I’ve been thinking about the state of the world these days. Aren’t we all? And right now, something we could use more of is resilience.

Too many people tell me I have resilience in spades. That’s what it might look like on the outside. Inside is a different story. My secret? You don’t build resilience by feeling good all the time. You build resilience by getting better at feeling bad.

And right now, how many of us feel pretty bad when we look at our city, our country, our politics, or even other cities, countries, and politics? Exactly. It’s time to learn resilience.

Resilience isn’t about pretending you’re fine or never feeling pain—it’s about learning how to act in your best interest despite the pain.

Finding Your Walking Stick

Here’s what I’ve learned about getting through hard things. We need a walking stick. Not the literal kind — though sometimes those too. More generally, though, a person. Someone who helps you stand straight when you’re wobbling. Someone you can lean on for support when your own legs won’t hold you. Someone who helps you navigate the path forward when you can’t see where you’re going.

Find your favourite person and ask them to be your walking stick.

However, what makes this more than just a nice metaphor is that it works both ways.

The people who navigate through hardship without losing their minds have realized that asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a strategy. They’ve discovered that community isn’t a luxury; it’s essential survival gear. They’ve learned that when you lean on someone, you’re actually giving them purpose.

When someone shows up to support YOU, they’re not just helping you recover. They’re actively engaged in something meaningful. You’re helping each other, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

And humour is a powerful ally. It’s a release valve when things get unbearably heavy. Sometimes, finding the absurdity in your situation and laughing at it is the only thing that keeps you from shattering.

The Boring Truth About Resiliency

This year marks my tenth anniversary since my minor medical mishap. “Minor” is sarcasm, by the way. Streptococcal meningitis gifted me with two seizures, two strokes, and a week in a coma. It took me six years to regain my physical, mental, and spiritual wholeness.

My primary walking stick was my husband. But I had several walking sticks along the way, and they didn’t all look like support. Some looked like huge challenges that forced me forward.

My neighbour decided I needed to walk a bit nearly every day. Not asked. Decided. She showed up at my door, and we walked. She needed those walks as much as I did, it turned out. We were each other’s walking sticks.

There were professionals who agreed to be interviewed by me so I could understand how the brain worked. They let me turn my recovery into research, which gave me purpose when I felt purposeless.

I was rejected by an agricultural lab when I applied to be a tester. That “no” pushed me to work harder on recovering my sense of taste and smell. Sometimes your walking stick is the obstacle that forces you to find the strength you didn’t know you had.

Then there was my colleague who agreed to play editor on all my forward-facing writing. The initial months of feedback were devastating. My brain wasn’t working the way it used to, and every red mark on the page proved it. I’d read his edits and want to quit. The gap between where I had been and where I was felt insurmountable. But he kept showing up, and I kept showing up, and inside of one year, he had helped me elevate my own standards. I’ve been writing solo ever since.

That’s the truth nobody wants to hear about resilience: it’s not dramatic. It’s repetitive. It’s showing up on day 47, when you’ve seen zero progress, and you’re still doing the thing anyway. It’s accepting feedback that hurts because you know it’s making you better. It’s reading your own terrible writing and trying again. It’s walking when you don’t want to walk. It’s the boring monotony of doing the hard work every single day, even when—especially when—you see no evidence it’s working.

We’re All in This Quagmire

Most of us are going through our own versions of setbacks and hell right now. Different circumstances, same crushing weight. No one is immune. We might feel isolated, but we are not alone.

I am not going to go all Pollyanna on you and tell you everything always works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes we lose things we can’t get back. Sometimes the path forward looks nothing like the path we planned. Sometimes we don’t fully recover. Sometimes we become different people, and we have to grieve who we were while figuring out who we’re becoming.

What I will tell you is this: look for your own walking stick. Maybe it’s a person. Perhaps it’s several people who each support you in different ways. Maybe it’s a neighbour who shows up, or a professional who lets you interview them, or a colleague who edits your work until you can do it yourself again. It could also be a support group, a therapist, a mentor, or a pet. Maybe it’s even the rejection that pushes you forward. The point is, your walking stick can take many forms, and it’s up to you to recognize and lean on it.

Dig deep. Set some hard goals. Take accountability for the daily, mundane effort that inevitably shows up. Find a laugh in there– no matter how silly it feels. The grit and determination required remain the same, regardless of what you’re facing. The formula is unglamorous: show up, do the work, accept help, repeat.

Find your support — your walking stick — and lean on it. Let them lean back on you. That’s how we get through this.

So, wherever you are right now, whatever hard thing you’re facing, remember. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You simply need to find your walking stick and take the next step.