The Carousel That Is Resilience

We watch events unfold in the media, and it is painful. The world is a dark, dark place. With tragedies of late, we feel demoralized. We feel frustrated. We feel pain. Racial barriers, mass mistreatment, and oh yes, COVID-19 as the backdrop — social, emotional, and physical demands are just too heavy. At times like this, we call upon our strength to manage all the feelings we have, to balance the fear, and handle the grief, real and anticipated. We call upon our resilience. People carry baggage --unpacking this, is the silver bullet, a mirror so necessary to confront, in order to walk a road of authentic living. Through that confrontation, much is redirected to childhood. We model what we see. As adults, we sift through the memories, reactions, and imprints left upon us. And in the sorting, we undoubtedly look to what we have witnessed, experienced, and lived. Resilient parents raise resilient children. When adults navigate hardship -- albeit on a sliding scale -- with pliable strength and will, this is mirrored. When we look at those we desire to emulate, it is their determination and perseverance that attract us. When we look at those we repel against, it is a result of disappointment, pain, and perhaps feelings of anguish we subconsciously carry with us. When a loved one lets down those around them, in an inability to draw on their strength, for whatever reason, the result can be catastrophic. When those we trust to be a lighthouse of sorts present darkness, that which is their own, finding said light on our own is near impossible.

Who is resilient? Trying to answer that may not be worthwhile, for there is no real measure. Resilience comes from within. The more thoughtful question is this: what makes some people better equipped at handling crises than others? And is this static? Really exploring our identity and our own pathology is the gift we can give ourselves. I was speaking with an old friend this week, who is self-isolating like the rest of us. She said this time “has forced [her] to sit and ride through every emotion big or small, doubt, pride, anger, rejection...the list goes on.” Her self-awareness is impressive. As I write, I wonder, where did my resilience come from? Losses, pain, bullying, culturally and socially confusing teen years, and difficulty (at times) communicating, all brought me to where I am today. Issues like these are in us all. The struggles of adolescence, then adulthood, the demands of the world, and life itself, grace every one of us -- particularly now, in the wake of such polarizing views and subsequent turmoil. So where does that, You pick yourself back up again come from? What is the root of such resilience? What I have seen in my own life, from my family past and present, in the way of pushing through, and handling life’s adversity, impacts me every single day.

Either way, as we all ride this wave of doubt, one of the many things we turn to for comfort is streaming. Particularly now, sharing and discussing recommendations becomes a way to communicate. A way to make the world smaller. Since it has much more depth than one would expect given its title (my own spouse initially resisted it as a sensational ‘fluff piece’), let’s refer to Showtime’s The Affair. Uniquely presenting different perspectives on life situations, a more apt name might be The Journey, or Perspectives in Life. In Season 5 we are presented with Anna Paquin’s character, Joanie. Although in her 30s, she was raised in trauma. As a child of it, she is a tortured soul. She lives a heavy, heavy life. Her parents could not recover from scarring events, transpiring before Joanie was even born. She meets EJ (Michael Braun), an epigeneticist studying how trauma can pass from one generation to the next. EJ wonders if trauma in a family makes a child of it more resilient, or less. Is the traumatic incident itself the deciding factor? Or how it is received, and handled? Many factors come into play, in determining one’s coping abilities. Joanie has none, and questions why. So where does strength come from? How do some people navigate the past, while others cannot? If we are (arguably) allowed fragility, then how do we manage it, and come out on top? Are some of us headed for an impending doom that awaits us around the corner? Are we maybe in the middle of it right now?!

Today’s world is quick. We scroll through Instagram on auto-pilot, often barely registering what we see. In a Kardashian-infused era of knockouts, enhanced Snapchat filters, and a reign of fast -- fast food, fast fashion, fast inspo -- life is diluted by images, memes, and curations. The glamour of Youtube and TikTok’s perceived insta-fame, coupled with the accessibility given us via social media, make for a certain gloss that veils real life and real living. We have to rely on our own resilience, in a time when the world seems to be running on an automatic timer. As events transpire, as a pandemic takes over the world, and as social injustice seems to be winning, we may feel powerless. This is why when we are taught and shown grit, we draw on that to push us forward. Essentially, we get back up. When we see resilience, we may not always understand it. Still, we know we want it. Joanie knows she wants it. When we think of the softest landing places throughout our lives, it is those who were strong, dependable, and supportive -- those lifelines that we grab onto in times of need. And even in those most fragile of moments, moments that can be utterly crushing, we look for tools to save us: books, friends, therapists, loved ones, ourselves. In one of our daily phone chats this week on life and happiness, my sister Suzy and I turned to Bloodline’s Danny Rayburn. A Netflix original released a few years ago, this blockbuster thriller may have somehow escaped you. As unlikely as that is, I will still minimize spoilers. In a ridiculously stellar performance by Ben Mendelsohn, Danny is a middle-aged man plagued with grief and rage. Like Joanie, wavering from a tragic event in his childhood, he simply cannot recover. Danny does not have the emotional means to find solace, which he so desperately needs. Which we all need.

In talking with another close friend about the past, about how we grew up, his words were meaningful. “When we were kids...when you are a baby, the only way you know how to communicate is by crying. Eventually, our parents taught us how to use words to say we were hungry, tired, pooped our pants, etc. We learned from them how to communicate. Why would it be any different in our teens? I feel someone still needed to teach us how to communicate more intricate feelings.” Of course, there is the belief that learning on our own makes us stronger. The flip side is that we must be shown, through example, that despite hardship we can persevere. Death, divorce, loss, bullying, abuse, addiction. That even in the most tragic of circumstances, If I can do it, you can do it. Today there appears to be much more compassion, inclusivity, and acceptance. Communication is key. Danny Rayburn was given none of this. His father Robert (the ever stoic Sam Shepard), in his inability to handle tragedy, shunned Danny, violently, unreservedly, and completely. My own dad said to me when watching, “Oh, I just cry for Danny.” Though Robert was the dominant parent, he was also in essence the weaker one. Even his grief was more paramount, manifesting itself in anger, directed at Danny. With baggage of his own, Robert failed his son by letting the pain take over.

Assuming not all adults are at the same level of self-growth and analysis, in a crisis we may initially expect more from the stronger one. Danny expected more from his father. Take control, I need you to. The dominant parent is the one who lets us down when their fragility wins. Effectively, we emotionally write them off. Arrested expectations guide us to look to the other parent (if we are fortunate to have more than one) for strength and support. Help me. And if they don’t, it can be fatal. In an emotionally charged scene, decades later, between Danny and his mother Sally (the unstoppable Sissy Spacek), he faces the demon. His father long gone, he finally confronts what he, his whole life, could never put into words. Sally is absolutely frantic with anxiety, having to now relive the past. Danny brutally expresses just how much of his pain was caused by her, and how much more he needed from her. “And YOU...are the worst. You always took Dad’s side. You never protected me. I never felt safe in this house!” Incapable of handling his own grief, Danny’s father had turned him away. In doing so, he only amplified the tragedy. And his mother, the one Danny expected to cradle, support, and love him, instead with her silence, heightened the betrayal. The one Danny put more faith in, is the one who committed the worse sin. In regular life, this happens all the time, but to a lesser degree. There is a conflict, and mediation is required -- on the playground, in the classroom, at home, on a team. It is always the more reasonable party, who we bank on: the older sibling, the calmer person, the well-behaved child, the less intense personality, who we are more disappointed by. We expect more from “The Sally Rayburns”. They are the ones who let us down, unable to live up to our expectations. We, as a rule, default to holding people in our lives to varying standards. Depending on their ability to be strong, we call upon them to hold our hand and show us the way. When Sally’s resilience failed her, she failed Danny. It is absolutely heart-wrenching.

Let's look at the murder of George Floyd. One police officer, the field training officer, kept his knee on Floyd's neck in an effort to restrain him. Floyd was handcuffed. He had no weapon. If this police officer felt compelled to act in the way he did, and cut off Floyd's breathing, for whatever reason, what of the other three officers watching? For 8 minutes and 46 seconds, what did they do? What are our expectations of them? If the training officer deemed it necessary to act with such ill regard for Floyd's life, we arguably expect more from the other officers, no? New or old, they have a voice. At the urging of bystanders, who said to check his pulse 6 minutes in, as he had fallen silent by then, one of the officers did. Yet the other two did not move. The mammoth rage that this entire incident triggers is absolutely staggering. The first officer, we hope, will face retribution, now being charged with second-degree murder. But if silence is compliance, what hope do we have when the others, also with power, remain mute amidst such grave and debilitating injustice? If these officers are representative of a large portion of a system that claims "to serve and protect", then we need change! In speaking with another friend about this, she candidly gave heartfelt, invaluable insight. In light of her father’s alcohol dependency, she eventually expected more from her mother. While her father was strong and dependable, and a role model in so many ways, he also caused the family pain. Reconciling these two extremes proved difficult. As impossible as it was, and in the face of extreme hardship, her mom (the softer parent), could not just stay quiet forever. Because the natural proclivity is to keep a family together, and go with 'the grain' all adults struggle when at a crossroads of sorts. Ultimately, the family did not stay together. This decision has echoed to this day. Nothing is a fairy tale, and the cost of that leaving meant resentment, judgement, and more pain. Anyone who feels let down by a parent generally does not know the full story. However, strength is strength, and eventually, this mother modelled resilience. And it is never easy. This led me to ask some tough questions through Instagram, in order to write this piece. The first explored how in our lives we have seen and been taught resilience. Here are some of the beautiful examples of resilience:

* My older cousin showed me strength when he walked away from his toxic father and never looked back.

* A good friend was strong and married against his parents (unfair) wishes and is happy today.

* I know a victim of child abuse who did the work to come out okay.

* My aunt left her abusive husband, with her children, and built a new life.

* Our older sister, with the struggles in her marriage, worked hard and showed strength for herself and her kids, by not giving up.

* Our dad was strong for us when my mom got sick.

* Family members help, when another family member falls apart.

* My brother, as he beat addiction.

The second question, more disheartening, asked when in our lives, did we need more strength from those around us:

* I needed more from my mom and dad when I wanted to leave my toxic marriage.

* I wished it was handled better when family fights would occur.

* It hurt when a close friend turned me away as I made positive life changes.

* I wished my mom was honest with me about a huge family matter.

* I needed more from my parents as I battled depression and addiction.

* I wanted understanding and love from my relatives when a sibling died.

* I needed my mom to leave, take us away, not caring about what people would say.

Memories and feelings stay rooted in our consciousness. Our lives are affected by those we look up to. Those we love, and rely on. How and if they handle adversity, directly impacts how we handle it.

Returning to The Affair, in her 20s, Whitney Solloway (the beautiful and talented Julia Goldani Telles), the eldest daughter of Noah and Helen (Dominic West and Maura Tierney, both equally incredible), is lost and worn out by her parents’ mismanagement of their family. Amidst a decade of crisis after crisis, she finally and unequivocally lets her mom have it. In Whitney’s eyes, as bad as her father is for cheating, her mother is worse for failing to acknowledge his gross transgressions. Whitney accepts that her dad gave up on them, but reels from the pain of her mom not being strong enough to denounce this. Helen asks Whitney what she wanted her to do. “I wanted you to condemn him. I wanted you to admit to us, and to yourself, what a shit he was. So that maybe I would have an opportunity to acknowledge that that behaviour wasn’t normal...show me you think you deserve better, so that I know I deserve better!!!” Like Danny Rayburn, Whitney Solloway replicates in her own life what she sees as the lack of strength in her mother. She is weakened by it. And of course, while Helen was likely just doing her best to survive, for Whitney’s emotional well-being, this is inconsequential. The imprint of her mom’s inability to show her child the harder, stronger path -- This treatment is unacceptable, you deserve more! -- is devastating.

Life beats us down. It’s hard. Reeling from recent killings, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbrery, Breonna Taylor, three among so many, the systemic racism prevalent today fills us with rage. COVID-19 has left us frail and vulnerable. The world is dealing with so much. It all hurts the heart. Everyone I have spoken with feels the same way. We channel our power of positive thinking, call upon our moral obligations, and use our voices to try and make things better. Still, our resilience takes a beating. But no matter what, we are at our best when we question ourselves. Self-doubt does not necessarily mean instability. Even the strongest of foundations need repair, renovation, rewiring. And as life goes up and down, so then does our resilience -- a carousel where we get on and get off, throughout our lives. The pain of yesterday, the anger of today, and the sorrow for tomorrow can draw it out. What if extreme trauma, which destroys those in its wake, could instead unite? And where one experience can break us, we can better handle the next. And maybe, just maybe, we take turns. My best friend asked me quite candidly, at a pivotal time in my life: Don’t you want to be weak? Don’t you want the chance to fall down, and be helped back up? Ummm, YES! In a revelatory and epic moment, struggling Joanie meets Noah, who presents her with a gift. He knew her mother. As she grapples endlessly with thinking she has inherited her mother’s trauma, believing her to have surrendered to darkness, Joanie is breaking. Explaining to Noah that she is this generational victim of grief, he gives her another point of view -- one in which her mother, while suffering, was still trying. Trying for change. “Change is hard”, he says. “If trauma and pain can echo through generations, then so can love. If abandonment can ripple across time, then so can presence.” Instantly (because it’s TV), she is presented with the idea that she has another choice. She can fight against the pull, look for the light, and grab hold of the anchors in her life. She can change. Dig up her strength, dust it off, and live.

Not all roads lead to salvation. But if resilience is a merry go round, it revolves around us. We are the core. Every day, at varying stages in our lives, we pick ourselves up. We try. And those baby steps make all the difference. Wanting more from loved ones seems to be a common theme, not only for the Dannys and the Whitneys, but for so many of us. Where a lack of resilience may have let us down before, it can still grow within us. When those we look up to, can sift through the muddy waters of pain, and persevere, even with torment and agony as bookends, so can we. And even if they can’t, still we can make an attempt. True grit does not come out of anything easy. And dramatically written confrontations in popular culture don’t always happen in real life. But, if we are all responsible to a higher cause, a greater good -- that of humanity as a whole -- then we must do the hard work. Where we failed to learn resilience, where we felt ‘ripped off’, we can find a way to learn it now. Get on, get off. Find the lighthouse. Whatever, whoever it is. We are all familiar with the Where’s Waldo book series. We search and search, squinting our eyes, scanning the page, and just when we are about to turn to the next drawing, sure enough, shows up that tiny fellow with the glasses and that red and white striped sweater. We smile, point, and then do it all over again. Page by page. Perhaps, when we feel our resilience fading and torn away, somehow, it will find us.

Sources:

Bloodline. Netflix, 2015 - 2017.

The Affair. Showtime, 2014 - 2019.

Hanford, Martin. Where’s Waldo. Candlewick Press, 2007.