Resilience is not stoicism or strength on display. It is not a neat arc or a triumphant return. It is slower. Messier. Often invisible.
Sometimes it looks like making the tea even though it tastes like nothing. Other times it looks like setting a boundary where none existed before. And sometimes, it means letting the tears come when they come, without rushing to explain them away.
Still, something shifts. A quiet knowing begins to settle in — that even without having it all together, you can still move forward.
What I have learned is that you do not have to be brave all the time. You just have to be honest. With yourself. With what you need. With what no longer works.
The rituals that helped me were not always grand. They were quiet and often unphotogenic. Tea. Walking. Writing. Moving even when my body wouldn’t want to. Sitting still when my mind couldn’t. Letting grief take up space without making it feel like a failure.
Some days, you carry more than you think you can. Other days, you drop it all and let yourself rest. Both are strong.
You do not have to fix everything. You just have to stay with yourself.
And little by little, you will.
Not because you forced it. But because something inside you — the part that still hopes, still dreams — knows that life, even after everything, is still worth showing up for.
You are not becoming someone new. You are simply discovering more of who you already are.