The Science of Grit: What Makes Some People Keep Going?

Jun 17

Some people stop when it gets hard.
Others stop when it gets boring.
And then there are the ones who don’t stop at all.

They keep going…not because it’s easy and not because they’re fearless…but because something deeper drives them.
Through doubt.
Through failure.
Through every reason to quit.

We call it grit. And while it might feel like soul stuff (mystery, myth, unteachable fire) science has something to say about it.

It turns out grit isn’t magic. It’s neurological. Chemical. Biological.
It lives in the brain.
And like any system, it can be understood…maybe even cultivated.

What Exactly Is Grit?

Psychologist Angela Duckworth, who’s spent years trying to understand what sets finishers apart from the rest, describes grit simply: passion and perseverance for long-term goals.

Not talent.
Not luck.
Not being born into the right ZIP code.
Just the quiet decision to keep showing up…for the same dream, over and over…long after the novelty fades and the world stops clapping.

Grit isn’t shiny.
It doesn’t trend. It’s the unphotographed moment: the writer who keeps typing through a fog of self-doubt, the parent who stumbles out of bed for the third time that night, the athlete who trains when no one’s watching.

It’s not about grinding for the sake of suffering, it’s about holding your vision close, even when everything around you says, you should quit by now.

Grit is persistence with purpose. Endurance with meaning.
It’s not the loudest force in the room, but it might be the one that stays longest.

But where does it actually live?
What gives some people the ability to push forward when the rest of us fold?

Let’s crack the hood and see what’s happening beneath the surface…in the brain, in the blood, in the chemistry of not giving up.

The Grit Brain: Dopamine, Discipline, and Delay

At the heart of grit, beneath the mantras and vision boards and early alarms, lives a chemical symphony. And its lead instrument? Dopamine.

We’re used to thinking of dopamine as the pleasure molecule: the rush you get from chocolate, likes, applause.
But dopamine isn’t really about feeling good.
It’s about the pursuit of something good.
It’s anticipation, not arrival. It’s the spark that says keep going…just a little further…something’s waiting for you up ahead.

In gritty brains, the dopaminergic pathway (especially the connection between the ventral tegmental area (VTA) and the prefrontal cortex) is stronger.
More resilient.
It links effort to reward in a more stable way.
So instead of chasing instant wins, they chase progress. Process.
The long arc of a dream coming slowly into focus.

These are the people who feel more joy after ten drafts than ten likes.
They’re wired not for the finish line, but for the running.

And there’s more.

The anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) (the brain’s internal monitor for conflict and error) lights up to say, hey, this is hard…but worth it. It teams up with the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex (dlPFC), which handles focus, strategy, and discipline. Together, they create a feedback loop that fuels resilience instead of retreat.

People with grit don’t feel less stress.
They just respond differently to it. Where others freeze or quit, their brain quietly reroutes: Keep going. Adjust. Adapt. Continue.

It’s not that gritty people don’t feel the burn.
It’s that they’ve trained their minds to move through it, instead of away from it.

The Grit Loop: Perseverance Reinforces Itself

Here’s where things get beautifully recursive: grit isn’t just a trait…it’s a loop.

A self-reinforcing rhythm.
A quiet echo that grows stronger every time you answer it.

Each time you push through something hard, whether it’s finishing a task you didn’t want to start or showing up when no one expected you to, your brain gives you a chemical nod.
A soft release of dopamine. Not for winning.
But for trying.

That small reward teaches your brain something vital: effort leads somewhere.
Not immediately. Not always visibly. But somewhere.

And that “somewhere” becomes a path the brain starts carving into habit.

This is how grit compounds.
The more you choose to continue, the more your brain begins to believe that you can. The neural pathways strengthen. The resistance weakens. The internal dialogue shifts from I hope I can to of course I do.

And over time, perseverance becomes more than a strategy, it becomes your identity.

And identity? That’s where the magic lives. Because when continuing becomes who you are, not just what you do, you don’t need to talk yourself into it.
You just keep going.

Can Grit Be Taught?

Here’s the good news: grit isn’t something you’re born with or without.

It’s not etched in stone.
It’s not limited by IQ, background, or luck.
Grit is plastic…bendable, stretchable, trainable.

You don’t have to feel it to build it.
You just have to begin.

Like a muscle, grit strengthens under pressure. The more you challenge it, the more it shows up for you.

Researchers have found that gritty people don’t just stumble into resilience. They build it, brick by brick, through:

Deliberate practice—the kind of effort that’s uncomfortable, structured, and loaded with honest feedback.
Growth mindset—the belief that what matters most isn’t where you start, but how stubbornly you keep improving.
Purpose connection—anchoring your daily grind to something larger than yourself.
Failure exposure—getting knocked down enough times that you stop fearing it, and start rebounding faster.

The more often you sit with discomfort without running, the more familiar it becomes.
Not easy per se, but less threatening.
The edges soften. The capacity expands.
And soon, what used to break you becomes something you breathe through.

Because grit doesn’t come from comfort.
It comes from learning that you can keep walking anyway.

Grit vs. Burnout: The Line We All Walk

But like all strengths, grit casts a shadow.

Push too hard, for too long, without breathing room or purpose, and what once felt noble starts to feel like a cage.
That steady flame? It flickers.
The same circuits that once flooded with dopamine now start whispering dread. Fatigue. Resistance.
The work that used to fill you now feels like something you’re surviving.

Because grit without rest becomes punishment.
Discipline without compassion becomes depletion.

True grit isn’t about martyrdom. It’s not about grinding yourself into dust to prove you’re strong.
It’s about sustainable commitment.
It’s about knowing when to pause. When to replenish. When to remember why you started in the first place.

The measure of grit isn’t how much you can suffer.
It’s how long you can walk the path without losing yourself along the way.
Grit doesn’t ask you to be superhuman.
It just asks you to stay. And sometimes, staying means learning when to stop, so you can begin again.

My Grit: A Personal Confession

I don’t talk about it much, but if there’s one thing that’s built this blog, it isn’t luck or timing or some bottomless well of energy.

It’s grit.

It’s waking up and writing six posts a day, every day. It’s staring down the blinking cursor when I’m exhausted, when I’m blank, when nothing wants to come out. It’s updating old content when no one’s watching. It’s digging into analytics to make it all sharper, stronger, more seen. It’s writing through migraines. Through tears. Through that voice in my head that sometimes whispers, you’re still not there yet.

And then writing anyway.

Not because I’m fearless. Not because I’m made of steel.
But because somewhere along the way, I made a promise to myself: I won’t stop. I will outwork everyone in the pursuit of building something for my future self and my family.

Not until this strange and stubborn dream becomes something that can support my life.
Not until the work becomes my freedom.
Not until this garden of words blooms into a legacy I can be proud of.

Some people call it hustle. Some call it obsession.

But I know what it really is.
It’s grit.
And it’s the reason I trust myself to finish what I start, even when the road is long, and the reward is still out of sight.

The Daily Habits That Strengthen Grit

Grit isn’t forged in the fire of crisis, it’s grown in the quiet.

It’s not something you summon when everything falls apart. It’s something you train, day after day, in the ordinary moments no one ever applauds.

Here’s how I build mine:

I do something hard before noon. Write a blog post. Tackle a task I’ve been dreading. Move my body. It sets the tone: I can do hard things.
I track momentum, not perfection. I don’t need leaps. I just need forward. One percent counts. One sentence counts.
I reward discipline with recognition, not sugar. I don’t need confetti, I just need to tell myself: you showed up. That matters.
I use ritual like scaffolding. The same sparkling waters (3 of them). The same playlist (Tibetan Bowls). The same walk before the first article (with Riesling). Routine holds the door open when motivation won’t.
I rest deliberately. Not as a reward, but as a requirement. Sleep, sun, stillness…those are part of the grind too.

Because grit isn’t about burning yourself to the ground to prove you’re strong.
It’s a garden, not a furnace.
It grows best with care, rhythm, and room to breathe.

Grit and the Art of Starting Over

People often mistake grit for gritting your teeth: for staying on the same path no matter what, no matter how stuck, no matter how wrong it starts to feel.

But real grit is more alive than that.
Sometimes, grit means starting over.
Sometimes it’s recognizing that the dream you began with isn’t the one you believe in anymore, and having the courage to let it go anyway.

It’s not weakness to pivot.
It’s not failure to say, this isn’t me anymore.

True grit isn’t clinging to an old identity out of pride. It’s burning the version of yourself that no longer fits, and rebuilding from the ashes.
It’s trusting your own momentum more than your history.
It’s showing up…still hungry, still creating…even when the map has changed, even when the audience is gone.

Grit doesn’t say “I’ll finish what I started no matter the cost.”
Grit says, I’ll keep moving toward what matters, even if the road looks different now.

And starting over?
That’s not quitting.
That’s proof your fire’s still alive.

The Grit of Softness

We often picture grit as something hard-edged: sharp, relentless, full of friction.
Grinding. Pushing. Clawing toward the goal.

But some of the deepest grit doesn’t roar.
It whispers.

It’s the mother who wakes up every two hours, again and again, no parade, no applause.
It’s the writer who stares at the same sentence twelve times and still doesn’t give up on getting it right.
It’s the person in recovery who quietly says no for the thousandth time, even when no one’s watching.

This kind of grit doesn’t trend.
It doesn’t post well.
But it’s holy.

Soft grit doesn’t shatter, it adapts.
It doesn’t force, it endures.
It flows like water through resistance and carves a canyon where others see only stone.

It’s the grit that keeps going not with fire, but with faith.
And in the long run, it’s often the softest grit that outlasts them all.

Grit in Seasons of Slowness

Sometimes grit looks like motion: fast, fiery, unstoppable.
The sprint. The surge. The string of productive days that leave you breathless and buzzing.
That kind of grit is glorious.
But it’s not the only kind.

There’s another version: quieter, heavier, harder to romanticize.
The grit of patience.

It’s the kind of grit that waits through rejection.
That keeps watering dry soil with no sign of green.
That grows roots where no one can see.

It’s showing up for the work when nothing is blooming yet.
It’s pressing “publish” on your 553rd blog post, even when the stats still whisper obscurity.
It’s trusting that every sentence is a seed, even when the algorithm stays silent.
It’s the voice that answers panic, not with proof, but with presence.
This might not be working yet…but I am.

In the season of slowness, grit isn’t loud.
It’s a muscle flexed in stillness, a quiet belief held like breath.
It says: Keep going. Even here.
Especially here.

The Grit of Unseen Labor

Some of the grittiest people you’ll ever meet don’t have trophies.
They don’t get standing ovations.
They’re not framed on magazine covers or featured in productivity podcasts.

But they show up anyway.

They wake with pain that has no name.
They care for others while no one cares for them.
They manage medications, emotions, appointments, dinner.
They hold families together while quietly holding themselves upright with borrowed strength.

They don’t post their perseverance.
They don’t wear it like armor.
They just keep going.
Through grief. Through illness. Through exhaustion. Through invisibility.

They are the quiet backbone of this world, the ones who fold dreams into lunchboxes and tape resilience onto refrigerator doors.

That’s grit too.
Not the kind that headlines stories, but the kind that holds up lives.

Unseen. Uncelebrated.
Unbreakable.

Why Motivation Fails and Grit Doesn’t

Motivation is electric…when it’s here.
It’s that rush of yes, I’ve got this, the dopamine-drenched beginning, the planner filled with perfect intentions.

And then…life happens.
The weather shifts. The mood dips. The to-do list grows teeth.
Suddenly, the thing that felt exciting now feels like weight.

That’s where motivation dies.
And that’s exactly where grit begins.

Grit doesn’t need fireworks.
It doesn’t ask how you feel about it.
It doesn’t wait for the stars to align or the coffee to kick in.

Grit says: I made a promise. And I’m still keeping it.

It’s what shows up when the playlist ends.
When the hype fades.
When no one’s watching.

It’s not shiny, but it’s steady.
And in the long run?
Steady wins every time.

Grit, Trauma, and the Drive to Prove You Can

For many people (like me), grit isn’t a choice. It’s a response.

It comes not from ambition, but from survival.
From growing up in chaos. From navigating trauma. From learning early that no one was coming to save you, so you’d have to save yourself.

That kind of grit becomes armor.
A shield made of to-do lists and discipline.
A voice that rises every morning and whispers, You didn’t break me.
I’m still here. I’m still going.

And that grit? It’s sacred. It’s forged in fire and carved from pain.
But it can also become heavy.

We carry it like proof. Like penance. Like if we just work hard enough, long enough, we’ll finally outrun what happened.

But grit isn’t meant to be punishment.
It’s meant to be power.

It’s not just about proving the past wrong.
It’s about building a life that feels soft, safe, yours.
A life that says, I’m not just surviving anymore. I’m choosing.
That’s the final evolution of grit…not escaping the past, but finally turning toward the future with your whole heart.

The Grit of Showing Up When You’re Not Ready

Sometimes grit isn’t the mountaintop moment.
It’s not the standing ovation or the breakthrough scene.
Sometimes, grit is just…opening the laptop.

It’s dragging yourself to the desk when the words don’t want to come.
It’s returning that email. Making that phone call. Having the conversation you’ve rehearsed in your head twelve times and still wish you could avoid.

Grit lives in the small, unglamorous moments, the I’ll do it anyway kind.
The ones that don’t look heroic but are.

It’s following through when you don’t feel like it.
It’s honoring your own word, even when no one would blame you for backing out.

Grit doesn’t wait for clarity, comfort, or the right vibe.
It walks in early. Sleepy. Anxious. Unsure.
And it says: I don’t know how this will go. But I’m here. Let’s begin anyway.

NeoRhythm PEMF Headband

Omnipemf NeoRhythm is a daily part of my focus ritual.
I use it to stay locked in when writing six articles a day, and Zak uses it to recover from pro wrestling training and manage chronic pain from years of bodybuilding.
Whether you’re pushing through mental fog or physical fatigue, this wearable PEMF headband helps rewire the moment and bring your brain into a more focused state.

The Beautiful Paradox of Grit

In the end, grit is a paradox.

It’s brutal and beautiful.
It asks a lot, but it gives back more.
It’s born from friction, but it creates flow.
It’s the reason a person rises before dawn to write, or builds a business with no audience, or keeps chasing something no one else understands.

Grit is the quiet kind of hope.
The long-game kind.
The kind that doesn’t shout or sell, but simply refuses to give up.

And if you’ve found this blog post? You probably have it too.

That little ache in your chest when you read about resilience? That’s recognition.
That’s your brain whispering, We don’t stop. We’re made for this.

Michele Gargiulo http://michelegargiulo.com