Resilience

Resilience

We are not blades of grass that can

bounce back after being stepped on,

not foam pillows slowly returning

to our former shape, having been

pressed down one too many times.

We must lie flat on the earth for now

and stay with the breaking, resilience

and repair not possible just yet.

And though we may appear lifeless,

defeated, like a tulip bulb in winter,

let others be fooled as a new kind

of fuel fills these veins, gathering 

power inside us again.


The word “resilience” comes from the Latin resilīre, which means “to spring back.” We often speak of the need for resilience in the wake of terrible loss or difficult times, yet I have often heard people bristle against the suggestion—built into the origin of the word—that we ought to be able to adjust right away to major life changes. Many of us may still feel flattened by the events of these past few weeks, but even for those who don’t, we all know what is like to be pressured to move on from grief long before we are ready, before we have had a chance to stay with the pain and learn what it may have to teach us. We might wish we could just spring back to the shape of our former self as quickly as a stepped-on blade of grass, or memory foam pillow. So much of healing, however, means dwelling with the brokenness, accepting that repair is not possible or even desirable just yet. I am writing this on the two-year anniversary of my mother’s sudden death, and I can attest that there was no way, even months after she had passed, that I could move right into resilience and repair. There was no springing back, no returning to the person I was before the loss. Recovery is not a pretty process, and typically involves staying with the darkness for longer than we would like. Maybe that’s why the image of a tulip bulb arose for me; the bulbs may appear lifeless and tattered, but we place them in the cold mud of November anyway. We trust that they will gather nutrients, and bloom come spring.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: When you consider the word “resilience,” what images come to mind? How has resilience worked in your own life, and how might you redefine it for yourself at this moment?

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So many of my poetry projects over the past few years have centered on cultivating hope and resilience in difficult times. I have a request, if you have the time and feel moved to do so. New books often don't get many reviews on Amazon—but reviews help books find new audiences. I’d be grateful if you would go to the pages for my latest projects, Unlocking the Heart and Boxful of Poetry, the boxed set of my last three poetry anthologies. Scroll down toward the bottom of the page, click on “Leave a customer review,” give the book as many “stars” as you think it’s worth and write a couple of words about it. Thank you so much! It might seem a small thing, but it would mean a lot.