This post is from the archive of my website’s now inactive blog. I am reposting it here after reading some articles recently regarding the topic of resilience. One, a Wall Street Journal interview featuring social psychologist Jonathan Haidt on the national crisis facing Gen Z, and another by Substack writer Freddie deBoer, who offers his thoughts on Haidt’s interview alongside some perspective from the progressive left on why “resilience” may now be a dirty word in that camp, as all things remotely suggesting criticism of fragility (culture of victimhood, snowflake) are now “coded” right-wing. Because I don’t believe any group owns the right to language or images, and don’t think it wise to allow the agendas of others to define us or dictate our behavior, I reject this attempt at “coding” and will use these terms how I see fit.
However, this attempt to redefine resilience as yet another oppression is not a new trend, but is something I began to observe during early Covid, when certain writers would lament the call to resilience as “unfair.” Others would suggest that encouraging resilience was some kind of conspiracy against “marginalized” people, and we should leave these political martyrs alone to bask in their righteous misery. That’s their choice, of course. I have a different view.
"Be like the rocky headland on which the waves constantly break. It stands firm, and round it the seething waters are laid to rest. 'It is my bad luck that this has happened to me.' No, you should rather say: 'It is my good luck that, although this has happened to me, I can bear it without pain, neither crushed by the present nor fearful of the future.' Because such a thing could have happened to any man, but not every man could have borne it without pain. Why see more misfortune in the event than good fortune in your ability to bear it?"
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Why see more misfortune in the event than good fortune in your ability to bear it?
This gets at the heart of resilience, what has been termed victimhood mindset, and what separates the durable from the delicate.
Every day, I come across stories in the news and on blogs about the devastation wrought on mental health by the unfortunate but relatively mild stresses of the COVID pandemic compared with the utter devastation wrought by other historic plagues people have survived. I read strident and emotionally charged personal accounts of perceived victimhood and oppression that seem incongruous with reality and frankly delusional when viewed in comparison with actual accounts of genuine tyranny and persecution people have endured throughout humanity’s sordid history. And I’ve wondered for some time what factor or combination of factors has produced this culture of beached jellyfish that we’ve become? Where has our backbone gone?
Because resilience is a central theme throughout all of my historical trilogy, The Steppe Saga, I followed the NYT series on Resilience with some interest during COVID (until I cancelled my subscription in disgust with the paper, but that’s another story.) Though this seemed to be the buzzword during the pandemic, when I was writing the series I did wonder if the concept of resilience had completely gone out of fashion. It seemed almost subversive to write about a character who didn’t see herself as a victim of some kind, but rather was willing participant in the joys and sorrows of the world. I say this knowing that of course it’s nonsense. Nearly all the great heroes and heroines of classic Western literature, from Achilles to Jane Eyre, have been models of resilience. But in daily life we’re inundated with the propaganda of oppression. Every conflict is reframed in terms of unfairness, and the victim-victimizer narrative now seems to be the only acceptable construct available for understanding relations between individuals, institutions, history, and destiny.
What’s more, many literary agents’ manuscript wishlists seem to reflect this ideology, presenting a grim, passive, and rather pessimistic worldview for present and future readers of new literature—and an uninviting prospect for writers who don’t buy into this narrative. Is it a coincidence that new book sales tanked during the pandemic despite all the free time we had on our hands? The books offered by publishers today are largely unappealing to ordinary readers because this defensive crouch is ultimately uninspiring—and suicidal to the society that adopts it as its ethos.
However, an author has to write what they know, and all my life I have stubbornly refused to see the world this way, or degrade myself in such terms. Which is why I took heart when I read “Jockeys Know the ‘Pick Yourself Up’ Mantra Well,” by Kerry Hannon, about Diane Crump, who in 1970 became the first woman to ride in the Kentucky Derby. I was gratified to find someone voicing the same wisdom that gave me strength and resolve throughout my life, and influenced the kind of characters I wanted to write: strong women who, despite their struggles, refused to see themselves as victims:
“There is an adage that equestrians learn at an early age: If you fall off, you get right back on the horse.
The underlying perception is that if you wait, you will lose your confidence. You have got to get back up, dust yourself off and confront the challenge.
It is the kind of gritty resolve that builds resilience when facing setbacks.”
When speaking about the insults and threats she received as the only female jockey at the time, Ms. Crump said:
“I didn’t listen to that…I was going to ride races and no matter what anyone had to say, no matter the criticism — ‘you’re not good enough, strong enough, cool and calm enough’ — it didn’t affect me. I was so passionate about what I did that I 100 percent ignored it. I never, ever let it be a part of me. I got on with it.”
Crump suffered
crushing falls, broken collarbones, fractured legs and splintered ribs. She had three surgeries on each knee over the years and wore her shoulders out galloping horses. “I always got back up,” she said.
As an equestrian, I relate so much to this. I know that damage. I’ve had my share of nasty falls and painful injuries, including one when I was 15 and flew off a bucking horse to land on my face. I crushed my nose and mangled my neck. My nose had to heal before it could be surgically re-broken and fixed. Imagine an introverted 15 year old girl returning to the vipers’ nest, aka school, with a caved-in nose, waiting months for it to fuse. Good times. From a young age, I’ve learned to take punches, literally and figuratively.
So, how can Ms. Crump’s mindset be so glaringly different than Ms. Attenberg’s, who also wrote an article for the same series, entitled ”Is Resilience Overrated?”:
“What is resilience anyway but an unfair exchange of energy?”
Unfair. It’s disheartening to me that she believes, in the face of adversity, that having to summon resilience is “unfair.” Life is unfair. Bitching about it doesn’t change the fact. There are only two options: fold or fight. Resilience is how we survive. Who else is this energy summoned for if not ourselves?Relinquishing that agency and laying responsibility for our well-being at the feet of others is the ultimate cop-out. It screams: please coddle me, I’m fragile! Sadly, coddling is exactly what some people crave.
If the canoe you’re in capsizes, do you focus your energy on faulting the design, a fellow passenger, natural or supernatural forces beyond your control? Do you pray for someone to rescue you? Or do you use your valuable energy to swim for shore? Having to swim for it may seem like an “unfair” exchange of energy when other people had canoes that remained afloat, but your options at this point are limited by chance. You can dwell on “why me” and sink, or say “not today” and swim. You don’t choose your fate; you choose your fight.
There are those who look around in the midst of their crises for someone to blame, or someone to save them. Someone to hear their tale of woe. There are those who panic or fall to hopelessness. Who seek out pity, in one form or another. And then there are those who just suck it up and get on with the work at hand. For some, retreat to what they believe is a moral high ground in the face of suffering seems a safe refuge, but it’s a lonely place, and less lofty than they think. Most of us find steadfastness not only more admirable than finger pointing, but more useful, and put our trust in those who can hold their own in the face of adversity over those who fall to pieces or wallow in despair, however self-righteously.
Another article in the series posits a sort of resilience recipe, based on seven key attributes. I would tweak these a little myself, but the main point is that these seem to comprise a basic outline of good character:
A
positive,realistic outlook [positivity is overrated, and a realistic outlook should suffice.]A moral compass
Belief in something greater than themselves [this doesn’t have to be spiritual]
Altruism/selflessness [within reason—being kind to others doesn't mean giving away everything to some scam charity or cult]
Acceptance of things they cannot change/focus on things they can
Purpose
Social support system [the advanced version can be practiced in solitude]
But there is one element missing: practice.
In the story of the jockey, Ms. Crump, mentioned falling off the horse and getting right back on. That and a thousand other parts of a horseman’s daily routine are exercises in toughness, self-discipline, and tenacious persistence. Especially when you are exhausted or afraid. Not in a single blaze of glory but in the dogged, daily acts of determination, patient and resolute, that seem trivial alone but amount to a core of steadfastness over time. That is resilience. Is it hard? Like anything else, it gets easier with practice.
More comforting alternatives always beckon. Self-pity. Self-medication (the equestrian world also its share of drunks, drug & sex addicts, and eating disorders—picture Tiger King with horses—when they fall and don’t pick themselves up, it gets ugly). Self-destruction and finger-pointing are never far behind. It’s always easier to blame external forces for your pain and woes, whether an individual, institution, or abstract forces.
Resilience is learned, not born. You fall, you pick yourself up, and you try again. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Which is not to say it comes easily. It is a choice we consciously make each day. For me, it’s things like waking up before sunrise in the freezing cold to feed and clean stalls when I’d rather sleep another hour or three. Stacking 20 tons of 65lb hay bales in the sweltering heat, when the hay becomes a full-body allergy test, getting into my eyes, nose, bra, and scratching my skin until I become one giant hive. It’s resetting my own dislocated shoulder on several different occasions (long story), finishing farm chores, then driving over an hour to my full-time job. These things objectively suck, but whining about them doesn't get them done.
Ms. Attenberg says she wants people to be proud of themselves for being resilient, but doesn’t want it to be the only option. She’s deluded. There are no other options if people want to survive and thrive. If they don’t want to be a burden to others. If they want respect—particularly self-respect. And that’s the harsh truth of it. Should we support people who genuinely struggle with mental health and physical issues or other life challenges? Of course we should. Should we coddle those who engage in self-pity? Fuck no. We should give them the tools to defend against the slings and arrows life will inevitably hurl at all of us. If they throw those tools away, that’s their loss.
So, what makes some people so fragile, while others are better able to cope with life’s challenges? Is it environmental, educational, biological?
The short answer is that resilient people refuse to oppress themselves—neither with logical fallacies, nor magical thinking, nor self-pity, nor resentment of others, nor conspiracies of victimhood. They place the onus for resolutions to their predicaments, whatever the perceived cause—natural, supernatural, manmade, or unknown—squarely on themselves, firmly believing the power is within them to either right their own ship or, failing that, to at least attempt the valiant swim for shore. Anything less is forfeiture of the game.
I once dated a guy who blamed his misfortunes, great and small, on “The Universe.” Every perceived ill turn of luck, bad news, or fuckup was, in his mind, a direct and personal conspiracy against him by The Universe. And, of course, who could be held responsible for shortcomings or failures in the face of such overwhelming opposition like that? (or insert your preferred all-powerful villain.) What at first seemed like a metaphor was, in fact, self-pitying pessimism that was both irrational and, eventually, unbearable to live with.
I am sad for those who choose to dwell in misery, not because they are suffering—we all suffer, though some more invisibly than others—but because they have not found a way to grow beyond it. People talk about a “culture of victimhood,” but misery can quickly become us if we let it. Why should we not identify with our strengths rather than our weaknesses?
Resilience is about seeking equilibrium with personal challenges from within oneself, not expecting salvation from without. It’s understanding that that harmony doesn’t always take the form of dreams realized, but patient endurance of reality as it stands. All the fancy language games and euphemisms in the world cannot change reality. But we can change our orientation to it. That’s something we can all consciously choose to do right now. The core tenets of Stoicism, reflected in the quote from Marcus Aurelius at the top, are perfect examples of this. When it comes to the challenges, suffering, and strife we will all have to confront in the course of our lives, we don’t get to choose the what, but we may still choose the how.
“Because such a thing could have happened to any man, but not every man could have borne it without pain.”
Excellent and timely piece. Amazing that every nature program produced (I just watched "Our Universe" narrated by Morgan Freeman and it was fantastic) objectively portrays and celebrates the resilience of the animals they follow in the face of incredible adversity, but then everything about people, the very top of the food chain, the inheritors of the genes of the kings and queens of this struggle, has become melodramatic contest to find and celebrate the biggest victim. We need more headlines that read: Shut up and do the work.
“I get knocked down, but I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.” - Chumbawumba was the best motivation for me during my decade targeted by bullies in that viper’s nest. Now I’m a mom and I’m encouraging the same resilience in my kids while the teachers teach the opposite. It’s infuriating at times because your canoe example is spot on. Bemoaning the unfairness of things never gets you anywhere. Life can suck, but you need to pick yourself up and keep trying not sit and wait for a hand to save you.