How (Not) to Be Resilient, Part 2
How (Not) to Be Resilient, Part 2
A countdown of what didn’t work on my resilience journey. This week: 50-1
Author’s note: I’m taking next week off. I’ll be back on Nov. 13!
Welcome back to my countdown of the top 100 mistakes made on my resilience journey.
As I mentioned last week, these mistakes — although difficult — have taught me valuable lessons that have made me who I am today.
This week, we’re reviewing mistakes 50-1. If you missed part one, you can read it here.
Let’s get to it!
The “I have too many thoughts swirling through my head” tier
Trying to remember everything. Nowadays, I’m an expert note-taker, but it wasn’t always this way. Believe it or not, I never used to write anything down! This came back to bite me when I started forgetting crucial life details, including doctor’s appointments. Oops.
Disorganized notes. Notes are only as good as your ability to use them. My early notebooks were a Jackson Pollack of scribbles and arrows. I could never find what I needed. (Which is why I eventually began taking digital notes —much easier to search.)
Not giving myself space to think. When the weakness began after college, my life became so chaotic that I found it hard to break free for an hour to think deeply about my problems. (Or maybe I didn’t want to confront reality…)
Not contemplating the big picture. When you’re focused on surviving today, it’s hard to plan for the future or dwell on what matters most in life.
The “What are you waiting for?” tier
Taking the safe route. Everything in life involves risk. But in the early years of my disease, I was so desperate to find stability that I became risk-averse. Everything was viewed through the lens of, “would it increase my chances of falling?”
Ignoring the memory dividend. Similar to the last point, when I thought about doing something exciting — such as traveling or going out with friends — I never considered how I would enjoy the memories years later. Which meant, I rarely went out.
Not embracing serendipity. Serendipity requires putting yourself out there. Going places. Interacting with others. Being spontaneous. Once I summoned the courage to be active in spite of my fears, a whole new world opened up.
Not understanding the difference between reversible and irreversible decisions. Reversible decisions (ex. choosing which shirt to wear) can be undone; irreversible decisions (ex. having kids, surgical procedures, etc.) can’t be. Most of my decisions were reversible, but I treated them as irreversible, which led to frequent analysis paralysis.
Not giving myself permission to follow my dreams. I put off going to business school for three years, even though I knew it was a step I eventually wanted to take.
Focusing only on what could go wrong. I rarely asked, “What could go right?” When I thought about business school, I focused on all the bad things that could happen. But when I thought about the benefits, the rewards far outweighed the risks, and the decision became clear.
The “That’s a bold strategy, Cotton” tier
Since this is a more serious post than last week’s, I thought I’d lighten the mood a little bit.
Here are a few bloopers from my blooper reel. I give you permission to laugh at my expense.
Assuming the emcee knows how to pronounce my name. There’s nothing like going on stage in front of 500 people to give a talk and have the emcee butcher your name. 🤬 “Chris Ann-slee-mino” crushed it, though.
Breaking a screen door with my wheelchair. Here’s a fun fact: screen doors are spring-loaded. If you want to see a spring fly completely off the door, ram into it as hard as you can. (Just don’t blame me after.)
Wearing an argyle sweater on the first day of work. My Visible Measures colleagues were the best. Unfortunately, they called me “argyle” for the first month until they learned my name.
Chugging Starbucks cold brew. At a conference with limited caffeine options, I grabbed a bottle of unsweetened Starbucks Cold Brew coffee, not fully understanding what I was about to drink. It tasted like jet fuel. Worse, it gave me the worst headache of my life and I missed all my meetings that day.
Trying the hottest wing flavor at the restaurant near my apartment. Pure hubris. As I quickly learned, it’s called thermonuclear for a reason.
Fireball whiskey. No. just no.
The “time travel” tier
Excessive regret. Some regrets are informative, teaching you what not to do next time. (Cold brew. Thermonuclear wings. Fireball.) Other regrets, however, are more pernicious. Choosing A instead of B. The risk you didn’t take. The words left unsaid. For many years, I carried around regret for everything I didn’t do when I had full mobility. It took a long time to let go of this burden.
Dwelling on what might have been. I used to obsess over the lives I could have led, and what my life would have looked like without my disease. But as The Midnight Library made clear, these “alternate lives” might not have been all that great. There are always tradeoffs.
Dwelling on the future. When you live in the future, you can’t enjoy what you have today. That’s no way to live.
Predicting the future. It’s easy for me to assume something will happen when I can picture it vividly in my mind’s eye. But my predictions rarely come to pass.
Fearing the present. I used to go to great lengths to distract myself from my immediate problems. But the best way to live — really, the only way to live — is to focus on the present moment and treat it with the utomst reverence.
The “I should really treat myself better” tier
Thinking there’s a “right way” to handle my disease. I beat myself up as my disease progressed, despite my best efforts to slow down the weakness. I was so sure that I was doing something wrong, when in truth, there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Being too impulsive. Discipline is boring, but rewarding. But being undisciplined? Much more fun! All kidding aside, once I learned to tame my impulses and build better habits, life became more enjoyable.
Lacking self-confidence. Ironically, it was because of my disease that I ultimately gained self-confidence. By appreciating my resilience, I realized I was a badass. By using my story to help others, I found my purpose.
Not being a good friend to myself. In the early years of my disease, when I needed a friend the most, I was terrible to myself. It’s one of my biggest regrets.
Not loving myself more. Once I learned to love myself despite my flaws and mistakes, my life changed. The real mistake was not loving myself all along. I deserved better.
The “Let’s see what happens when I push myself to exhaustion” tier
Going too fast. Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. Fast is bumpy. Bumpy is a disaster waiting to happen.
Not resting. I have a maddening tendency to work myself to the bone without taking a break.
Having no work/life balance. When I work from home, it’s hard to hit the “off” switch and shift into relaxation mode.
Not taking proper vacations. When I was working, I struggled to take vacations. I didn’t have a car and I wasn’t up to flying given the difficulties of air travel. I wish I took more three-day weekends, which would have kept me fresh.
Not taking burnout seriously. When I was younger, I ignored the signs of burnout — stress, anxiety, fatigue, etc. “They’ll go away soon enough,” I thought. “LOL!” said life.
Not taking my panic attacks seriously. In 2012 and 2013, I had multiple panic attacks. But it wasn’t until my August 2013 ER trip that I realized I needed to face the root cause head-on, or they’d only get worse.
The “In retrospect, that wasn’t great for my mental health” tier
Not taking time to meditate. Although I’m terrible at meditation, it always calms me down. And yet, whenever I get busy, I forget to do it. (Probably why I’m always anxious…)
Not taking time to pray. My faith has played an important role in my life, and still does. But when I get too busy, prayer time is pushed to the side. The solution — for both meditation and prayer — has been treating them as non-negotiables. If I don’t do them, I can’t start my day.
Forgetting to breathe deeply. After my panic attack, I learned deep breathing exercises to calm myself down whenever I felt anxious. And they helped! And then I promptly forgot to do them.
Not understanding my emotions. When I was struggling the most, I knew I felt terrible, but I didn’t know why. Vagueness only made it worse. When I learned to name my feelings — fear, anger, sadness, etc. — I was able to gain just a little bit of control over my emotions. It made a difference.
Excessive optimism. In 2012, I read a news story about a new gene therapy technique that researchers were testing on my disease. I was so excited a cure was around the corner that I conveniently overlooked the “many years away” part of the article. Once I noticed it, it crushed me.
Excessive pessimism. Some pessimism is healthy. But too much? It’s miserable.
Not finding the humor in life. When you’re going through tough times, it’s hard to laugh. Eventually, I realized that in order to maintain my sanity, I needed to find humor in my situation, even if it was dark humor.
Obsessively following the news. There’s a difference between being well informed and obsessively following every single breaking news story. It becomes counterproductive, quick.
Thinking happiness requires more. I wanted to be happy, but I didn’t know how to be happy. As I eventually learned, happiness doesn’t come from more work, more gratitude, more possessions. In many ways, it comes from less, from graceful simplicity. All I need are loving relationships, a good book, and a little peaceful tranquility to be happy. And coffee. Coffee makes me happy.
Not processing anger in a healthy way. I was so angry for so long, but I bottled it up instead of finding a healthy outlet. Not great.
Refusing to confront the hard thing. Whether it was adjusting to my disease, getting adaptive equipment, or completing a difficult work project, I had a knack for running away from what I needed to confront the most. But problems don’t go away if you ignore them; they fester and get worse.
Controlling the uncontrollable. I was so desperate to change the unchangeable (my disease) that I neglected the many actions I could take that could improve my life.
The “Lone Ranger” tier
Being afraid of networking. Like many people, I used to have a negative view of networking; it seemed icky and inauthentic. But once I saw it’s power, it changed my life. Speaking opportunities, collaborations, job offers — all came from networking and outreach.
Trying to do everything myself. Most of the mistakes on this list are from trying to carry the weight of the world all by myself. It was exhausting.
Not seeking role models earlier. I didn’t want to know how my disease would progress, so I didn’t seek out other patients for advice.
Not seeing a therapist sooner. I began seeing a therapist after my ER trip. She helped me come to terms with what was happening to me and how to channel my fears into productive action. I wish I didn’t wait so long to talk to someone.
Thinking no one would want to help me. This was a lie I believed for a long time. I figured people would think I was a burden, or that they’d think less of me. Nope and nope.
Underestimating the impact of asking for help. The biggest mistake, but also the biggest breakthrough. It took me several years to ask for help. Whether it was doing chores, offering emotional support, helping me brainstorm solutions to my problems, or picking me up off the ground, my family and friends stepped up in my hour of need. I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.
I’d love to hear from you!
Which mistake resonated with you the most? Which one(s) are you struggling with currently? Let me know in the comments.
This post (and the 100->51) were great. Really instructive for lots of people. Thanks Chris.
Extra points for the “Dodgeball” Jason Bateman reference. 😊
As usual Chris this is a great piece of writing and I can tell it comes from the heart.
I was nodding at so many of them. But what I realised as I was reading was that although you've related them to your disease throughout, the majority of these "mistakes" are just a symptom of being human. We all crash and burn all the time. It reminds me of that quote by Buchner " this is the world, terrible and beautiful things will happen, do not be afraid"
Continue being authentic in your writing Chris, take it from me, we're all sitting here nodding and going, yup, me too!
Vivienne