My therapist literally laughed out loud when I told her one of my next therapy goals was to be more resilient.

She wasn’t laughing at me. She just laughed at the flagrant irony of my statement.

“But you’re already so resilient!” she assured me. There I was, someone with a lifetime of setbacks and traumas. Still I show up for life, over and over again. Is that not resilient enough?

So I took some time to reflect on what resilience means. What is resilience to me? Is it the same as what resilience appears to mean to the outside world, to the pop culture conversation? Are our notions of resilience based on the American ideal of pulling oneself up by the bootstraps, the rags to riches story, the hackneyed tale of overcoming great hardship and then becoming a great leader in some unique niche?

No wonder I didn’t feel resilient.

I decided to reject the American archetype of resilience and replace it with a more realistic concept. A resilience by the people, for the people.

In reality, resilience rises in quiet moments, almost undetectable. It’s not putting on a happy face or giving back or “success” or speaking out at last. Resilience is a willingness to show up again and again, a willingness to take in the next breath when the previous one seemed certainly to be the last.

Resilience is not big and strong and visible. It is the silent, private integration of suffering into solace.

No one notices your true resilience. There’s no one to say congratulations or good job or look how far you’ve come. Resilience is honoring and recognizing your own internal reality, with no need for external validation. You won’t get it anyway.

Resilience is ugly. It’s a messy, lengthy process. It is also deeply personal and infinitely beautiful.

Resilience is indestructible, just like anyone who’s learned to be resilient.