It was 2 a.m. and I was ten hours deep into cramming for the college algebra final I'd be taking first thing the next morning. I was sitting with one of my best friends, the boy I met my sophomore year of high school who helped me survive math classes from that year forward.
"I have a 70% in this class," I told him. "There's no way I'm going to be able to do well enough on the final to even pass."
"I think you'd be surprised," he told me, half talking me down and half working on what I assumed was his own homework. Two minutes later, he showed me what he'd been working on.
"I calculated what you need to get to raise your grade enough to pass this class, and you need an 81," he told me. "You can do that. I've never known you to give up. You're too resilient."
Those words have been stuck in my head forever. It was freezing cold in the corner of his dorm room, the clock read 2:39 a.m., and still nothing had ever made more sense. "You're too resilient."
The way he said it never left me, either. Like it was obvious to him. Like he didn't have to question whether or not I'd be okay. Like he just knew, without having to wonder about the same "what-ifs" that were running wild in my own mind, keeping me awake and making me so anxious I could barely write.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't get much sleep that night, and by 6 the next morning I was too awake to do anything but keep cramming. He had made up a sheet for me with ten problems for me to run through before taking the actual exam, and I studied those up until the minute the test started.
For the hour and a half of my life that I spent in that room taking that test, the word "resilient" echoed in my head. Over and over and over again, seemingly louder when I got to questions I couldn't remember how to do.
Two weeks later, when final grades were posted, I had him check it for me.
"You got an 86" he told me. "You did better than you needed to. I told you you'd be fine. You always are."
Long story short, I passed that class. And all the ones that followed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But the word "resilient" never stopped playing an incredible role in shaping the way I go about things. The echoes of that word never stopped playing themselves in my head. I still hear them often. I still let them help me.
The semester after that algebra class, I traveled 54 hours by bus to and from Washington DC to participate in the Women's March following Donald Trump's inauguration. Not even halfway through the march, I got incredibly sick and spent 3 hours throwing up.. and I kept marching.
"I have to do this," I told everyone around me who was trying to force me to sit down and relax. "I did not come here to not be a part of this."
"Talk about resilient," one of the older women on the trip said to me as she tied my hair behind me and handed me water and Tylenol. "Don't let anything stop you."
Almost a year after that, I was shot in a drive-by shooting on Broadway in Downtown Wichita and went to work the next day with a wound to my abdomen even though I hadn't gotten any sleep and it hurt to sit up.
"Shouldn't you be at home, resting??" several people asked me. "Yeah, probably," I told them. "But I'm not dead, so until I am I may as well keep doing what I love."
I will stand by that forever. I will always believe that I should make the most out of my life. I will always do whatever it takes to create the life I want to live. I will always go to every effort to let the people I love know that I love them. I will always emphasize resilience as strongly as I possibly can because in a lot of ways, it's the only reason I'm still here.
I don't tell you these stories because I think it's important that you know about my life. The stories themselves are most likely irrelevant to you. I tell you these stories because my experiences have taught me a lot, and not sharing those lessons seems like a waste.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Because I can't say everything perfectly, and because I usually hit writer's block at this point in my writing process, I want to share the poem that inspired me recently to make a permanent change to myself.
"I have a 70% in this class," I told him. "There's no way I'm going to be able to do well enough on the final to even pass."
"I think you'd be surprised," he told me, half talking me down and half working on what I assumed was his own homework. Two minutes later, he showed me what he'd been working on.
"I calculated what you need to get to raise your grade enough to pass this class, and you need an 81," he told me. "You can do that. I've never known you to give up. You're too resilient."
Those words have been stuck in my head forever. It was freezing cold in the corner of his dorm room, the clock read 2:39 a.m., and still nothing had ever made more sense. "You're too resilient."
The way he said it never left me, either. Like it was obvious to him. Like he didn't have to question whether or not I'd be okay. Like he just knew, without having to wonder about the same "what-ifs" that were running wild in my own mind, keeping me awake and making me so anxious I could barely write.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't get much sleep that night, and by 6 the next morning I was too awake to do anything but keep cramming. He had made up a sheet for me with ten problems for me to run through before taking the actual exam, and I studied those up until the minute the test started.
For the hour and a half of my life that I spent in that room taking that test, the word "resilient" echoed in my head. Over and over and over again, seemingly louder when I got to questions I couldn't remember how to do.
Two weeks later, when final grades were posted, I had him check it for me.
"You got an 86" he told me. "You did better than you needed to. I told you you'd be fine. You always are."
Long story short, I passed that class. And all the ones that followed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But the word "resilient" never stopped playing an incredible role in shaping the way I go about things. The echoes of that word never stopped playing themselves in my head. I still hear them often. I still let them help me.
The semester after that algebra class, I traveled 54 hours by bus to and from Washington DC to participate in the Women's March following Donald Trump's inauguration. Not even halfway through the march, I got incredibly sick and spent 3 hours throwing up.. and I kept marching.
"I have to do this," I told everyone around me who was trying to force me to sit down and relax. "I did not come here to not be a part of this."
"Talk about resilient," one of the older women on the trip said to me as she tied my hair behind me and handed me water and Tylenol. "Don't let anything stop you."
Almost a year after that, I was shot in a drive-by shooting on Broadway in Downtown Wichita and went to work the next day with a wound to my abdomen even though I hadn't gotten any sleep and it hurt to sit up.
"Shouldn't you be at home, resting??" several people asked me. "Yeah, probably," I told them. "But I'm not dead, so until I am I may as well keep doing what I love."
I will stand by that forever. I will always believe that I should make the most out of my life. I will always do whatever it takes to create the life I want to live. I will always go to every effort to let the people I love know that I love them. I will always emphasize resilience as strongly as I possibly can because in a lot of ways, it's the only reason I'm still here.
I don't tell you these stories because I think it's important that you know about my life. The stories themselves are most likely irrelevant to you. I tell you these stories because my experiences have taught me a lot, and not sharing those lessons seems like a waste.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Because I can't say everything perfectly, and because I usually hit writer's block at this point in my writing process, I want to share the poem that inspired me recently to make a permanent change to myself.
"I want to apologize to all the women I have called pretty. Before I've called them intelligent or brave. I am sorry I made it sound as though something as simple as what you're born with is the most you have to be proud of when your spirit has crushed mountains. From now on I will say things like you are resilient or you are extraordinary not because I don't think you're pretty but because you are so much more than that."
- excerpt from "milk and honey" by Rupi Kaur
I got my fourth tattoo on a whim. I inked the word, "resilient" into my arm forever. Which, as I expected, my mom wasn't thrilled about. And as usual, or at least as it has been each time I've gotten a tattoo, the same questions get asked.
"You know that's PERMANENT, right???"
"What if you regret it??"
"Why??????"
So to address all of those very quickly and very honestly: Yes. I know. My signature is at the bottom of the paperwork. I put it there. If I regret it I regret it, but it's my body and not yours. Why??
Because it has meaning to me. Because I've heard this word in the back of my mind constantly and because it's pushed me to be better. It's always been a reminder that I'm strong and that I will always be able to bounce back from what does damage to my heart. It's continued to encourage me to rise not only to challenge, but above and beyond it. It's been my reminder to continue to fight when I'm tired and discouraged. More than anything, the tattoo is a physical, permanent reminder that I'm powerful because I am exactly what it says.
Resilient.
I want you to know, too, that circumstances will never be what defines you.
Let people say what they're going to say.
People are going to break your heart.
People are going to question you and judge you and sometimes even stab you in the back.
There are going to be days when you want to give up on whatever it is you're going through and there are going to be days when you feel like you aren't enough.
You're going to feel powerless.
There will be times when you fall short of your own expectations or the expectations others have of you and I need you to recognize that those times do not mean that you are anything other than human.
You're allowed to mess up.
You're allowed to leave what hurts you.
You're allowed to be weak.
But beyond all that, you're encouraged to believe that you are more than the things that happen to you and you are more than how you feel- even when you're blinded by what pains you.
Recognizing your resilience is about recognizing that you have weaknesses and
still
refusing
to let them win.
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