Confession: I'm tired of being resilient

I can't be the only one who is tired of this word and what it requires of us.

Ever since the pandemic started over three (three!) years ago, there is one word I’ve heard more than any other: resilience. Despite using it myself, in conversation and in my poetry, let me share a secret with you: I hate the word and all it stands for.

Take a listen to Whether You Fall by Tracy Bonham as you read the remainder of this post. Bonus points if you know what soundtrack this is from.

“Whether you fall
Means nothing at all
It's whether you get up
It's whether you get up.”

As much as I love this song, the refrain is triggering. “Whether you fall means nothing at all, it’s whether you get back up.” What if I’m tired of getting back up? What about that?

My kids were so resilient during the pandemic. But oh how I wish they didn’t need to be. I would instantly trade their resilience for a normal second and third grade. I hate that they were able to bounce back so quickly. I’m upset that they had to bounce back at all. I feel the same way about myself, especially when it comes to health scares.

The Shift: Poetry for a New Perspective, page 124.

The past month was an exercise in resilience. In other words, it was a very hard month. But along the way, I learned something valuable: what it takes for me to be resilient, and not resent the need for it. Let me explain.

On May 23rd, the day before my 41st birthday, I had an abnormal mammogram. I decided not to tell anyone about it. I wasn’t going to burden anyone with this, at least not until I knew there was something to worry about. I could handle it. I celebrated my birthday the next day with a big smile, even though inside me I carried the big lie: “I’m okay.” I wasn’t okay, but I was resilient!

On June 2nd, I went back for my follow up mammogram. Again, I barely told anyone. Of course my mom, being the intuitive that she is, called me on my way there. I silenced the call. The big lie got bigger. “I’m okay!” I said to her telepathically. But again, the universe challenged my resilience. This time they ordered a biopsy. I wasn’t okay. I couldn’t carry the big lie alone anymore. I told my mom, my friends. I gave up on resilience, and instead decided to be vulnerable, the big lie replaced with the big truth: “I’m not okay.”

Did you know resilience and vulnerability are technically antonyms? Vulnerability means weakness, and resilience means strength. This week, I learned that in fact, they are two halves of a whole, with one giving life to the other.

On June 21st, I had my biopsy, and as I detailed in last week’s subscriber letter, it was absolutely horrible. But unlike mammograms one and two, I didn’t have to silently suffer. Everyone knew what was happening, and everyone banded together to lift me up. My sister-in-law sent flowers. Friends text me from around the world. Even though I had to wait a week to get my results, I didn’t have to wait alone. I was surrounded by care, compassion and love.

Yesterday, when I got the good news from my doctor that my biopsy was benign, I had a dozen people to update. Despite being someone who has a hard time sharing my news, good or bad, this time I shared, and shared, and shared.

On one hand, you may think I’m happy I was vulnerable because in the end I got good news. That this post would be written very differently if the results weren’t benign. And perhaps you’re right. I am lucky and grateful and utterly relieved that this medical scare is now over. But going through this experience taught me something bigger than the outcome: it’s that how I decide to weather the storms of my life is what matters most.

I’ve decided to redefine resilience. Resilience is no longer defined by my ability to independently weather a storm and bounce back, but rather by my ability to be vulnerable and reach out… to speak the big truth. Being vulnerable enough to share what I was going through, to let people in, to receive love and support (despite my natural instinct to avoid receiving)… this is true resilience, at least for me.

There are of course other benefits to being vulnerable, beyond just feeling better about what you’re going through. In my case, sharing about my biopsy led to so many important conversations around women’s breast health. One of my very best friends had a biopsy the day after I did, and neither of us had even bothered to tell the other! This is how we’ve been raised: to keep medical news private, to silently endure, to not risk being labeled or judged or even worse burdening others. Other friends shared about their harrowing breast biopsies, leading to conversations about everything from dense breasts (which 40% of women, including me, have) to biopsy markers (did you know they leave a piece of metal in you after a biopsy? I certainly didn’t until moments before they said it would happen to me — though I passed out before they could put one in…). Another friend said she has delayed her mammogram by over six months; my story inspired her to make her appointment. I could have stayed quiet, I could have practiced the stoic resilience that we’ve all come to expect of ourselves… but then where would that leave me? Leave us?

A breast cancer scare — coupled with a traumatic biopsy — is up there in terms of low points in 2023, but it isn’t without a silver lining. If there’s one thing I’ve taken away from the last few weeks of my life, it’s that vulnerability is the antidote to resilience fatigue (or in my case, resilience resentment). My ability to joyfully rebound is directly tied to my willingness to be vulnerable and share what I’m going through — not just with my nearest and dearest, but with the world, with you. Thank you for making me more resilient simply by being here. I hope I can do the same for you.

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