Resentfully Resilient

As a mental health professional, there is no reason why I should have beef with the word “resilience,” but here I am, scowling just thinking about it. Resilience, the noun, is pretty. It sounds unimposing, demure. Resilience is polite; it spares the rest of us the sight of one’s distress, relieves oppressive forces of accountability. Resilience is just a word, though. All these characteristics I’ve ascribed to it are projections, borne of my own experiences of overcoming hardship and the lingering fatigue of succeeding.

It is impossible to further discuss the concept of resilience without alluding to the socio-political reality of our time, which compels clinicians and scientists to call upon our own stores of knowledge for managing the stress of occupational uncertainty and cope with the cringey cowardice and greed of current local and national leadership. Science is under attack by the current administration, between mass layoffs, dramatic cuts to research funding, and the abrupt cessation of public health programs. These assaults are bigoted attempts to remove social safety nets for marginalized groups. Meanwhile, clinicians are expected to model good mental health practices for our patients and maintain a positive outlook on the future. Well.

Mental illness is an equal opportunity offender in that it affects members of every social class. Socioeconomic status and financial resources can influence one’s ability to address mental health concerns and reduce adverse outcomes, but no one is completely immune to or shielded from the impacts of psychological distress. Therefore, as humans whose mental health requires sustained effort and routine wellness practices, this discussion of resilience as a process is one that can be useful to anyone.

Unlike its melodic noun form, the process of resilience is gritty, messy, and laborious. While I’d argue that all experiences of growth are uncomfortable, the process of resilience will have you ugly crying into your coffee, off-camera during a departmental Zoom meeting. It’s white-knuckling abstinence, dragging yourself out of bed one limb at a time, staving off despair, and landing in a small puddle of determination via the effective vehicle of spite. My grandmother is 95 years old, has had heart disease and hypertension for at least 15 years now. I believe she’s been sustained by spite. Spite is energy. Spite is resilience.

Resilience is a revolutionary act of self-preservation. While the noun form of the word may invoke the pristine gardens of Versailles—resilience in practice is more akin to The Walking Dead. Resilience doesn’t have to be positive or for the “greater good.” Resilience can be driven by a refusal to “go out like that,” a seething urge to persist in life, even if just long enough to witness the demise of your enemies. The process of resilience is letting yourself be talked off a ledge, permitting a pet to nuzzle you up off the floor.

Importantly, succumbing to despair is not exclusionary to the process of resilience. One might imagine resilience as a straight line with a positive slope, but the truth is that it resembles an EKG reading, full of as many striking ups and downs as predictable peaks and valleys. Not to be dramatic, but as someone with late-diagnosed ADHD and lifelong perfectionism, every academic research paper I’ve written has been an existential crisis. I do not recommend pursuing a career that requires you to engage the process of resilience on a regular basis, but the fact is that many of us need to be resilient every single day. Resilience is showing up for friends, family, plants, and to torment your inner and outer demons.

Academic researchers are intimately familiar with the wretched process of resilience. We have worked night and day on grant proposals only to have them rejected months later, often without meaningful feedback. Thus, for many of us in academia, even at the postdoc or trainee level, we’re true, not new to the resilience game. It is crucial for us to remember this, collectively and individually, as we witness the crumbling of ideological structures and institutions we previously thought were better fortified against capitulation to fascism and bigotry. Resilience is a viscous humor, a life force within that resists the pull of The Void. The process of resilience is the determination to persist, in essence and in form, to be willingly (or unwillingly) dragged across the finish line, to be here tomorrow.

Finally, resilience is both an individual and a group process. It can be a communal vapor, if you let it. If you are abundant in resilience, whether it be a staunch refusal to remain silent in the face of adversity, an imaginative capacity for petty retribution, or an unwavering drive for justice, share the wealth and inspire those whose resilience check engine lights have been flashing for weeks. These are ancient practices that form the bedrock of communal living. Resilience is a collective bartering economy of will and fortitude. Resilience does not exist in isolation by choice. In my desire to end on a positive note, I’ll share these words borrowed from my sister, “Current leaders would make you believe that you are the single tree left in the forest when in reality, you are part of a vast underground mycelium network that encourages and sustains life. Remembering this is empowerment.” Thus, in community, we are the unstoppable swarm of fungal tendrils: digesting decay, thriving in muck, relentlessly building anew.

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