BECOMING RESILIENT

It’s a winter morning, and I’ve just come back from my walk. There’s a bright blue sky, and the sunlight is sparkling brightly off last night’s snowfall. My breathing is labored from all that fresh, frigid air. My face is frozen, and my legs are sore. I’m tired, but exhilarated. It was worthwhile and wonderful.

It’s a lot like resilience. You bundle up, prepare to face the elements. You confront those difficulties, push on through, and feel better, stronger, for what you have done.

Resilience takes a long time to develop, and once acquired, it doesn’t bring a quick fix. When we’re knocked down, we want to bounce back right away. But it doesn’t work like that. Deborah Blum, a science writer who has studied resilience, was disappointed to learn that there’s no such thing as “bouncing back”. Unfortunately, no one who falls into the abyss soars quickly into the sun again. She found that people who survive childhood trauma don’t learn to “dance between the raindrops”. They had to reach adulthood before rebuilding their lives.

John Defrain, a family studies professor, was intrigued by their resilience. He found they drew on the same sources of strength: community support, faith in the future, goal setting and self-acknowledgement.

We often think of survivors as loners, but those who overcame their difficulties successfully didn’t try to make it on their own. They turned to others for help. In spite of their troubles, they had faith in themselves, and believed in a better future or a higher power. They saw the bad times as temporary, something that would eventually pass. They learned to plan ahead and set goals. It gave them a path to follow, and insulated them from their adversity. When they succeeded, they took time to appreciate their accomplishments. This integrated these newfound capacities into a stronger sense of self, and established a base to go even further.

It’s easy to say these things; it’s another thing to do them. Ama Adhe did. In her book, “Ama Adhe: The Voice That Remembers”, this Tibetan woman tells of how she survived 27 years in a Chinese labor camp for her role in the resistance. As friends and family were killed in front of her she was told, “We want you to suffer for the rest of your life. Now we will see who has won.” It only strengthened her resolve. Bit by bit, she taught herself to become resilient.

Most of her friends in the camp died. She was starved, beaten and tortured. Eventually she became too weak to recite her daily prayers, the mainstay of her existence. She turned to an imprisoned monk for help. He created a short version she could use. As her friends died, she mourned and remembered them by making a quilt of their old dresses, which she still has today. And when she was finally allowed to receive food from her family, she shared it by having a soup made for her fellow inmates.

Adhe used each of these crises to triumph and move forward. Few people would tell a monk they were unable to pray. It’s safer to commiserate with someone stuck like yourself, than to reach out to an authority who might criticize. But Adhe swallowed her pride, and turned to the person most able to help.

As her friends died one by one, she could have fallen into despair. Instead, she commemorated them with a quilt that safeguarded her memories and kept her warm. She transformed her loss into a source of comfort.

No one would expect a starving prisoner to share her food. Instead of eating it herself and creating envy and resentment, she had soup made to create bounty. It gave her an opportunity to make others happy and to increase their well-being. As a windfall, she received their gratitude, and lifted the mood of the whole camp.

Like others who have learnt resilience in impossible circumstances, Adhe survived by turning to others and promoting connectedness. Years after her release she still has nightmares, but wakes each day, realizing she is happy and free.

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For many years, I counseled people who felt trapped by their lives and couldn’t see any way out. But in every situation, things could be done to lighten their loads. Over time I cobbled together an approach to help my clients get through their difficulties and turn adversity into progress. It came partly from experience and training, but mostly from trial and error. Eventually, it helped me too, when chronic illness left me depressed and unemployed. Maybe it can help you:

Identify the problem, and stop doing things that don’t work.

When I realized I couldn’t go back to my job, it felt as if my life was over. I wrote about it constantly in my journal. Then one day I realized I was really stuck. The writing was making things worse, so I stopped. After a couple of weeks, I missed my journal. It had always been a great outlet. Then I thought: why not write about the things that help me cope? Bit by bit, it reinforced the gains I made. Finally, I began to move forward again.

“Reframe” the problem.

Reframing means to give a bad situation another name so you can see the positives it contains. I had to stop calling myself “unemployed” and “incapacitated”, and say I was “learning about my new life” and “taking time to look after myself”. At first these were just words; then they became true.

Identify your emotions.

When we’re going through bad times, lots of emotions get generated. Each one brings different kinds of energy. William Pinsoff, who developed “Integrative Problem-Centered Therapy”, believes that the more we use our emotions productively, the better we can cope. Anger calls up defensive or aggressive postures, and gets us moving. Grief activates mourning, which brings repair. Fear triggers a flight, fight or freeze response, and heightens awareness.

A few years ago, I lost my income. The anger it generated helped me advocate for myself and get disability benefits. I felt sad about my limitations; it made me quiet and reflective. This slowed down my responses, and gave me time to take care of my physical and emotional needs. I got scared when I lost my job; I felt anxious and insecure. The upheaval it created gave me an opportunity to search for new ways to make my life worthwhile.

Know what your “catastrophic expectations” are.

Catastrophic expectations are the fantasies we have about a terrible future. They block our ability to problem-solve because they make us too frightened to look ahead. Once we stare them down, they shrink. I was terrified I’d become destitute, lose my housing, and end up on the street. Once I calmed down and took a clear look at things, I had to admit that friends, family and the welfare system would all have to fall through before that would happen. In the end, I found a way to keep my home by making changes, planning, and following through.

Maximize the positives in your life.

Which parts of your life are going well? What assets do you have, emotionally and physically? Who is there for support, advice and help? It’s really easy to let the losses take over and obscure what you still have.

The first year of my illness, I could only read a few sentences, before becoming overwhelmed and confused. Reading had always been my solace, and fuelled my imagination. I missed getting caught up in a good novel, and keeping up with the outside world. I kept trying to read the kinds of things I had before; it was impossible. Then one day, in a bout of tears and anger, I thought, “All I can do is look at pictures”.

That was the key. I got friends to bring me magazines. I discovered that my local library was an invaluable resource; it could lend me wonderful big-picture art and photography books far too luxurious too for most people to ever own. It also had “Books on Tape”, so I could enjoy novels after all. “Goodwill” had National Geographic magazines for a quarter; the lush photography turned me into an instant world traveler. I could still broaden my horizons and go on flights of fantasy after all. I was amazed at how much I could make of the little bit of ability I still had.

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I’ve shouldered my illness for many years now, and though I’ve become more resilient, I have far to go. There are still days when I feel sorry for myself, but ashamed of it too. So I go to my bookshelf and pull down Jean-Dominique Bauby’s “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”. No one makes me more thankful for my life than he does, in his gentle, uplifting way.

In the prime of life, Bauby became completely paralyzed except for the use of one eyelid. He dictated his book using a system of blinks. He says his body, which is like a heavy iron diving bell, can’t imprison his mind, which is like a butterfly, and can travel anywhere. “You can visit the woman you love, slide down beside her and stroke her still sleeping face. You can build castles in Spain, steal the Golden Fleece, discover Atlantis, realize your childhood dreams and your adult ambitions.”

He poignantly describes his frustrations, sadness and pain in negotiating the changes in relationships and daily life that disability brings. This is counterbalanced by accounts of superb delight. Though he is fed through a tube and can’t move, he revels in the smell of french fries, and watching his daughter turn cartwheels on the beach. His book tells of the possibility of a rich, full, vibrant life under the most demanding of circumstances. Each time I pick it up, it gives me hope and reminds me that I’m not alone.

Take heart. The struggle is worthwhile. And remember, as a wise person once said, “life holds you in its hand, and will not let you go.” You are on the path to resilience.

REFERENCES:

Deborah Blum, Finding Strength to Overcome Anything; Psychology Today, May 1998

Ama Adhe: The Voice That Remembers; Wisdom Publications

William Pinsoff, Integrated Problem-Centered Therapy: Toward the Synthesis of Family    and Individual Psychotherapies; Journal of Marital and Family Therapy 1983,  Vol. 9, No. 1, pgs.19-35.

Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell & the Butterfly; Fourth Estate, London 1997  pg.13