A few days ago,
I wound up in the ER and shortly after had surgery.
Even as a therapist,
Even as someone who teaches mindfulness,
Self-compassion,
Internal family systems.
I was scared.
I didn't want to be in pain.
I didn't want anesthesia,
I didn't want surgery,
I didn't want any of it.
Over the past few days,
I've found myself really reflecting on what this experience taught me.
Not because my minor surgery was unique,
But because all of us eventually faced experiences we never would have chosen.
For you,
It may not be surgery.
It may be grief.
A diagnosis,
A relationship ending,
Anxiety,
Burnout.
A season of life that's asking more than you ever wanted to give.
We all have moments when life doesn't ask for our permission.
It simply arrives.
One of the things that I appreciate so much about internal family systems is that it's changed the way that I relate to experiences like these.
IFS doesn't ask us to stop being afraid.
Doesn't ask us to be positive or courageous all the time.
Instead,
It reminds us that fear is just one part of us.
As I move through these days,
I notice many different parts showing up.
There was a part that was really scared,
A part that wanted everything to be over before it even began.
A part that worried about what might happen.
Part that wanted so much reassurance.
And maybe even a part that I felt frustrated that I couldn't simply think my way out of the situation.
None of these parts were wrong.
None of them needed fixing.
They were doing what protective parts do.
They were trying to help me survive when something felt really uncertain.
And beneath all of these parts,
I could also feel something else.
A steadier presence.
What IFS calls self.
Not because I wasn't afraid.
I certainly was.
Not because every moment felt peaceful,
It wasn't.
Isn't about making the fear disappear.
Was the part that could stay with the fear.
The part that could quietly say.
Of course you're scared.
I'm here with you.
To me,
That's what self-compassion really is.
Not talking ourselves out of feelings,
Not convincing ourselves that everything will be okay.
Simply refusing to abandon ourselves while we're hurting.
I also feel incredibly lucky for friends,
Family.
Who are cheering me on.
And at one point I realized something that really surprised me.
There was no way around this experience.
I couldn't control every outcome.
I couldn't skip the healing.
I couldn't avoid the discomfort.
The only direction is through.
And strangely,
There was something freeing about accepting that.
Not because I liked what was happening.
I didn't.
But because once I stopped fighting the reality.
I could put all of my energy into meeting this experience with as much kindness as I could.
As I was reflecting on all of this,
I found myself thinking about my mom.
Years ago,
I watched her slowly decline with dementia.
At the time I didn't have the understanding or tools that I have today.
And what I remember most is how scared we all were.
We loved her so much that every part of us wanted the story to be different.
We wanted a treatment.
We wanted more time.
We resisted what was happening because accepting it felt impossible.
Looking back now.
I don't feel judgment towards those versions of myself.
I feel compassion.
Of course we resisted.
We weren't failing.
We were loving someone we couldn't bear to lose.
But I also wonder how much additional suffering came from fighting a reality that none of us could change.
Not because acceptance would have made losing my mom hurt any less.
It wouldn't have.
But because I think acceptance might have allowed me to be more fully present with her while she was still here.
My surgery reminded me of that.
Not because the experiences were the same,
They weren't.
Mom was about losing someone I loved.
And the other was about facing my own vulnerabilities.
Both invited the same question.
How do I meet an experience I never would have chosen?
This time,
I noticed that something had changed.
I was still scared.
I still wish things were different.
But instead of spending all of my energy wishing reality away,
I found myself asking.
How do I want to meet this?
We often think that resilience means just pushing through,
Being strong,
Holding it all together.
Never falling apart.
But I'm beginning to wonder if resilience is something much quieter than that.
Maybe resilience is allowing yourself to be scared and still taking that next step.
Maybe resilience is letting someone care for you.
A particularly difficult one for me.
Maybe resilience is resting when your body asks for rest.
And maybe it isn't about pushing through life.
Maybe it's about staying connected to yourself as life carries you through.
A few days ago,
I had one of those quiet moments that probably wouldn't mean much to anybody else.
I took my first real shower.
I dried my hair,
And I caught my reflection in the mirror,
And for the first time in days,
The person that I know.
Was showing up a little bit more.
And I was surprised by what I felt.
I didn't feel relief.
I felt primed.
Not because I had done anything extraordinary.
But probably because I had done something difficult.
I'd allow myself to be vulnerable.
I accepted help.
I felt afraid.
And I stayed with myself through all of it.
Then I realized something else.
I felt proud of my body.
Not because it feels perfect.
It certainly doesn't.
Not because it looks a certain way.
But because it carried me through an experience that I didn't want.
As therapists,
Teachers,
And mindfulness practitioners,
We often talk about trusting ourselves.
But sometimes trust isn't built during the easy moments.
Sometimes is built afterwards.
When we look back and realize I didn't think I could do that.
Right to head.
And maybe that's what resilience really is.
Not the absence of fear,
Not the pretending that everything is okay.
But discovering that there is something within us that remains present,
Compassionate,
And steady.
Even while fear is moving through us.
If you're listening today and you're in the middle of something that you never would have chosen.
I hope you remember this.
You don't have to like what's happening.
You don't have to feel brave.
You don't have to rush yourself towards acceptance.
Maybe all that's being asked of you today is to stay with yourself.
To let every frightened,
Grieving,
Overwhelmed,
Exhausted part of you know.
That it doesn't have to go through this alone.
And if the only direction right now is through.
Take one breath.
Then another.
And trust that you don't have to have the whole path figured out.
Just this moment.
One moment at a time.
And perhaps one day,
Sooner than we expect.
We'll find ourselves standing in an ordinary moment.
Looking in the mirror.
Taking a walk.
Drinking your morning coffee.
And you'll realize something profound.
You made it through.
Not perfectly,
Not fearlessly,
But with compassion.
With presence.
And without abandoning yourself or your values.
And that may be one of the most resilient things that you'll ever do.
Thank you for sharing this time with me today.
Take good care of yourself.
