Done vs. Finished

Read Time:  4 glorious minutes

I can’t do this anymore... I’m done

I bet I hear this at least once a day. And honestly...I get it.

A lot of you feel this way, and it’s because you’re called to do something hard. Not just hard—but so hard—that you often feel like you have nothing in common with anyone.

Especially not your neighbors, who sit around a fire pit in their driveway sipping White Claws and listening to yacht rock, while you’re living life on the “B” side of a Milli Vanilli album (google it). 

Here’s the thing: a lot of people are surprised when life gets hard. 

But not you. You’re not surprised.

For you, hard times are the norm, not the exception because the kids you’re caring for have some real challenges.

These kids don’t sit, don’t listen, and don’t sleep. They don’t get invited to birthday parties, don’t stay off the grass, and don’t keep their hands to themselves. These kids touch, smell, and lick everything.

When you spend your life caring for kids with these types of challenges, it’s easy to come to the wrong conclusion about yourself and the job you’re doing. The only thing you know for sure is that things don’t seem to be getting better. 

But what if there’s a better way to measure success?

Several years ago, I met a patient in my clinic who came with his adoptive grandfather for medication management.  When I came in the room, the child was slumped back on the exam room couch, drowsy and drooling.

The grandfather was wiry, long-haired scarecrow looking product of the ‘60s. Not the flower-power, hippie kind of ‘60s—the hardened Vietnam veteran kind.

He was the kind of man who carried a pocket knife and unapologetically used it to cut his food in restaurants.

Wagging a bony finger in my face, he said, “We’re here to fix this,” while gesturing toward the sedated 10-year-old boy. He was sick and tired of the behaviors but just as tired of raising a zombie.

So we got to work. And while we didn’t fix everything, but we made some great progress. The boy’s behaviors persisted, but we got him out of his sedative haze by taking him off a pile of medications. Over the years, things got better—slowly. And that grandfather and I became good friends.

He once told me that if I shaved my face really close, I’d grow a thick beard. That turned out to be a lie. Aside from that, he was great... until he wasn’t.

The last time I saw him, the nurse pulled me aside before I entered the room to warn me that things were not good with grandpa. 

I walked in to find the grandfather hunched over a garbage can, heaving. When he looked up, he wiped a mixture of blood and vomit off his face.

 “Well, doctor,” he said, setting the garbage can aside, “they tell me I’ve got brain cancer.”

I immediately bombarded him with a thousand questions about his prognosis, treatment, and—most importantly—what he planned to do with his grandson if things took a turn for the worse.  I’ll never forget his response:

Dr. Noble... I fought in Vietnam and didn’t die.

I lost my wife to another man and didn’t die.

At this point, I don't think I can be killed by conventional weapons.

 Because I’ve got a job to do. 

I’m here to raise that boy to be a man.

War didn’t stop me.

Divorce didn’t stop me.

Cancer is NOT going to stop me....

I will finish.

I never saw him again, but I know one thing for sure: That man finished. Not because he was perfect for the job. Not because he was the strongest or had the best resources. Or because he joined the right facebook group or got the right tattoo. 

He finished because he knew the difference between being done and being finished.

The Difference 

So many parents and caregivers feel “done.” Done with the emails and calls from school. Done with the stares at the grocery store. Done with the lack of sleep. Done with the outbursts, flight risks, and IEP meetings. Done with therapy visits and everything in between.

Feeling “done” is normal. It means you need a break, to vent, or to catch your breath. It means you’re human.

Being “done” is present tense—it’s about the here and now. I’m done at work. I’m done with the dishes. It means you need a break from doing the task in front of you....for now. 

Feeling “done” is normal in your situation. It’s your mind and body signaling that you need a moment to recover from being knocked down.The truth is, we all feel “done” sometimes but.....

Being done is not the same as being finished.

Being finished is about seeing it through to completion.  It’s about being the best parent, teacher, or caregiver you can be—no matter how many times you feel “done.” It’s knowing that no one else is better equipped to care for this child than you are. It’s understanding that while this is really hard, it won’t break you. It can't...because you keep getting up. You keep going. That’s what makes all the difference. 

The path to "finished" is paved by the bricks of "done."

Some of you are saying…”that’s all fine and good for your janky newsletter Noble, but how does this actually work?”

I am glad you asked.

Fortitude

When you learn to successfully navigate the tension between being “done” and being “finished,” something begins to take root in your soul. 

A new operating system emerges—one that can only be downloaded in the presence of pain, suffering, and a refusal to quit. It’s called fortitude.

Fortitude is how my friend spit in the face of cancer to finish the race set before him. Fortitue is how you make the internal decision to get up and keep going, no matter how hard it gets. It’s the unshakable belief that you are strong enough to do this...fortitude is for the finishers.

Final Word: You Are Built for This

Every time you’ve felt “done” but chose to keep going, you’ve been building something deeper than just endurance—you’ve been building fortitude.

You’ve been proving to yourself, day after day, that no matter how exhausting, frustrating, or overwhelming this journey gets, you will finish.

And that’s what separates you from the rest.

The truth is, most people never develop this kind of resilience because life doesn’t demand it from them. But you? You’ve been drafted into something harder, something heavier, something that requires more. And because of that, you’ve become someone stronger.

You don’t just survive—you rise.

You don’t just endure—you overcome.

So when the weight of it all starts pressing down on you again—when you feel “done”—remember this:

Fortitude is the bridge between feeling done and actually finishing.

And you, my friend, are built to finish.

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