“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”

The myth of resilience and a case for feeling.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”

I’ve always found it intriguing the way people yap such quips to make sense of their own predicament. They are rather like statistics in that you can always find one that pertains to your own particular spin on a matter.

“Many hands make light work”

V

“Too many cooks spoil the broth”

is a classic example.

Two takes on the same situation.

It can’t be both, can it? Yet we pluck the soundbite best suited to the ‘wisdom’ we feel we need to assign it at the time, often to validate our wishes or feelings.

Considering such contradictions, led me to the oft said phrase;

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

As we grow older, we hear it more and more.  As various crises hit, the idea that we are building an invisible layer of armour is offered as consolation for our hurt.

‘Resilience culture’ as I call it, has never been more in vogue. The idea that humans have to endure a series of psychologically or emotionally damaging experiences in order for them to grow, has disturbing parallels with Victorian fondness for ‘the rod’, the principle being that physical punishment was essential for so-called ‘character building’.

It’s even more concerning that we are particularly keen to use ‘resilience’ in relation to children, to justify societal maltreatment of them.

During the lockdowns, when education was denied or provided under abhorrent conditions (masks worn, windows wide open in winter etc), platitudes such as “they’ll soon bounce back” and “kids are tougher than we think” were routinely trotted out to downplay the cruelty adults inflicted upon them.

The spin doctors quickly transformed a dismal reality of ‘suffering’ into the far more palatable ‘resilience’.

It can be summarised as;

“In five years time this will all be water under the bridge ! Little Johnny won’t remember freezing his arse off in December with the windows wide open, not being able to play football with his mates or go to birthday parties. And if he does…..well, it will have toughened him up, won’t it? Our grandparents lived through wars, after all!”

This was the popular mentality of the time.

But just because we do not always notice the effects in years to come, does not mean they are not internalised.

Pain is part of life.

Sadly, we all must endure it to some extent. My issue, is with manufacturing or making light of it under a the misguided belief it enhances a person.

This brings me on to my chosen phrase.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Let’s explore resilience.

Is an old battle horse stronger than one that has not known war?

Logic would tell you, it is weaker.

A being that has been attacked in some way, be it physically or psychologically will no doubt be injured and will need to recover, rebuild.

So, how is mental strength acquired through endurance?

What is this ‘mental strength’ people talk of?

Whilst the body is full of muscles and evidence of their regrowth is visible as one trains them, how is it so with emotional well-being?

Where is the proof it is bolstered by a series of traumatic events?

I’ve come to believe that what people refer to as mental strength is actually ‘learning how to unfeel’.

Perfecting the art of being unfazed, desensitised.

But for obvious reasons, this is a less marketable concept.

So we use ‘strength’ or ‘resilience’ to replace it, hijacking the positive connotations they hold.

Whilst I understand how ‘strength’ (aka learning to unfeel) works as a protective mechanism, in terms of survival, I have always butted against it.

Why?

Because, quite simply, I want to feel.

And I want to feel deeply, passionately, unapologetically.

I can walk wearing shoes, or go barefoot and feel the give of earth call to my soles.

I can do the washing up wearing gloves or immerse my hands in warm liquid, enjoying each soft bubble.

I allow myself to feel in every physical sense so why should this not extend to emotions?

As we ‘strengthen’, are we becoming better or worse versions of ourselves?

Is the more resilient self, an improvement?

The popular assumption, is that, it is.

Why is that so?

It is a more shielded self and we lose something in the process of preservation.

It’s a defence that cannot be built without sacrifice.

The image that comes to mind for me, is that of a creosoted fence.

Does a fence painted with protective creosote have advantage over its bare wood counterpart?

Or is an exposed, raw material preferable?

The protection comes with the price tag of becoming smothered, unable to ‘breathe’.

The process of hardening requires beauty to be spoiled.

We seal something off.

For me, it is the same with humans.

‘The Fool’ is one of my best loved tarot cards. He is an archetype of innocent, a bit silly, fearless, naive, absorbent, a maker of mistakes - yet on he goes, oblivious to danger.

In short, he dares to feel.

It has always been a favourite energy of mine to channel, because once we lose that ability, what is left?

We become the creosoted fence - our true colour marred, our unique grain blurred.

How can I not love my ‘fool’?

I would argue it is not my ‘strength’ that has enriched my experience of life but my vulnerability.

My submission.

My ‘Fool’ has led me to meadows of butterflies that flew joyously into my stomach and fluttered so much my heart was lifted.

Yet he has also led me to fields of razor blades that fringe lemon juice rivers.

So, how do we balance these two forces?

Must we concede the zeal of a child to the caution of an elder?

Feels like a bad swap to me.

Do we get a say in ‘creosoting the fence’?

Personally, I have no wish to ‘protect’ myself, if in the process I darken and dim my pattern and find myself suffocating.

Maybe we get no choice in the matter.

But I endeavour to stay a ‘fool’.

I gain more than I forfeit by staying a natural.

I want no veneer.

I resist resilience.

I exist to feel.