Resilience & the Good You Don’t See Coming

I used to think resilience meant being tough. Pushing through. Holding it together when everything was falling apart. And for a long time, that’s exactly what I did. When my world flipped upside down—when I was sitting in waiting rooms, chasing answers, advocating for my son, and barely holding myself upright—I thought strength meant survival.

But what I’ve learned—what I’m still learning—is that resilience isn’t just about enduring hard things. It’s also about being open to the good things that show up uninvited. The ones that come quietly, when you least expect them. Like peace. Like clarity. Like the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re stepping into a season that’s lighter than the last.

Next week, everything changes.
I need to pivot, to adapt and overcome—to tap into that same resilience I’ve had to prove, again and again, over the past two years.

When you have a baby, your whole life flips. Everything changes. But when medical complexities get thrown into the mix, it’s a different kind of hard.

I mean, obviously it’s harder. That goes without saying. But it’s harder in a way you don’t expect.
Before Myles, I wasn’t completely blind to the medical mom world. I had seen glimpses—other parents in the thick of it, sharing their stories online—and I remember thinking, I could never do that.
How would I ever have a child and have to hold them down for bloodwork? For IVs? For scans? I was sure I’d fall apart.

But then I became her. The mom doing all those things. And somehow… it didn’t phase me.
Not in the way I thought it would.

That’s the gift and the curse of social media—people are willing to share the hardest pieces of their stories. And in a strange way, that helped me build my own resilience. I saw the strength in them, and somewhere along the way, I started to believe I might have that same strength in me.

I joke all the time that one day, this will all hit me. That every poke, every scan, every late night waiting for test results—that it’ll all come crashing down and I’ll finally crumble.

But deep down? I don’t think that’s going to happen.
Because of my resilience.

Next week, going back to work will be hard—not because my job is hard, but because it means stepping away from the world I’ve been living in. Not leaving it behind completely, but shifting. Reclaiming pieces of myself. Focusing on the parts of my life that matter alongside motherhood.
Doing things for me (and, let’s be honest, for my bank account too).

I think what surprises me most is that good things have started to show up—quietly, unexpectedly.

Moments of laughter. A sense of normalcy. A clearer vision of who I am now—not just Myles’ mom, not just the woman who made it through, but someone who's building something new in the aftermath.

They say it takes about two years for a woman to start to feel like herself again after having a child. Add in the raging hormones of pregnancy, and we're looking at nearly three years.
Myles is 20 months now, and I feel it. I feel myself coming back to the surface—in small, cautious amounts. Almost as if all the cracks that have formed through this trauma are letting something come through. The old me, intertwined with the new version of myself that’s still taking shape.

Resilience didn’t just carry me through the storm. It’s guiding me into something better.
Maybe not everything is healed. Maybe the cracks are still there. But I’m starting to believe that light really can come through them.

Let the cracks show. That’s where the light gets in.