Reflecting on perseverance this week, I realized how narrowly I\u2019d defined it\u2014goals, accomplishments, grit in sports or school or work. But there\u2019s another kind of perseverance. The kind that doesn\u2019t come with trophies or accolades. The kind shown by a friend who shows up, again and again, even when it\u2019s hard. Even when it\u2019s dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We\u2019ve all seen the mugs and posters urging us to push through: “When you’re going through hell, keep going.”<\/em> Or, “One more call. One more rep. One more win.”<\/em> But nobody talks about the person who takes one more late-night phone call from someone struggling. The friend who listens when the words run dry. The one who still shows up, even when empathy feels used up, and there\u2019s no Marvel-esque theme song<\/em> to rally you back to your feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Most motivation is directed inward. But when we can\u2019t find it within ourselves, we reach out\u2014and it\u2019s that friend who answers. The one who becomes a sibling in spirit. The one who helps you climb out of the well, again and again. Sometimes they\u2019re also the ones left holding the pieces, carrying the grief while making sure everyone else is okay. That, too, is perseverance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Many of us know what it feels like to walk beside a friend through something heavy. To see, even before they do, how serious things have become\u2014and to know that you are suddenly out of your depth. You realize help is needed. And asking for it might risk the friendship. You feel that sinking dread that something could go very wrong. It\u2019s terrifying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Friendship felt easier when we were five\u2014when it meant sharing snacks or playing tag. No one prepares you for what it means to hold someone together when they\u2019re falling apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was in college when we noticed a friend stop eating. She\u2019d often ask us if the food was good while pouring milk on her plate so she wouldn\u2019t be tempted to take a bite. A group of us began to notice it more and more, quietly talking about how to help. It hurt to listen to the way she spoke about herself\u2014words that came from a place of pain, not truth. We watched her tear herself down with a kind of painful conviction, speaking about herself in ways that no one should\u2014but that she clearly believed. We worried when she genuinely expressed how life would be easier without her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We took turns walking with her, sitting beside her, trying to build her self-esteem in whatever small ways we could. We never left her alone in the dining hall or the bathroom. She eventually caught on to us and deployed a whole new set of diversionary tactics. That\u2019s when we realized we were in over our heads. We sought help. And what we learned made us feel even more helpless\u2014the long-term risks to her health, the limited resources available through the school, the slow-moving response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Eventually, we witnessed firsthand the root cause: her older brothers, who took advantage of her good nature and made verbally abusive \u201cjokes\u201d about her looks and her weight. Her parents were oblivious to how deeply it affected her. We went to the counseling office one last time and shared what we had learned. When they reached out to her family, she turned on us. And while I understood her anger, I remember backing away\u2014tired, scared, and frustrated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I still cared. But I was done. She was finally getting help now. And though we still saw each other, eventually our paths diverged. I stand by what we did to help. But life had handed us something far too big to hold, and the friendship didn\u2019t survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was managing a store when one of my employees showed up late. I was frustrated\u2014until I saw her face. She wasn\u2019t alone. She and a group of friends came in together, visibly shaken, and as they started talking, my irritation faded fast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They told me that one of their close friends had died by suicide the day before\u2014he had hung himself in his basement. As they talked through the previous day\u2014the laughter, the normal routines, the sense that maybe he was finally doing better\u2014I heard the heartbreak and confusion in their voices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I listened as they asked the impossible questions: Why didn\u2019t I see it? What if I\u2019d done something different?<\/em> The guilt they felt for enjoying their night while their friend was suffering was palpable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He\u2019d seemed lighter in those final days, like someone turning a corner. But the truth is, depression can be a cunning, brutal force. It\u2019s not always sadness\u2014it\u2019s often self-hatred. It tells you lies so convincing that you can\u2019t feel the love around you. It becomes a voice that argues against your worth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n These teens had tried. They\u2019d listened. They\u2019d offered help. And now they were grappling with the awful truth that sometimes, even when you do everything right, it still ends this way. Their hearts were broken. But they had no blame\u2014only love. I hope they knew how much they mattered to him, even if he couldn\u2019t say it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My son, far too young, once had to make the kind of decision most adults avoid. A friend had started saying things\u2014serious things\u2014about not wanting to live anymore. My son didn\u2019t brush it off. He told his friend he took those words seriously, and he meant it. When his friend made a small but real attempt, my son followed through. He took action, alerting the adults who could step in. It was a risk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The friend was angry. He cut my son off, threatened him, and never spoke to him again. The others in their group, who had also heard the warning signs, quietly thanked my son afterward\u2014but none of them stood up for him when the fallout came. It hurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But my son did the right thing. He spoke up. He said, \u201cI hear you. I believe you. And you matter.\u201d<\/em> He cared enough to act\u2014even when it cost him the friendship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s what real love looks like. Not waiting for things to get worse. Not ignoring the signs. Just showing up and doing what you can, when you can.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And while I wish it hadn\u2019t come at such a cost, I couldn\u2019t be prouder of the strength it took to do the right thing anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It doesn\u2019t get easier with age. When someone you\u2019ve known for decades chooses to leave, the loss feels enormous. You don\u2019t just grieve the moment\u2014you grieve the whole shared history<\/em>. All the life you lived together: milestones, marriages, raising children side by side, road trips, the late-night calls, the inside jokes, the pranks you never told anyone about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n You think, But we were supposed to grow old together.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n And yet, the darker side of mental health doesn\u2019t always fade with time. Sometimes, no matter how much love is offered or how deep the friendship runs, the weight inside them is too heavy. You can\u2019t always reach it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s a devastating reminder that even long-standing relationships can\u2019t always protect someone from their private battles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But before those losses, there are often quiet efforts\u2014acts of love made behind the scenes by the people who refuse to give up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s always that one friend. The one who coordinates with the family to get help. The one who keeps trying to find solutions, even when it seems like nothing is working. These are the friends who become family. The ones who pull you out of the dark hole, again and again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They juggle their own lives\u2014jobs, kids, relationships, responsibilities. And still, they show up. No hero music. No applause. Just love in its most persistent form.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This week, I\u2019m thinking about those friends. The ones who persevere not for glory, but out of love. Who keep showing up because your life matters to them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They don\u2019t need recognition. But they deserve it anyway.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Not all perseverance looks like grit and hustle. Sometimes it looks like a friend who answers the phone when no one else will\u2014and keeps showing up, even when it costs them something.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":111203969,"featured_media":8094,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_coblocks_attr":"","_coblocks_dimensions":"","_coblocks_responsive_height":"","_coblocks_accordion_ie_support":"","_crdt_document":"","advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"_kad_post_classname":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":true,"token":"eyJpbWciOiJodHRwczpcL1wvdGlkYml0c2FuZHdoYXRub3RzLmNvbVwvd3AtY29udGVudFwvdXBsb2Fkc1wvMjAyNVwvMDVcL1BlcnNlcnZhbmNlLWluLWZyaWVuZHNoaXAtMTAyNHg2ODMucG5nIiwidHh0IjoiVG8gdGhlIE9uZXMgV2hvIFNob3cgVXAiLCJ0ZW1wbGF0ZSI6ImhpZ2h3YXkiLCJmb250IjoiIiwiYmxvZ19pZCI6MTE3MzkxMDIzfQ.wdKS404DrgqiKCt5W7tMva9pR1fV0K7ADlyYeHXvYFEMQ"},"version":2},"_wpas_customize_per_network":false},"categories":[779323134],"tags":[779323191,779323188,779323253,779323190,779323185,779323069,779323187,779323192,779323189],"class_list":["post-8084","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-commentary","tag-being-there","tag-depression","tag-discovery","tag-emotional-support","tag-friendship","tag-mental-health","tag-quite-strength","tag-showing-up","tag-suicide-awareness"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/05\/Perservance-in-friendship.png?fit=2598%2C1732&ssl=1","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7WyLB-26o","jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8084","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/111203969"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8084"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8084\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9159,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8084\/revisions\/9159"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8094"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8084"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8084"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tidbitsandwhatnots.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8084"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}When Friendship Becomes the Lifeline<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
We Were Just Kids, But We Knew Something Was Wrong<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
The First Time I Saw It Up Close<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
My Son Did the Hard Thing\u2014And It Cost Him<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
When It Happens Later in Life<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
What Real Friendship Looks Like in the Dark<\/h3>\n\n\n\n