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I can still feel the smell of a rainy autumn day when a drill instructor walked in front of my company and told us, “We will break you and remake you.”
At that time, I laughed deep inside, still full of illusions. I thought, “I already know everything.” I’m Mario Bekes, a special forces operator—what could this man possibly teach me?
I was wrong. The instructor was right. They broke us down—every illusion, every false belief—and through repetition, discipline, and hardship, they remade us. It did not take 21 days. It took months of sweat, sleepless nights, and endless drills.
Later, through military education, it was explained to us: recruits must be young, healthy, and untrained, because habits—real habits—are not created overnight.
They are forged in time, through controlled environments and relentless repetition.
This is why, when I see the self-help industry promising people that “it only takes 21 days to change a habit,” I recognize it for what it is: a myth, a simplification, and in many cases, a dangerous lie.
The promise of “21 days” sounds scientific, even authoritative. But like many modern myths, it has a traceable origin.
In the 1950s, Dr. Maxwell Maltz, a plastic surgeon, began noticing something peculiar in his patients. Those who underwent operations—whether cosmetic surgery or amputation—typically needed about three weeks to get used to the change in their appearance or body [theleadershipsphere.com.au].
In 1960, he published his book Psycho-Cybernetics, where he wrote that it “usually requires a minimum of about 21 days for an old mental image to dissolve and a new one to gel.” It was an observation, a medical reflection on adjustment—not a universal rule of psychology.
Yet the simplicity of the number took on a life of its own. Over the decades, self-help authors and motivational speakers stripped Maltz’s statement of its nuance. Soon, his cautious “minimum of about 21 days” became a bold proclamation: “It takes 21 days to change a habit.”
A myth was born.
Decades later, psychologists sought to test this claim. In 2009, Phillippa Lally and her team at University College London followed 96 volunteers as they tried to adopt new habits: eating fruit with lunch, going for a run, and drinking more water.
The findings were devastating for the 21-day promise. On average, it took participants 66 days for a habit to become automatic. Some needed only 18 days; others required up to 254 days.
That is nearly a year—far removed from the three-week miracle.
Neuroscientists added further depth. Research into brain plasticity shows that building or breaking neural pathways requires sustained effort over months, not weeks. A neuroscientist quoted by MindBodyGreen pointed to about nine weeks—63 days—as a more realistic timeframe for embedding new behaviour.
This is the scientific consensus: habit formation is complex, variable, and deeply personal. There is no magic number.
So why does the 21-day claim continue to dominate motivational seminars, coaching sessions, and Instagram posts? The answer is both simple and unsettling.
The myth survives because it sells.
“21 days” is digestible. It fits neatly into a headline, a workshop flyer, or the title of a TikTok video. It is short enough to feel possible and long enough to feel serious. It taps into our craving for certainty and our desperation for quick transformation.
The self-help and coaching industries thrive on this illusion. If people succeed, the guru takes credit. If they fail, the individual is blamed for lacking discipline.
And so, the cycle continues—with clients returning, wallets open, searching for the next program, the next “challenge,” the next promise of transformation.
In truth, what is being sold is not transformation but industrialized hope—hope packaged into timeframes, slogans, and formulas.
In the army, breaking and remaking habits worked because it was designed for a very specific group. Recruits were screened for age, health, and resilience. Training was brutal and uniform and delivered in an environment where every variable was controlled.
Now compare this with the way modern coaches apply the 21-day formula. It is marketed equally to:
a teenager trying to build a study routine,
a middle-aged smoker attempting to quit after 20 years,
a business executive aiming to overhaul eating habits.
To claim that all these people can transform themselves in 21 days is not just naive. It is negligent.
Habit change is influenced by countless variables: age, cultural background, psychological history, environment, and even language.
In my experience, as both a soldier and an investigator, I have seen how small differences—in training conditions, in mental preparedness, in leadership—drastically change the outcome. To apply a blanket rule is to ignore human complexity.
If the science is so clear, why does the myth survive? The answer lies in human psychology.
We prefer simple truths to complex realities. A precise number like “21” feels authoritative. In psychology, this is called cognitive ease—our brains accept what is simple and repeatable.
We also crave success stories. A rare individual who manages to change in 21 days becomes the poster child of an entire industry, while the thousands who fail are quietly ignored. And finally, there is emotional marketing. Hope sells better than truth.
The tragedy is that people do not fail because they are weak. They fail because they were set up with false expectations.
Here lies the nuance. While 21 days is not enough to permanently change most habits, committing to three weeks can have value. It can act as a launchpad—a short, sharp commitment that builds awareness and momentum.
But it is not the destination. It is the first mile in a marathon. The danger arises when 21 days is sold as the finish line, rather than the starting block.
I know this not just from science but from life itself.
In war, habits were drilled into us until they became survival reflexes. It took months of repetition—stripping weapons blindfolded, crawling under barbed wire, and reacting to fire without hesitation.
In investigations, habits of listening, observing, and documenting were developed over years. A single careless slip of attention could compromise a mission.
In boxing, I have trained for months to adjust a single stance, a single jab. No serious fighter believes in the fantasy of overnight transformation.
Habits are survival tools. They are not created in 21 days. They are built through persistence, sweat, and the willingness to endure the grind.
The 21-day myth may seem harmless, but it has real consequences. It convinces people that failure is personal weakness rather than flawed advice.
It feeds an industry that profits from recycling illusions.
And worst of all, it robs people of patience—the very quality most essential to lasting change.
Real change takes time. It takes months, sometimes years. It takes discipline, structure, and support. There are no shortcuts.
The next time you hear a guru declare, “It only takes 21 days to change your life,” remember this: what they are selling is not truth, but marketing. And marketing will never replace the battlefield of reality.
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