Let me paint you a picture: It’s a snowy December evening in Riverdale, the kind where the streetlights catch the falling flakes just right, making everything look like a scene from a Hallmark movie. I’m eleven years old, sitting at the kitchen table in our modest red-brick townhouse. My dad is telling me, for the millionth time, the story of our family’s great work ethic. “Fitzpatricks don’t quit,” he announces, pointing at me with the business end of a fork. “Whatever you start, you finish. That’s how your grandparents built everything we have today.”

For years, I wore that motto like a badge of honor. When I tried to drop out of the high school swim team (I sucked at swimming but had somehow impressed the coach with my overly enthusiastic doggy paddle), Dad’s words echoed in my ears. When I hated my first job as a barista and wanted to quit after three shifts, there it was again: Fitzpatricks don’t quit.

It sounded noble, sure. But over the years, I started to notice something—sticking things out sometimes felt less like a badge of honor and more like a chain around my neck. And like so many early lessons we absorb from our families, I started to wonder: was this "do-or-die" mantra really helping me, or did it need some serious unpacking?

The Myth of Halo Perseverance

Let’s be real: persistence is a good thing. It’s the reason humans got to the moon, invented sliced bread, and kept believing in Ryan Reynolds until he finally nailed Deadpool.

But there’s a shadow side to perseverance—let’s call it “Halo Perseverance.” This is when sticking it out becomes a virtue in and of itself, blinding you to the fact that maybe, just maybe, the thing you’re clinging to shouldn’t be clung to. My grandparents, whom my dad idolized, were first-generation Irish immigrants who worked backbreaking jobs to provide for their family. Their perseverance was an act of survival. But not every context is life-or-death. Some battles demand tenacity; others demand walking away with your dignity intact.

This was a lesson I only learned in my late twenties—though it was probably obvious to everyone around me when I stayed in a dead-end relationship far longer than I should have. Let’s call her Claire (not her real name, though I bet every other Riverdale kid also dated a real "Claire"). Claire was ambitious, whip-smart, and had this way of giggling when I made weird, sarcastic jokes about Toronto real estate. She was basically my dream girl. Until she wasn’t.

Our relationship started strong, like all good rom-coms do, and then slowly devolved into… well, one of those forgettable rom-coms critics label "uninspired." Yet despite every sign that things weren’t working—conversations that felt like mining for gold in bedrock, mismatched expectations on, well, everything—I stuck around. Why? Because Fitzpatricks don’t quit, remember?

Spoiler alert: quitting would’ve probably saved us both months of silent resentment disguised as politeness. But instead, I clung tightly to this myth that leaving was an act of failure, rather than self-respect.

Staying Isn’t Always Strength

Here’s the thing they don’t teach you when you’re growing up hearing about your grandparents’ struggle era: strength isn’t about avoiding a tap-out. Sometimes, strength looks like assessing the situation, understanding your limits, and saying, “Enough.”

So, how do you know when to keep pushing and when to call it quits without feeling like a jerk? Let me share three insights I picked up along the way:

1. Does This Still Align With Who You Are?

Your grandparents might not have had the luxury of asking this question—they had mouths to feed, after all—but you do. And asking yourself if something aligns with your values or goals can be a game-changer. Whether it’s a relationship, a job, or even a friendship, things change as you grow. Sticking with something just because you used to love it can feel like wearing an old sweater two sizes too small. (My apologies to that hand-knit number from my high school girlfriend’s mom—it was a nice sweater in theory.)

2. Is Effort Becoming a One-Way Street?

This one hit me hard during the Claire debacle. I always thought relationships were supposed to be hard work, but there’s a difference between “work” and becoming an unpaid emotional intern. If you’re the only one putting energy in while the other person leans back and enjoys the spoils, it’s time to rethink whether your perseverance is being taken for granted.

3. Are You Avoiding the Temporary Pain of Letting Go?

Letting go can hurt—like a Beyoncé breakup anthem kind of hurt. But sometimes, the temporary pain of walking away is far healthier than the soul-crushing ache of staying somewhere you don’t belong. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid, except the Band-Aid is your entire identity. (Or, as my friend Matt puts it: “Quitting is short-term pain for long-term chill.”)

Redefining the Family Motto

These days, I still think of my family's work ethic with pride—but with a hefty asterisk. The ethos of “Fitzpatricks don’t quit” isn’t useless; it just needs a remix. Persistence, I’ve realized, is best served when paired with wisdom.

For me, that wisdom came in the form of a new motto: “Fitzpatricks don’t quit what matters.” The key is figuring out what actually matters to you, which isn’t always obvious when you’re caught in the thick of things. I wish my younger self had practiced listening to that tiny voice inside—not the pride-fueled one trying to prove something, but the quieter, smarter one that whispered, “You deserve more than this.”

So if you grew up believing your family had a golden rule, like I did, but now find yourself wrestling with it as an adult, don’t worry—you’re not alone. Family myths are just stories we inherit, and sometimes rewriting them is the most liberating thing we can do.

Here’s your takeaway: quitting isn’t always failure. Sometimes it’s self-care, self-preservation, or realizing you were chasing someone else’s dream in the first place. Learn to quit with intention, not fear. And if you’re like me, remind yourself that your grandparents fought for your better future—and maybe that future includes knowing how and when to let go.