I’ve always had a contentious relationship with the concept of resilience.

Some people say that you can’t succeed without it because it toughens you up, breaks your fairytale assumptions, and shows you that in a cruel, dog-eat-dog world, the only way to succeed is to never show your weaknesses. That’s ‘resilience.’

And then some people believe that building resilience is a waste of time. What’s the point of succeeding if the cost is your humanity? If you try to be resilient, you put yourself under a lot of unnecessary pressure and strive for standards that won’t make you happy.

But when I was in the trenches, trying to figure out how to build a career doing what I loved, these answers weren’t helpful at all.

If I’d believed in the second one, doing something extraordinary would have been out of bounds. And if I’d believed in the first definition, I would ‘hardened’ myself so much that my writing would have lost all soul.

I instinctively knew a mediocre life was not for me. I’d always dreamed big. But a soulless way of getting there wasn’t the outcome I wanted.

Is that all there is?

Because if the only options for a person are a mediocre (but human) life or a successful (but robotic) life, something is definitely wrong.

But if we don’t talk about it, we’ll keep having generations of young adults who’ll never ask, “Why are my choices so limited?” because they’ll be too busy wondering, “What’s wrong with me? Am I not enough?”

That question has haunted me for most of my life.

When I started writing publicly, I was 12. That’s the age where boys supposedly start turning into men. They fall in love with sports, with fights, with being dominant, with being rough and tough.

I never did.

I fell in love with writing, with words, with the world I found in books, and when I shared that with my friends at school, I got some kind words at first. But not for long.

For many people in my class, I was ‘weak’.

I didn’t think that. I tried not to. But I still wondered, “Am I not enough?”

Then, I was 13, and after months of bullying, I cried in front of my whole class—the very bullies who put me in that place. I couldn’t take it anymore. But wait…boys aren’t supposed to cry, right? They’re supposed to be tough.

I wasn’t. And that made me think, “Am I not enough?”

And when everyone was putting on an act, I wrote poems with vulnerability, heart, and emotion. I was sensitive to the world. I felt everything, perhaps a bit too much. 

But I just couldn’t switch off the empathy in me and join the kind of conversations teenage boys usually have. I cared, perhaps a bit too much. Yet I still worried, “Am I not enough?”

And before I knew it, the question was, “Am I not resilient enough?”

You can see where it leads.

A flawed understanding of resilience is all it takes for people to believe that something is wrong with them, even when it’s not.

And that’s why we must question it.

When we do, we find out…

The Real Kind of Resilience:

There’s a quote I found on the internet that captures it beautifully:

“Resilience is very different than being numb. Resilience means you experience, you feel, you fail, you hurt. You fall. But, you keep going.” —Yasmin Mogahed

The definition I knew was making me numb, and when you’re a creative person, that’s your worst nightmare.

I wanted to feel everything and still make it big. I wanted to have a place for my emotions and still push through barriers and challenges. I wanted to be kind and empathetic, and still strive to get what I want.

And I realized all of it was possible. True resilience, after all, wasn’t about being tough or emotionless, but about living a life YOU WANT and building enough competence to get there.

The life I wanted was clear to me. When I fully stepped into it, I started building resilience. I saw big dreams and knew that I would strive for them in my way.

I can push myself to be better even when I’m overwhelmed AND be kind to myself.

I can give people honest feedback, even if it’s harsh AND still empower them.

I can discipline myself to the greatest standards AND still write with the same emotions and intentions.

That’s resilience. It doesn’t box you into what society deems best. It gives you the strength and courage to break the box and do things in a new, kind, empathetic, and powerful way.

The only reason I became a world record holder, a bestselling author, the Winner of an International Poetry Award, and now, a founder is that I embraced this new and true definition of resilience—it was a force that kept me going in the hardest of times.

It can be the same force for you.

The only question is, will you allow it to change your life? Because you only need one person’s permission: YOU.