Some days, resilience looks bold, brave, and put-together. Other days, it looks like crumbling in the in the supermarket trying to find the one position my body will tolerate long enough to breathe.
Today was one of those crumble days for me. I woke up already hurting with the kind of pain that steals my strength before my feet ever touch the floor.
But I had made a promise. Yesterday, I asked my amazing hubby to go home and rest, to finally take care of himself the way he takes care of everyone else. And I promised I’d handle the supermarket run today.
I hoped I’d wake up magically stronger. I didn’t!
But resilience isn’t magic, it’s movement. Even though I felt fragile and quite
hopeless, I still got up. I still went. I still kept my word.
I’m so thankful that my daughter came with me, even though she was walking through her own physical pain. There is something holy about suffering side-by-side, not trying to fix each other, just quietly being there, holding space, holding carts, and holding moments that feel heavier than usual.
At one point, I shifted into that strange little seated position on the electric
mobility scooter. It was a position that doesn’t look glamorous or strong at all, but somehow gave me the tiniest bit of relief.
You might have looked at me and saw weakness, but I’ve learned to see something else.
Resilience doesn’t always stand tall. Sometimes it sits crooked, breathes deeply, and keeps going anyway. It’s easy to celebrate strength when it looks shiny. It’s harder to honor it when it looks like survival.
But the truth is, there is just as much courage in the crumble as in the
conquering. There is resilience in rising, but there’s also resilience in showing up slowly, quietly, imperfectly, but still showing up.
If you’re in a crumble season, mentally, spiritually, or physically, please hear me. You’re not failing. Your resilience hasn’t vanished. It just looks different right now.
It still counts. Every tiny effort. Every painful breath. Every promise kept with
trembling hands. Every small step forward when everything in you wants to
collapse. Resilience is not the absence of struggle. It’s the persistence through the struggle.
Today, even in the pain, I showed up. So did my daughter. So will you.
Keep going, friend. Even if today is a crumble day. Keep going, especially on the crumble days.
Reflections Along Your Journey
1. What does resilience look like for you in this season? Is it bold and visible, or quiet and barely holding together? How can you honor the strength in both?
2. Where have you been “showing up” even when you didn’t feel strong? Have you taken small, faithful steps that deserve recognition?
3. Who are the people who walk along the path with you in your pain? How can you thank them, letting them know their presence is a gift?
Even on the days I crumble, I’m learning that God doesn’t measure my worth by my strength. He meets me in the small, shaky steps and breathes grace over the places that ache so deeply.
Scripture says His power is made perfect in weakness. He doesn't say it's made perfect in the polished moments, but right in the middle of the messy ones.
If He is present there, then even my smallest efforts hold holy weight.
If you’re reading this on your own crumble day, I hope you feel the gentle
nearness of the One who sees you, who carries you, and who whispers, “You’re still moving, daughter, and that matters.”
Keep showing up with what you have. He delights in doing the rest.
“You might have looked at me and saw weakness, but I’ve learned to see something else.“ I have never looked at you and thought “weakness”- strong, brave, caring, selfless and so much more but never weak.