Somewhere along the line, we started handing out medals for absorbing punishment.
Not for building anything. Not for fixing anything. Just for how much you could take without saying anything about it.
I bought that for a long time. Longer than I’d like to admit in print.
The confusion at the center of it
Endurance is a capability. It is not a virtue, and the difference matters enormously.
A capability is a tool. It’s neutral. It’s useful when it’s pointed at something worth enduring for, and it’s destructive when it’s pointed at nothing in particular.
A virtue is a thing you should cultivate more of, unconditionally.
When you file endurance under “virtue,” every increase looks like growth. More tolerance for garbage becomes evidence of character. Being able to take it becomes the thing you’re proud of, independent of what “it” is or where it’s taking you.
And that is how good people end up eleven years into something that’s hollowing them out, feeling obligated to keep going — because stopping would mean they were weak.
The question that sorts it
Ask what the endurance is for.
Not what it’s against — anyone can list what they’re putting up with. What is it purchasing?
Sometimes there’s a real answer. Four more years to the pension. Getting the youngest through school. Keeping a crew together through a bad stretch that you know has an end date. Those are worth something. Endurance in service of a specific, named, time-bound purchase is one of the most respectable things a person can do.
But sometimes you ask the question and the answer comes back as fog. “Because that’s the job.” “Because everyone’s dealing with it.” “Because what else am I going to do.”
That’s not purpose. That’s momentum wearing purpose’s coat.
Three ways to tell which one you’re in
Does it have an end?
Endurance that’s building something has a shape. You can see the far side of it, even if it’s distant. Endurance that’s just draining you extends indefinitely in every direction. When you try to picture it being over, nothing renders.
Is it costing you things you can’t rebuild?
Money, you can make back. Sleep, mostly, you can catch up on. A missed weekend is survivable.
But some things don’t restock. The years when your kids actually wanted your attention. The version of your marriage that existed before you both stopped expecting things. Your body, past a certain point. Your ability to feel interested in anything.
Endurance that’s spending the non-renewable stuff is not a strength. It’s liquidation.
Would you tell someone you love to do it?
This one is unfair and I use it anyway.
Picture the person you’d least want to see wear down — your kid, your best hand on the crew, whoever. Now imagine them describing your exact situation to you.
What comes out of your mouth?
Most of us discover we hold a standard for the people we care about that we don’t extend to ourselves. That gap is worth staring at.
What this isn’t
This isn’t permission to quit anything that gets hard. Hard is not the same as harmful, and plenty of worthwhile things feel identical to bad ones for a stretch in the middle.
It’s also not a claim that you can simply choose your way out. Some people are genuinely trapped — by a medical situation, by what they owe, by where they live and what work exists there. Telling those people to “set a boundary” is worse than useless.
If that’s you, the honest version is smaller: stop calling it a virtue.
You may not be able to change the circumstance yet. You can absolutely stop congratulating yourself for absorbing it, because that congratulation is the thing keeping you from noticing when an exit does open. People who believe their suffering is meritorious walk past doors.
What to do this week
Nothing dramatic. Try one of these:
- Name the purchase. Out loud, to one person. “I’m doing this for X, until Y.” If you can’t finish that sentence, you’ve learned something.
- Find one thing you stopped doing. Not a hobby you’re supposed to want. Something you actually used to do. Do it once.
- Say one true thing at work. Not a complaint. Just: “that took more out of us than it should have.”
You’re not weak for noticing the cost. Noticing is the first competent thing anyone does about it.
If work is affecting your health or safety, please talk to a doctor or a licensed counselor. This article is lived experience, not medical advice. In the US you can call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, any time. More resources →
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