Guidepost 3 – “Cultivating a Resilient Spirit and Letting Go of Numbing and Powerlessness”
What do you think of when you think of being resilient? I have this Scarlett O’Hara in the field, with the burned sky behind her, picking up that radish, or whatever it was, and saying “As God is my witness, as God is my witness, they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it’s all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again!”
That’s a cultural textbook definition of resilience. And I think we carry a bit of Scarlett around with us in our pockets – waiting to bust her out, waiting to also give her other catchphrase – “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”
The thing is, I didn’t like Scarlett. I much preferred Melanie – if I was choosing. Melanie was the kind one. The soft one. The nice one. Sure, she died, but… From the time I was little, she’s the one I picked. Melanie was more comfortable showing vulnerability. Melanie was the more courageous one.
When I think of being resilient in my life, the view isn’t quite so grand and awe-inspiring. It’s ugly and dirty and hard.
I’ve had some pretty hard years. And I still don’t have this down, trust me. I still struggle with pain, memories, voices, and depression. I don’t get it right. I mess up. I am a work in progress.
In this chapter, Brene talks about three factors of resiliency. I’d like to talk about each one.
Cultivating Hope
Without hope in your life, what is the point?
Hope for what? I say, hope for so many things. Life is impossible to predict, try as we may. I had my life all drawn out from the time I was little. I never could have predicted the way it would turn out, and no one can really predict theirs either.
I have hope that, eventually, I’ll be okay. With the rising and setting of each day, I am one day closer to feeling better, to being okay, to figuring out my complex heart, soul and mind. To living a wholehearted, authentic life.
I have hope that when I die, God will take me home. That when I go, it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That I have no way to fathom how it will be, and I may not understand it. But I have hope that there is more. And, that when I go, I’ll be prepared. I might not be ready, but I’ll be prepared, and it will be my time.
I’d hate to live without hope. I understand the concept of not, trust me. But I’ve been lucky. Deep inside, I’ve always held hope that things might improve. That has kept me going.
Practicing Critical Awareness
I think this concept gets skipped over so much. I think all the screentime we take in, from various parts and avenues, affect us greatly. More than we know.
I think we have a responsibility to be critically aware of these things. Our society lays out paths. We are told, without being told, how to dress. How much to weigh. What to eat. What shows we should like the most. The type of person we should be attracted to – and in turn, what we need to do to make others attracted to us. What we should put up with, as far as how people treat us. It’s all laid out there.
What would be so bad about challenging this thinking? I’ll tell you, my little “real life” is much different than what I see on the screen.
Lily showed me a thing on Instagram the other day that said, “There’s real, and then there’s Instagram.” Oh, so true.
We are tempted to live a beautiful life, filled with adventures, beauty, and tender moments. Y’all. Life is hard. I ugly cry at least once a week. Things don’t go as “planned.” Everyday isn’t Instagram beautiful. Some days are just plain old days. Some days are horrific. Some days are wonderful.
I used to be hardcore about being in tiptop shape. I used to actually like my arms and I had abs, about 20 years ago. I have them now… they’re just playing hide and seek.
I even silently celebrated my forearms. They used to ripple with the cool muscles people in shape have and don’t think about.
I’m 44, I think – my nurse tells me I’m 54 - and my body has been through hell. I don’t have those cool little muscles anymore. I have well-earned, Grinch-shaped fat around my middle. But I’m here. I’m thankful to be here.
We need to be looking at all unrealistic expectations we are handed every day. All those things make me feel a bit more worthless. A bit less cool. A bit older. A bit less relevant.
All of that is a façade. An unrealistic bar set before us that we could spend our entire lives chasing and never reach.
Numbing and Taking the Edge Off
When I think of numbing, I automatically think of drinking or doing drugs. That has never been an issue I’ve dealt with, thank goodness. But that doesn’t mean I’m not an addict.
I’m addicted to food. Hardcore, ugly Little Debbie shoving, have been known to grab things out of the trash, addicted.
I’m addicted to running from pain. I’m addicted to staying busy when I think it’s coming.
I used to be addicted to shopping when my day was bad. Now I don’t have the money for that addiction…
I used to teach 8th grade English. I created everything – my entire curriculum. We read The Giver, by Lois Lowry, every year.
It’s a science fiction book, but to me, it had an enormous relevance to my life.
In this society, all memories are eradicated. They did this to eliminate the bad memories. But along with the bad ones being gone, they eliminated the good ones too.
In her book, Brene talks about pain being sharp and uncomfortable, and she talks about joy being just as sharp and uncomfortable. She talks about numbing the bad and the good.
I think that is true. When I run around numbing my pain, dodging and ducking and sprinting away from it, I am also numbing my joy. I’m so busy avoiding, that I avoid everything.
In The Giver, no one hurts. No one laughs either. It’s a sterile society, moving along a pre-thought out continuum. Easy. Unchallenging. Comfortable.
What does it mean to cultivate resiliency? I think it’s hard, messy work. I think you might have pain. I think you might cry. I think your heart might hurt. To stop numbing frightens me. To turn and look at my pain. To lean into it and feel it. That frightens me.
But I have hope that I will make it through.
This morning, I want to encourage you to walk with me. I want you to think about not only yourself, but others, as they messy walk their lives. Let’s not only cultivate resiliency, but safe places to be vulnerable and real.
Let’s help each other through our messy. What a gift that would be.
Thank you so much for reading and sharing.
Brown, B. (2010). The Gifts of Imperfection. Hazelden Publishing. “Cultivating a Resilient Spirit, Letting Go of Numbing and Powerlessness.”
Lowry, L. (1993). The Giver. Houghton Mifflin.
(Can you tell I’m in college?)
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