a different kind of resilience

As I shamefully often do, when I find life to be a little bit more testing than needed, I turn back to writing. I frantically scribble my thoughts onto paper hoping that the disorderly chaos that finds itself an unwanted home in the grooves and ridges of my brain decides its time to vacate. I drafted this post actually 2 years ago, when I was in the middle of a difficult relationship and period in my life and had often found myself in bed curled up with only enough energy left to crawl onto the next day. I made a rough start based around this little graphic I came across on instagram, but never seemed to finish it. Well, here I am, two years later, showing up to finish it. I guess that's resilience right?

image @peopleiveloved

Upon starting my GEM year, I knew that the year was going to push me in all ways, but looking back, I think I had the subtle confidence to also know that I could take it on. After a horrific exam season, filled with turbulent emotions, enough caffeine to knock out a horse, and an incredible support system filled with my family and friends in Manchester and back in London, we made it through the year! Sounds almost deceivingly glamorous that I am one step closer to being a doctor. But the run up was, in fact, not glamorous. I felt left behind, I felt lonely at times (unbelievable given I lived in a house of 7) and at times I wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and let the days roll over one another.

What I failed to realise, and credit myself with, was that I kept going. Resilience isn't always feeling strong after being defeated. Sometimes it looks like cocooning yourself in bed, crying yourself to sleep, scrolling on your phone in the dark for hours or avoiding writing a blog post till you feel ready.

This year has taught me a lot. About how growth rarely feels like growth in the moment. That healing doesn’t always look like breakthroughs or tangible milestones — sometimes, it’s just about choosing to get up again, even when it feels pointless. Sometimes, it’s about answering a message, eating something good for you, or replying to a text from a friend that’s been sitting in your phone for a week. It’s quiet, uncelebrated progress. But it’s progress.

I learned that even when my confidence cracked, and the imposter syndrome screamed louder than my own voice, I was still doing it. Still showing up. Still learning. Still trying.

And I think that’s something worth honouring — not just in myself, but in anyone who’s reading this and maybe feeling like they’re behind or broken or lost. You’re not. You’re becoming. And becoming is messy. Lean into it.

There’s a strange kind of magic in surviving seasons you once thought would break you. I look back now at those nights when I felt so small, when nothing was unfolding for me the way I wanted it to, when I would maybe pour a bit too much wine in my glass during wine nights so I could go to bed early and not have to overthink — and I see someone who didn’t give up. Someone who maybe didn’t thrive, but endured. And in that endurance, I can now see strength. That strength was not harnessed alone and I would just like to take a moment to thank all of my close friends who got me through this year. Thank you for coming to me with a bottle of wine and letting me cry to you about the same issues, thank you for sitting on the couch with me when I had a breakdown, and thank you for having faith in me , sometimes more than I had for myself, and for always getting me through it. I love you.

I’m starting to realise that resilience isn’t a trait you’re born with. It’s something you build in the cracks of your hardest days. Something you practice, again and again, when life doesn’t go according to plan. It’s staying soft in a world that can be so hard. It's showing up and choosing yourself again and again. Every day. I am learning to choose myself unapologetically every single time.

I tend to steer away from personal blogs, and this was not the one I intended to post. But maybe it was a nudge for myself and maybe for you, if you’re in a difficult season; I hope this reminds you that your softness isn’t weakness. Your exhaustion doesn’t erase your effort. And your journey, however unpolished, is still valid.

Sham x