing it safe in ways that don’t serve us, or even unconsciously steering toward a familiar outcome.

Not because that outcome is desirable, but because it’s predictable.

A known disappointment can feel safer than an unknown success. At least the story makes sense. At least the brain knows how to interpret the ending. In that way, what looks like getting in our own way is often the nervous system choosing a knowable outcome over an uncertain one.

This is also why it’s important to be careful with how we talk about discipline. When people struggle in the middle of long-term goals, it’s easy to assume they need more willpower or tougher standards. In reality, discipline breaks down fastest when the brain doesn’t trust the future payoff. When there’s no feedback, no sense of momentum, and no reassurance that effort is accumulating, it becomes harder to stay oriented to the long game.

Wanting a win in those moments doesn’t mean you’re weak or impatient. It means your brain is asking for confirmation that what you’re doing matters. The issue isn’t the desire for feedback — it’s what happens when uncertainty becomes so uncomfortable that we try to resolve it immediately, even if that resolution costs us later.

What helps isn’t forcing certainty about the outcome. It’s creating predictability in the process. Tracking non-binary progress, noticing improvements that don’t show up as clear wins, and giving the brain evidence that learning and growth are happening all help reduce the pressure to manufacture an ending.

Uncertainty doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re still in the middle. And the middle, uncomfortable as it is, is where most meaningful goals are actually built — gradually, imperfectly, and over time.

If nerves are showing up right now, a useful question to ask is not “What’s wrong with me?” but rather: What proof is my brain craving that I’m on the right path? From there, the work becomes less about controlling outcomes and more about staying connected to the process long enough for the future to unfold.