A client sits across from me and tells me about the boss who unravels weekly - erratic, volatile, unable to regulate - but because they’re brilliant or “strategic,” everyone walks on eggshells. The team absorbs their turmoil like it’s part of the job description.
Another client describes a different form of endurance - staying in a role that feels like a slow leak. They rate their aliveness at a one out of ten, yet convince themselves it’s fine. “It’s stable. It pays well. It funds the lifestyle.”
The world calls that responsibility.
I call it self-abandonment in a well-tailored disguise.
Maybe you know this feeling? The subtle erosion of your vitality. The way each week blends into the next, not because of comfort, but because the discomfort has become familiar.
We tell ourselves stories to make it acceptable:
“I just need to get through this quarter.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“At least it’s secure.”
But every time we tolerate what drains us, we teach the world what we believe we’re worth.
Endurance has its place, its season. For purpose, for growth, for love.
But endurance without meaning? That’s decay. That’s the horror show we’re dressing up as a theme park ride, all temporary scares and thrills.
So, if something in your life feels misaligned, here’s a question worth sitting with:
What are you currently enduring that’s costing you your aliveness?
Not in theory but in the quiet truth of your own day as you’re living it.
Photo by Kamil Kalkan on Unsplash
