“She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails.” — Elizabeth Edwards
The best definition I’ve ever found for resilience is this: the capacity of a person to maintain their core purpose and integrity in the face of dramatically changed circumstances. It’s the ability not just to overcome setbacks, but to move forward — to rise again and again, even when the ground beneath you keeps shifting.
This year, that word — resilience — became the thread that held me together. I’ve often said I’m tired of being resilient, and perhaps that’s true. Yet somehow, all the resilience I’ve built up over the years was summoned in full measure in 2025. Every hard lesson, every scar, every moment I thought I wouldn’t make it — all of it found its purpose this year. And for that, I am grateful. Grateful that I didn’t break in the furnace.
It was, without question, one of the most trying years of my life. Each time I thought I could finally exhale, a new storm appeared on the horizon. I’ve never known fatigue quite like this — the kind that seeps into your bones and tests your will to keep going. I’ve been on overdrive, pushed beyond what I thought possible. And yet, here I am — speaking about the struggle in the past tense. What a blessing that is. With only two months left in the year, I refuse to believe that defeat will make an example of me. Perhaps that’s my stubbornness — but it’s a stubbornness that has kept me standing.
Through it all, I found solace in wisdom, routine, and consistency — the quiet pillars that kept me grounded when everything else felt uncertain. I remember telling a young woman recently that it took me nine years to achieve the body I’ve always wanted. I could see the disappointment flash across her face — the instant-gratification generation hates hearing that kind of truth. But if you have no skin in the game, how can you expect to win? Growth, real growth, takes time.
I’ve come to realize that the marks of the great are their battle scars. If you emerge from battle untouched, be wary — you’ve likely learned nothing and may not survive the next one. I used to see my scars as shameful — proof of mistakes, missteps, and inexperience. Now, I wear them proudly. They are symbols of survival, of grace under fire, of lessons learned the hardest way.
This year, resilience was not just a trait — it was a lifeline. And as I step toward the final stretch of 2025, I do so with gratitude for every wound that healed, every tear that taught, and every moment I almost gave up but didn’t.
Because sometimes, survival itself is the victory.
