Balancing perseverance and preservation

America is coming to terms with the entitlement of our “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality. Unfortunately, this ill-fitting motto incorrectly assumes all people have the same opportunities, perseverance is always admirable, and success is inevitable to those who try hard enough.

Writer and civil rights activist Audre Lorde famously wrote:

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”

However, this kind of self-care is often misappropriated by fragility. What Lorde saw as a tool to enable sustainable activism is now a consumerism scheme. Or a get-out-of-discomfort-free card to avoid doing the hard thing—to avoid looking too closely at our complicity in broken systems. 

Is there a clear line between perseverance and preservation? How do you distinguish what is challenging but meaningful from something that is fruitless and damaging? How do you know when you’re persevering in vain—a glorified symptom of capitalism—versus when something important is pushing you out of your comfort zone?

There is no answer to these questions, no replicable checklist to determine what is what, and no one-size-fits-all solution. I also believe there isn’t a true divide between resilience and self-preservation. It’s possible to keep pushing yourself while setting boundaries so you don’t burn out. It’s possible to have incredible stamina and quit early because you know something is not right for you.

I just don’t know how to make these decisions in real-time. Am I neglecting volunteer responsibilities because I am protecting my time for something more important? Or because I’m not willing to dig deep and commit myself to the effort it deserves? Or both?

Let’s say the former is true—I’ve looked within, prioritized self-preservation, and determined volunteer responsibilities must come second. That doesn’t immediately absolve me from the feeling that I could do more. Is it just a matter of finding a better balance?

Or maybe the second option is true, and I’m merely not committing myself because it’s hard. Knowing that doesn’t make it easier to buck up and get on with it. It’s still hard—and possibly made harder by the admission that thus far, I haven’t risen to the challenge. It’s easier to delude myself, claiming limited time or more pressing priorities.

Nevertheless, I return again and again to this imaginary boundary in hopes that it’ll help me better manage my time and energy. What if knowing the difference between perseverance and preservation—knowing when to push and when to pull back—is a matter of practice? 

Then I might not feel that lingering guilt that I should do more because you would know, with great assurance, that I need a break. Then I might not feel so discouraged to push on because I would know that the challenge is worthwhile. I could spend less time trying to talk myself out of it, and more time doing it.

Whatever your checklist includes, however you determine what resilience looks like and when self-preservation is calling, I’d expect we’ll never find the perfect balance. But with practice, we might get a little closer, so we don’t wonder and waffle nearly as much.