By Caitlin Kelly
In my last blog post, I named some of the worst experiences I’d faced in earlier years, and several people commented on how tough they were.
Or how tough I must be to have weathered them.
I later realized there were two more years that were also very difficult, one when I was 14 and another right around my 20th birthday.
What I also realize, looking back now, is what made the first one excruciating and the second one less so, was having emotional support, people who love me who really stood by me through it all.
When I got a diagnosis of early stage breast cancer, right at my birthday in 2018, I was floored and deeply surprised by the flood of love and support and good wishes, cards and gifts and flowers, that people sent to me. One woman I know really only professionally, who lives far away from me, sent me a bracelet with the word I chose — onward. Even though I did a lot of crying and was very scared, knowing how many people were with me in spirit was incredibly helpful.
My late mother suffered a tremendous amount of health problems — multiple cancers (which she survived), COPD, a late-life colostomy — but she, until that point, was relentlessly determined to just get on with it.
Her expression, whenever face with yet another crisis: “What should I do? Jump out of my skin?”
Life is rarely smooth and easy!
We get sick and injured and people we love get sick and injured and get dementia and fade in front of our eyes. We don’t get the dream job — or we do, and get fired or laid off. We may face (as I did, even at 30, when I arrived in New York seeking a journalism job) a six month job search. Or a search that never produces a job we want.
Or any job.
So the things I’ve faced and overcome are nothing compared to what others face — a drug-addicted or incarcerated parent; having to care for younger siblings; not being able to afford any sort of education with which to escape poverty.
Chronic poverty. Disability or chronic illness. Food or housing insecurity.
Or racism and daily microaggressions, as so many BIPOC are describing now. Police brutality and mass incarceration.
Sometimes it’s all just a hopeless mess!
My experiences, for sure, have been much eased by my race, decent health, the skills to make a living, an excellent university education with no debt (Canadian) and the financial help of a relative.
But I also take pride in my acquired resilience when the shit — again!! — hits the fan, in not lying in bed in the fetal position weeping for days, escaping into drugs or alcohol. I’m not judging people who do. People do what they can with what they have.
Surviving hardships creates resilience. It’s a muscle we only develop by using it, probably repeatedly.
You don’t know how strong you can be until you’re sorely tested.
Right now, thanks to the news and social media, I see a tremendous amount of whining and complaining, mostly by Americans, some who just can’t tolerate the slightest discomfort (wearing a mask, staying out of crowded places indoors) and whose selfishness is lethal as it continues to spread COVID-19.
This behavior sickens me. It’s stunningly immature.
Ironically, I gained a new client this year who is Finnish.
And Finns take pride in a national culture with a name — sisu. It means grit, determination, the willingness and ability — and pride in so doing — to tough things out.