Maya Angelou
In the face of humiliation, rage, degradation, fear of defeat, or simply indefinable fear, being resilient weaves the fabric of eventual success. Rebounding and recovering from the personal insults that life hands us contributes to our eventual growth. Whether these hard times are large or small, overt or covert, physical, mental, or emotional, whether they come from our family of origin, our workplace, or even our circle of friends, these very experiences that could stunt our development instead strengthen it, if we are resilient.
Resilience is standing tall rather than hanging our heads and shuffling away when the invitation to give up beckons. Resilience is saying, “Yes I can,” in the presence of those who doubt us. Resilience means never succumbing to the forces of defeat that may be all around us.
Few of us graciously accept the insults that so commonly become a natural part of living. That's to be expected, perhaps. But what we manage to tolerate successfully, we will thrive from in time. That's my experience, anyway. And that's the experience I think we can all cultivate. That's the experience I hope to help you develop using the suggestions I offer in this book.
Ever since publishing my first book, Each Day a New Beginning, in 1982, I have become convinced that my calling, so to speak, is to serve as your teacher in any way that I can. By that I mean that I am called to share with you all that I have gathered from others over the years. Through my sharing, I get the added pleasure of relearning all that I offer you.
I chose to begin this book with a discussion of resilience because I think it is the kernel that lives at the center of all the positive characteristics we develop when we grow up in families that struggle to be functional. There are countless other strengths that will get our focus in due course, and throughout this book we will look at how resilience informs all of the experiences we face as we try to make sense of the dysfunctional family system.
Resilience means believing there is a path that has been charted for you and staying on it even when you stumble.
Resilience serves as a backdrop for lives that move forward rather than succumbing to the pain and the downdraft of the unenlightened family of origin. I say unenlightened because my research for this book has convinced me that families, for the most part, did the best they could; their best was simply seldom good enough because it wasn't well informed. And since that was the case, I think it's fair to say it took a herculean effort by the many individuals who have crossed my path to thrive, regardless of their circumstances.
One of the many people I interviewed, whose effort to survive was herculean, for sure, comes instantly to mind. His name has been changed to protect his anonymity. I'll call him William. William grew up in a family extremely short on compassionate attention and very long on his mother's withering criticism, coupled with extended periods of deadly silence. His mother, though not officially diagnosed, was mentally ill. And his father was a withdrawn, silent man, uninvolved and completely distant from his wife and two children. His work consumed him, perhaps as an escape, but nonetheless he was not available for emotional support, guidance, or any expression of love.
The family simply didn't function as a unit, but rather like four separate souls sharing the same address. They didn't create a home. Their interactions were few, with the exception of excessive outbursts of criticism from Mom, followed by the nearly immediate disappearance of Dad. My own family resembled William's in some regard. Although there was no mental illness, there was evidence of extreme emotional pain and measurable rage. The punishing silences, coupled with the frequent outbursts by my dad, made the hours at home uncertain, uncomfortable, and unenjoyable.
Children like William, and myself too, sought support and a sense of well-being from others. In William's case, he began to excel in school, reading all the books he could lay his hands on and seeking the approval of his instructors for evidence that he mattered, that he was worthy. William soon excelled at learning how to hide his own feelings of inadequacy.
Resilience means being a willing example for others that you can make lemonade even when the lemons come in bushels.
I, on the other hand, rebelled. I met rage with rage. However, I also sought a creative outlet: I began writing stories of happy families and pretending that I was a member of those families. It was a way to lessen the emotional blows, and it proved to prepare me for a later time in my life. The present time, in fact.
That's one of the hallmarks of resilience. We grow into the person we are (knowingly or unknowingly) cultivated to become by our family of origin. It doesn't matter, actually, how we get there. It's the becoming that's important. Just as Angelou said in the quote that begins this chapter, the history of pain that pushes us forward needn't be our focus. It's that we pushed forward. We survived. And we agreed to make the journey.
I asked a number of my interviewees what resilience meant to them. I got myriad answers, but the crux was the same. Most simply, resilience meant not giving up. But beyond that, it meant making the best of whatever the situation was. It meant searching for the “pony in the pile of hay.”
To Charlie, it meant not giving up on his dream of being an aviator, even in the face of his father's constant criticism. Being told he'd never succeed in fact pushed him to prove otherwise. In the end, he not only flew professionally for a major airline, but has built two full-scale airplanes since retiring.
He was certainly wounded by the criticism heaped on him as a youngster and even into adulthood. But his dream was never thwarted. The dream was bigger than the criticism. Not everyone is able to rise above without help, however, and that's the reason for a book like this: to help those who are still struggling to put the past to bed by revealing true stories of others who trudged a similar path—people who found a way to move forward with a certainty that was unthinkable in their youth.
Resilience means not letting failure or criticism deter you from the willingness to try again. To move forward, regardless.
I found this to be the case for a number of the interviewees, in fact. For Judith, her dad was the “bully.” The criticism was not only aimed at her, but also at her mother and her younger brother. Judith developed a hard exterior much like her dad's. However, she was as afraid as he was. Eventually she came to appreciate the fear that ruled his life. She also observed how his behavior created fear in the lives of her mother and younger brother. The tension in their home was palpable, she said, and nothing seemed to lessen it. A drink or two might relax her dad, but the clenched hands and raised voice were always just a breath or a moment away.
Fortunately for Judith, she knew she wanted to teach, she knew she wanted to write, she knew she wanted to help others. The life experiences with a rageful dad and a disspirited mother that might have drowned her actually served as a lifeboat for bringing her story of survival to others. Even though I will share much more about Judith later, let me assure you that she was a “good student” of human behavior and watching her parents taught her well about who to be and who not to be. For now let me simply say that she didn't maintain her hard exterior forever. Even though her father was never ever able to shed his, she came to understand and to develop compassion for what had initiated his attitude and took that information and used it in her own life so that she didn't have to repeat his pattern.
We are imprinted by the experiences we have as youngsters in our family of origin. Some research even suggests that we are imprinted while still in the womb. Some pregnant mothers play Beethoven or fill the house with fragrant flowers and the sounds of quiet rain on the roof or music meditations—who's to say those techniques don't have a beneficial effect?
I too was imprinted in the womb, but not with the soft sounds of a bubbling brook. I didn't know what exactly I had been imprinted with until well into my adult years. Let me share the backstory. From childhood on, I suffered the dread of impending doom in the form of a certainty that I was soon to be rejected, by whomever, for whatever reason. This fear haunted me as a young girl among my girlfriends and as a teenager trying desperately to attract and keep a boyfriend. Though my exterior looked hard, just like my dad's had looked, my interior was a constant jumble of nerves. My unease wherever I was influenced