I’m lay on my bed breathing deep diaphragmatic breaths. Relaxing nature sounds are playing through YouTube on my phone. I wonder whether I should’ve popped to the loo first. My dog is scratching her ear in the corner of the room, and her collar jingles with every strike. Every so often, the flow of music is disrupted by an ad for broadband or fast fashion.
I sigh, open one eye to a darkened room.
Doesn’t YouTube know I’m trying to find my inner fucking peace, here?
I don’t pay for Spotify. I know I should. I think about signing up. My thoughts ricochet from finances to health to dinner to the new series of Workin’ Moms, and what the hell happened to Anne in the final episode of series six?
I return to my breath. This is stupid. I don’t know how to relax. It isn’t working, it never will.
Until it does.
Suddenly, I find my rhythm. The feeling is akin to an easy writing day, the arrival of the Elusive Muse, a sip of that sweet creative juice. God, it’s delicious. Tension exits my body like teenagers charging the classroom door at breaktime. Energy floods to my cells, and I’m acutely aware of each limb, each organ, each thought, and yet, it’s all so light, so breezy.
I imagine myself in a vast scape of nothingness, legs crossed, and spine tall. Light surrounds me, and a single beam shines from my root, up through the top of my head, and all the way to the sky. It connects me to nature, and grounds me in a state of healing.
This is my version of meditation.
This is how I practice resilience.
This is how I’ve redefined it.
I know this shit isn’t for everyone. Trust me, I’ve been there.
Despite knowing how nourished I’ll feel afterwards, it doesn’t make it any easier for me to wrangle my over-stimulated body and mind into position. I still make excuses. I’m a master at conjuring laundry, filing, price comparisons, writing, vacuuming, or anything else that might replace the 15 minutes I could spend tending to myself.
It’s all pretty new to me.
I used to think of resilience as being able to power through the rough patches. Keep chaotic and carry on. Save the stress for another day. Sweep it under the rug, cram it in the cupboard, bury it under the daisies in the garden. Perhaps it’ll emerge again next Spring. It usually does.
But, I’m not the first to discover, the body keeps the score.
Resilience isn’t the same as denial. It’s certainly not about ignoring your problems, or leaving them for someone else. It’s not a quick-fix, or something that can be cultivated overnight, or through a single incident of trauma.
My personal definition of resilience involves knowing when to slow down for the sake of longevity. Sometimes it involves sacrificing today to save tomorrow.
What does this look like outside the realms of theory?
For me, it looks like committing to daily routines that serve me, and re-committing.
Every
Single
Day.
Of course, a single yoga practice won’t heal me from chronic pain. A single dog walk, or ten minutes on my recumbent bike won’t reverse years of muscle wastage. One session of meditation won’t fix my dysautonomic nervous system, or undo the impact of prolonged trauma on my body.
But what if I trusted the process?
What if I showed up for each of these things loyally, believing that one day, the cumulative effect could create ripples?
What if I chose to believe in the certainty of that?
I have, actually. The impact has been profound. Building resilience, true resilience, has required learning what practices serve me, the things that feed my soul.
So, in times of low energy, I turn to them. In fact, in times of high energy, I turn to them. Because I know, ultimately, if I keep turning to them, there is nothing I can’t withstand, emotionally or physically.
We give so much, and it can feel as though life takes so much. But that doesn’t mean we have to feed that narrative, or even accept it.
My rebrand of resilience shuns denial. However, it does involve some reframing, some mindset shifting.
I dare you to try it for a day. I dare you to recite the following. Softly, loudly, in falsetto, whatever feels right. Just say it:
I am lucky.
The universe wants me to land on my feet.
Extraordinary things happen to me.
Repeat five times. Play it back in your mind when it’s all getting a bit too much.
Again, transformative. This simple ploy has revolutionised my bad days.
Instead of thinking I’m so unlucky, my body is failing me with yet another virus, I think, wow, how smart is my body?
It knows exactly how to tell me to slow down. Sounding the alarm, inspiring me to claim a rest day, prompting me to re-set and start over refreshed. How bloody smart is that? And how privileged am I to be able to listen, to action that rest?
The social media trend of “romanticising your life” is a kind of take on this. It encourages people to amplify the impact of seemingly mundane pleasures like watching the sunset from your bedroom window, or counting stars while walking the mutt at 10 pm.
Let me be clear - I’m not promoting toxic positivity, or rose-tinted glasses, both of which can land you in seriously hot water. I’m just asking you to evaluate how you might approach stumbling blocks differently. What lights you up? What serves you? What recharges your batteries, nourishes your soul?
Whatever that is, do it more, and keep doing it. That’s what resilience looks like, I reckon.
What do you think?