The Power of Staying When You Want to Run
Why patience is the practice that rewires everything: from your nervous system to your voice.
I didn’t learn patience in a mindfulness workshop.
I didn’t master perseverance from a motivational book.
I learned them both on a hospital floor, in the still hours between night and morning, when machines hummed and uncertainty was my companion.
That was the year my 14-year-old son was hospitalized with a collapsed lung.
For a month, I lived in that hospital room—meditating, breathing, advocating, and trying not to fall apart. I had no control over his healing. No timeline to cling to. Just breath, presence, and the unbearable weight of waiting.
And that’s when I understood:
Patience isn’t about waiting. It’s about who you become while you wait.
Patience: The Hardest Thing I Ever Learned
In a world that celebrates urgency, patience feels like weakness. We’re told to hustle, to fix, to do more—fast. But when you’re sitting beside someone you love, unable to change their pain, you discover a deeper kind of strength: the strength to stay.
That month taught me that patience is not passive. It’s the art of holding space—without needing to fill it. It’s learning to soften in the face of uncertainty rather than brace against it. It’s developing emotional resilience not as a trait, but as a practice.
Neuroscience backs this up. Studies from the HeartMath Institute show that people who cultivate patience through breathwork, meditation, or mindfulness exhibit lower cortisol levels and better emotional regulation under pressure. But I didn’t need research to confirm what my body already knew—my nervous system, once wired for control, was slowly rewiring for presence.
Patience didn’t give me answers.
It gave me peace.
And that peace allowed me to show up for my son—not as a fixer, but as a witness to his strength.
Perseverance: What Carried Me Through
Healing didn’t happen overnight. Not for him, and not for me.
When I started writing about our story on Substack, it was an act of quiet rebellion. I wasn’t trying to build a brand. I was trying to breathe. Each post was a step back to myself, a breadcrumb on a trail out of overwhelm and into something more honest.
Some days, the words wouldn’t come. Others, they poured out of me like a flood I didn’t know I was holding back.
But I kept showing up.
That’s what perseverance really is. It’s not about pushing through—it’s about returning. Again and again. Even when the voice in your head says, “Who do you think you are?”
Perseverance built something in me that discipline never could:
Self-trust.
Angela Duckworth, in her research on grit, defines perseverance as sustained interest and effort toward long-term goals. But what she doesn’t say—and what I’ve lived—is that perseverance also asks for tenderness. It’s not always loud or linear. Sometimes it looks like resting. Sometimes it looks like crying. But underneath it all is a quiet decision:
I will not abandon myself.
When Patience and Perseverance Hold Hands
The world loves a breakthrough story. We rarely talk about the stretch before the snap, the long, quiet grind where nothing seems to change and yet everything is being restructured.
But that’s the truth of growth.
Patience is the soil. Perseverance is the seed. Together, they birth something far more enduring than instant success: transformation.
When I left Poland at 21 with two suitcases and $50 in my pocket, I didn’t know a word of English. I felt invisible. Powerless. But I persevered. I learned the language. I built a life. I built a family. I built a career. And when life unraveled—through my son’s illness, through personal reinvention—I came back to the same lesson:
You don’t need to be fearless.
You need to keep going while still feeling afraid.
That’s courage.
That’s leadership.
That’s what I teach now.
The Courage to Be With What Is
Today, I help leaders and writers tap into this kind of quiet power. Not by teaching productivity hacks. But by helping them listen to what their lives are already whispering.
The leaders/writers I coach often come to me saying:
“I don’t have time.”
“What if no one reads it?”
“What if I’m not good enough?”
I get it. I’ve been there. And I remind them:
Your voice doesn’t have to be polished. It has to be yours.
And to find your voice, you have to practice the very virtues we’ve been taught to overlook: patience, persistence, and presence.
The payoff?
You stop writing to prove yourself—and start writing to become yourself.
The Invitation
If you’re in a season of uncertainty—waiting for clarity, waiting for healing, waiting for your words—don’t rush. Don’t quit.
Hold still.
Breathe deeper.
Come back tomorrow.
Because you are being shaped, even now.
And that book, that essay, that version of yourself you’re aching to meet?
She’s already on her way.
She just needs you to keep the light on.
What’s something in your life right now that’s asking for your patience—or your perseverance?
I’d love to hear from you.
Leave a comment, or share this with someone who might need it today.
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Join me inside Courage to Create.
Because your story isn’t waiting for the perfect moment.
It’s waiting for your yes.
@Magdalena Ponurska - Great post and I wish more people understood what you are laying down herein. How to think about it, write about it, meditate on it and in the mix live it out to the fullest. We don't often get to what we want without mixing excitement with trepidation. To me, the mixing is what often makes the difference. And the mixing is an art form in my opinion.
"What’s something in your life right now that’s asking for your patience—or your perseverance?"
My book--The Wellbeing Equation. I'll get there but the mixing has been an ongoing journey and an education about living.
I Love this post. I’ve had a front row seat watching you and all your evolutions. I’ve not seen you running away from your circumstances, instead I’ve seen you run into them.