If you’ve read my blogs, visited my social media pages, or spent even a little time with me in person, you already know my message: self-care is mandatory, not optional. It’s a message I’ve been living, breathing, and advocating for—but I need to be honest.
I wasn’t always a believer in self-care.
Before the pandemic, self-care felt like an indulgence, something I’d get around to if I had time. And let’s be real—I never had time. I was busy. Involved. Running at full speed. I told myself I was strong, resilient, and could handle whatever came my way. I didn’t realize that what I called resilience was really forced resilience—a survival mechanism that kept me moving while slowly wearing me down.
Then the world stopped.
The Heavy Weight of Loss and the Unknown
Do you realize it has been five years since the COVID-19 pandemic changed our lives? I knew something felt different about this week, but I couldn’t quite place it until a dear friend reminded me what today was.
Five years later, it still feels like a blur to my mind, yet my body remembers it as if it were happening all over again.
The loss of loved ones, routines, jobs, and a sense of normalcy.
The fear of the unknown, of a world that felt suddenly unsafe.
The isolation—for many, it was the first time we were truly alone with ourselves.
I found myself forced to sit still, and in that stillness, I had to face a truth I had long ignored: I had been running on empty for years.
Before, During, and After the Pandemic
Before the pandemic, I was everywhere. I was involved in numerous organizations, juggling teaching seven college courses, traveling when I could (safely, might I add), and never turning down an invite to be out and about. My life was filled with movement, people, obligations, and a pace that, looking back, was exhausting yet normal to me.
Then came the pandemic.
Suddenly, everything slowed. The forced stillness was jarring, uncomfortable even. But it also unveiled something I hadn’t fully acknowledged before: I was running on empty, held together by forced resilience and sheer willpower.
What is Forced Resilience?
We hear "resilience" and think of it as something positive—our ability to bounce back, to endure, to push through. But forced resilience is different.
Forced resilience is when you keep pushing, not because you want to, but because you feel like you have to. It’s when the world expects you to show up, smile, and keep moving—no matter how exhausted, broken, or depleted you feel.
And here’s the thing: forced resilience doesn’t make us stronger. It makes us numb. It convinces us to ignore our needs, to overextend ourselves, and to believe that rest is weakness when, in reality, rest is power.
Understanding Limits: Resting vs. Collapsing
During the pandemic, I learned an invaluable lesson: knowing your limits isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.
Before, I didn’t recognize my capacity. I would go and go until I collapsed—emotionally, mentally, physically. I told myself I was just being strong, but in reality, I was ignoring every signal my body and mind were sending me.
There is a difference between rest and collapse.
Rest is intentional. It’s a choice. It’s prioritizing yourself before you hit the breaking point.
Collapse is what happens when you ignore rest for too long. It’s the body’s way of forcing you to stop.
For years, I thought I was resilient. What I really was… was exhausted.
The Overuse (and Misuse) of Resilience
Resilience is often praised, but too often, what we call “resilience” is just overwork, emotional suppression, and survival mode.
It’s the single mom who is told she’s so strong when she’s just trying to make it through the day.
It’s the employee who is praised for working long hours despite burnout.
It’s the friend who always “pushes through” even when they’re struggling.
We don’t recognize forced resilience for what it is because we’ve been conditioned to see suffering in silence as strength.
Moving Forward with Intention
As I reflect on these past five years, one thing is clear: self-care is not a trend, an indulgence, or something to be squeezed into the margins of our lives—it is essential. It is the commitment we make to ourselves, a declaration that we are worthy of rest, joy, and balance.
I hope that over the next five years, we continue to redefine what strength really means. That we learn to value well-being over burnout, presence over productivity, and peace over perpetual striving. I hope we choose ourselves—not as an afterthought, but as a priority.
The lessons of the past five years don’t have to fade. They can guide us, reminding us to protect our energy, set boundaries without guilt, and embrace a life where resilience isn’t about enduring at all costs but about thriving on our own terms.
What’s one thing you’ve learned about yourself in the past five years? Let’s continue the conversation—drop a comment or send me a message. I’d love to hear your story.
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