For years, I confused endurance with strength.
I stayed quiet when I should have spoken. I stayed loyal when loyalty required self-erasure. I drank to tolerate things I didn’t know how to confront directly. I told myself that if I just endured a little longer, things would improve.
They didn’t.
My drinking didn’t explode overnight. It crept in slowly—more frequent, more justified, more necessary. Alcohol became a way to stay calm inside situations that were anything but. It helped me tolerate manipulation. It helped me doubt my instincts. It helped me stay.
Stoicism entered my life at the breaking point—not as comfort, but as confrontation.
Epictetus asked a question I couldn’t avoid:
What is up to you, and what is not?
I had spent years trying to control someone else’s behavior, emotions, and honesty—while neglecting the only things that were actually mine: my boundaries, my actions, and my response to pain.
The marriage ended not because I failed to endure, but because endurance without agency is not virtue. It is surrender.
When custody of my daughter was at stake, theory turned into practice. I stopped trying to be liked. I stopped trying to keep the peace at any cost. I focused on what was in my control: telling the truth, staying sober, showing up consistently, and acting with restraint rather than emotion.
That discipline changed the outcome.
I won custody. Not because I was perfect—but because I was grounded, present, and willing to do the work without excuses.
Sobriety came later, but it followed the same principle. I stopped drinking when I accepted that alcohol was not something happening to me. It was something I was choosing—every time.
Stoicism didn’t make sobriety easy. It made it clear.
Clear that urges pass.
Clear that discomfort is survivable.
Clear that self-respect is built, not granted.
I still struggle. I still feel anger, grief, and regret. But I no longer mistake those feelings for commands.
Stoicism gave me a way to suffer without self-destruction, the ability to love deeper through the lessons learned, and a way to live without escaping
Endurance is not staying no matter the cost.
Endurance is choosing the hard right thing, consistently, even when no one is watching.
That is the practice
The Inner Citadel 