Redefining resiliency
I recently posted to Instagram about redefining resilience. It’s something I’ve been processing for awhile. Resiliency is always something that’s facinated me, but not in the “what makes people strong” way. In the “this definition doesn’t seem right” way.
The actual definition of resilience came from the Latin verb resiliere, meaning to “jump back” or “recoil”. In physics, resilience is the ability of an elastic material to absorb energy and release that energy as it springs back to its original shape. Think of a bouncy ball you threw down against the sidewalk as a kid. Sure, it may have changed shape for a second when it hit the cement, but it would return to that round, rubber shape.
Often times, when you hear people speak about what it means to be resilient, it relates to someone’s stength, their ability to push through hard things, to “bounce back.” In the physics definition of the word, after we go through something hard, we should return to the same shape, the same being. This is where I’d like to redefine what it means to be resilient.
As humans, we go through a lot of hard things. We lose loved ones, lose jobs, face financial strain, experience natural disasters, navigate disease, struggle with mental health, the list goes on. And yes, some things we can “bounce back from.” Maybe that job you lost lead to you find a better one, or maybe you left an unhappy marriage to find yourself again. Yes, we surely emerge from under the clouds, eventually. But, are we really ever the same? Unlike the bouncy ball, we never truly return to the exact same form.
Part of the reason behind this community is to create space for that messy and authentic emotion. What’s more raw than loss?
People have told me for years that they admire my strength. Honestly, most days I’m tired of being “strong”. I’ve had a resentment toward resilience at times. The “why me?” thoughts. Especially earlier this year when my mom died. Being in my early thirties with both of my parents gone, what’s fair about that?
What’s deceiving about strength is that other people see us when we show up and have to put a face on. We have to go to work, we have to show up at the family function, we have to do this or that. It’s easy to think people are “strong” and are doing okay when it’s what appears on the surface. What others don’t see are the long cries on the shower floor, or the phone calls to my mom when I know she isn’t there to answer. They don’t see my reaction when I suddenly smell her or when I say something that sounds just like her. If you knew these things, would you call me any less strong?
To me, resiliency doesn’t look like “grin and bare it” or “pull yourself together.” Resiliency means feeling all the things, it means sitting down when you can’t put one foot in front of the other. It means sharing when life is shit and celebrating when it’s good. Resiliency is acknowledging pain and showing up authentically messy. It’s softness. It’s genuine. It’s the cracks below the surface.
I’d like to think that resiliency can be the falling apart. It can be the hard moments that we feel like we can’t get through. It can mean reaching out to a friend or journalling about how much loss sucks. It can be therapy or medication or kicking the shit out of a punching bag.
Wherever you are and whatever loss you’re processing, I am sending you so much love. I am also challenging you to think of your strength differently, challenging you to give yourself permission to fall apart when you need to and to remember that doesn’t make you anything less than strong.
What are your soft and resilient moments? I’d love to hear.
