A few years ago, people started telling me how “resilient” I was.
It started after they heard about my recovery from alcoholism, and later, about doing the work in my sixties to finally face my childhood sexual abuse.
I didn’t recognize myself in that word. What they saw as resilience, I experienced as survival. Adapt or perish. There wasn’t much choice involved.
For a long time, I thought resilience meant toughness.
Keep going.
Don’t feel it.
Don’t let it show.
White-knuckle your way through and call that strength.
That version of resilience got me through a lot, but it also wore me down.
Long before any of this inner work was visible, I had already learned how to rebuild. The apartment fire in 1979 made that lesson unavoidable. You lose what you have, and you start again because there is no other option. You don’t call that resilience when you’re inside it. You call it getting through.
Getting laid off in 2023 and starting out on my own as a freelancer felt similar. Different decade, different circumstances, but the same quiet reality. No grand plan. No inspirational pivot. Just the question, “Okay… now what?”
At the time, none of those moments felt like strength. They felt like necessity. Motion without ceremony. You keep going because stopping isn’t something you know how to afford.
What I’m learning now is that real resilience is quieter.
It’s not about how much you can endure.
It’s about how often you’re willing to come back.
Come back to yourself after a hard moment.
Come back after reacting in a way you wish you hadn’t.
Come back after a day that knocked you off centre.
Resilience isn’t never falling apart.
It’s noticing you’ve drifted and gently returning.
I used to believe resilience was something you proved in big moments, crises, turning points, milestones. But more often than not, it shows up in the ordinary stuff.
Getting up when motivation is gone.
Pausing instead of reacting.
Asking for help without making a speech about it.
Letting today be enough.
There’s a steadiness that comes from knowing you don’t have to be perfect to keep moving forward. You don’t have to get it right every time. You just have to stay in the conversation with yourself.
That’s the kind of resilience I trust now.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just present.
And if today feels a little wobbly, that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It might just mean you’re practising.
