“You have a strong constitution,” my mother told me when I was 17 years-old. We were sitting in our parked car on 78th street and Columbus Avenue on a winter day.
“What does that mean?,” I curiously replied.
My mother looked at me with loving eyes: “It means you have a strong inner self. Life doesn’t rock you as much as your sister.” My sister was 22-years old and currently undergoing chemotherapy after being diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma. Life felt tender and uncertain for our whole family.
I let those words simmer in the back of my mind. I noticed I blushed with pride. It felt good to be seen as strong. Yet, I was still not able to fully comprehend what my mother mean’t. I knew some day I would revisit this sentiment.
Right after my 21st birthday, the day came when it was my turn to undergo chemotherapy after being diagnosed with the same type of cancer my sister had four years prior. (Fucking crazy. I know. Read that story here.)
Life looked different though. My mother wasn’t alive to take care of me as she was present for my sister. My mother wasn’t there to offer me comfort and stability as anyone would need and want during a life rupture. I had to learn how to mother myself.
Not only from a logistical perspective of cooking, navigating my doctor appointments and medical bills. But I had to rub my own back at night. I had to whisper to myself everything will be ok. I had to dig so deep into the earth to create strength in order to face each day.
I pulled this 2-minute conversation my mother and I had in the car from my memory rolodex. “I have a strong constitution,” I would gently repeat to myself. “I can do this.” I would breathe into the ounce of inner strength that was there as if I was inflating a ballon.
During this turbulent time, my meditation practice became my best friend. The practice I plugged into to charge my batteries and be able to maintain an open heart and curious mind. Jon Kabat Zinn’s Mountain Meditation taught me how to mentally and physically embody resilience. While the winds of chaos and uncertainty blew, I felt steadiness in both my heart and mind that would keep me safe. I was resourced. I was sheltered. I was a mighty mountain, built of rock and earth.
My practice in building resilience in those moments was what I needed to survive; however, later in life they had an inverse effect on me.
Building resilience—the ability to adapt to stress and adversity turned into building armor. In order to survive “the shit storm” of mourning my mother’s death and beating cancer, I relied too much on myself. My mountain of steadiness turned into a fortress of protection—preventing me from receiving life, love or support from others outside of the fortress walls. Hyper-vigilance kept me scanning and judging my environment for what felt safe—only letting in what felt worthy.
Later in life, difficulty in my romantic relationship became a mirror of this behavior. I realized I needed to lower my armor to let him in. To let in the beauty of life and be vulnerable. My mountain mindset allowed me to see the beauty. To observe the love and connection. But I was too guarded to actually feel the goodness and soak it into my cells.
In order to knock down walls and build bridges, I worked on establishing trust. Trust was needed in order to feel safe. As any living being, safety is a basic need in order to survive. Trusting the universe has my back. Trusting myself. Trusting other’s. Trusting I won’t be abandoned. I had to create new neural pathways and a regulated nervous system to trust that the people in my life are really there to love and support me.
As I’ve exhaustingly mentioned, at least it feels that way in my own mind, 2023 was a really rough year for me emotionally. A part of my sense of self broke. When I couldn’t feel the ground beneath me, yet again, I searched for help. I tapped into all of my external and internal resources. Places I turned to in the past for resiliency support:
therapy
coaching
spiritual guidance
astrology
mother nature
my meditation practice
friends
family
walks
writing
massages
I searched for support to rebuild my internal scaffolding—redefining my sense of self. As someone who has thought of themself as a deeply resilient person, I was in disbelief as I searched every where internally to find the strength.
I felt I was on empty—no stable internal surface to lean on. This time, instead of thinking of resilience as pure strength, the strength to get up, to stand tall and to move on; I realized softness is what’s needed. The thread of surviving turned to thriving has now evolved to softening. Surrendering and allowing myself to just be held by the universe. To flow like water and let the power of gravity guide.
To be honest, this place of surrender used to feel uncomfortable for me because I identified as a fighter. The word surrender felt like I am “giving up.” However, I want to re-define resilience as a blend of strength AND softness. Being soft isn’t weak. It’s not about quitting. Instead, it feels like being wrapped in a cozy silk blanket. A leaf blowing in a gentle spring breeze. Doing less and letting my boat flow down the river without an oar1. Laughter and play. Putting down the internal desire to use my strength to muster and push through isn’t helpful at this moment. Being ok with operating in a new way is uncomfortable, but part of the practice.
What are you noticing…
Share with us in the comments below or DM me.
What does resilience mean to you?
Where in your life do you notice you lean into the strength of resilience? Where in your life do you notice you lean into the softness of resilience?
What would it look like to lean into both?
Oh. Just reading this now and it’s resonating so much. The independence and putting up walls. Realizing how high I’ve built them. Grateful for friends (you included) who allow me to lower them. Who allow me to be my imperfect self. Allow me to realize that resilience doesn’t have to mean all on your own.