16/04/2026
Resilience is so often framed as this ability to push through, to be strong, to hold everything together, to not need anyone, and I think for a lot of us that’s actually where we’ve learnt to survive, not where we’ve learnt to feel safe
From a somatic perspective, resilience feels much quieter than that, it’s not about overriding your body or forcing yourself past your limits, it’s about being able to stay with yourself in what’s here, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s messy, even when there isn’t a clear way through
It’s letting yourself feel grief without rushing it away, letting anger exist without shutting it down, recognising exhaustion instead of pushing straight past it, and slowly building the capacity to be with those experiences without becoming completely overwhelmed by them
It’s also in the moments where you reach for support, or let yourself be seen, or soften just enough to not carry everything on your own, even if that feels unfamiliar or difficult
And for many people, resilience isn’t something that’s been chosen, it’s something that’s been shaped through navigating chronic illness, or systems that don’t listen, or circumstances that require you to keep going in ways that are deeply unfair, and there is something important in acknowledging that, rather than turning it into something polished or aspirational
I see this a lot in my work, and I feel it in my own life too, that resilience can look like very small things, coming back to the body, finding something that feels even slightly steady, staying when everything in you wants to leave
Not pushing through, not pretending, not bypassing
Just staying, as gently as you can
