One afternoon, I sat by the window, sunlight falling softly across the pages of Sheryl Sandberg’s Option B. It wasn’t an easy read—but it gently peeled back the scars I had hidden deep within. Her words on grief, loss, and rebirth moved me to tears. It felt as if someone had reached out in the darkness, held my hand, and whispered, “You’re not alone.”
Only those who’ve truly hit rock bottom know how hard it is to climb back up. Only those who have endured betrayal, chaos, and the collapse of control can understand that resilience is not about bouncing back instantly—it’s the stubborn willingness to rise again, bruised and broken, time after time.
In my short yet turbulent life, I’ve dared to try many things and made countless mistakes. I once naively believed that hard work alone could fix everything. But life, in its harshest form, showed me otherwise. Not every effort brings applause. Sometimes, you first have to survive silent failures. Even when financially secure, I twice fell into severe malnutrition due to intense emotional pressure. My weight plummeted below 40kg, and it felt like life had been drained from my body. Those were days when I looked alive but felt no purpose.
In those dark times, I endured separation, unemployment, the collapse of a close relationship, and a gnawing anxiety that seemed to have no end. Each day felt like swimming naked in a storm, with no sense of direction or shore. I honestly don’t know how I survived.
Maybe it was the kind people in my life—family, friends, mentors—who didn’t abandon me at my weakest. Their quiet presence, their understanding, and their willingness to simply stay were the oxygen I needed to rise and breathe again.
I am still on the road to healing. But I’m more certain than ever that the version of me who kept going despite exhaustion is growing into someone better—stronger, softer, more loving, and more open to being loved.
1. Resilience Is Not a Gift—It’s a Muscle You Can Build
Resilience is the heart of Sandberg’s book. Many assume it’s an innate trait that only a lucky few possess. In truth, it’s more like a muscle. The more you train it—especially during storms—the stronger it becomes. As Sandberg wrote, “Resilience is not your spine; it’s the muscles around it.”
This strength is nurtured through emotional acceptance, learning from failure, authentic connection with others, and the ability to hope even while in pain.
What often stops us from being resilient are three distorted beliefs:
- Personalization – believing everything bad is your fault.
- Pervasiveness – letting one pain color your entire life.
- Permanence – thinking the pain will last forever.
These are invisible cages that trap us in guilt and despair. But if we can realize that not everything is our fault, that there’s still goodness in the world, and that pain doesn’t last forever—we start to unlock the cage.
Our brain, like our body, has mechanisms for healing. We are built not only to grieve, but also to recover. That healing wisdom lies dormant within, waiting to be reawakened.
2. Acceptance Is the First Step Toward Self-Healing
Many misunderstand what it means to be “strong”—they think it means smiling through pain, being fearless, and bouncing back quickly. But true strength often begins with admitting our vulnerability.
Sheryl quotes the Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön: “The moment you stop resisting your emotions, they begin to fade.” I deeply resonate with that. I used to drown my sadness in constant busyness and forced rationality, only to become like a sealed pressure cooker—until one day I exploded.
Later, I learned to pause—even just for a few minutes—to truly feel the pain in my heart. Not to fight it, but to sit with it, to let it be. And slowly, it began to soften and fade.
3. Connection Is the Oxygen That Keeps Us Alive
One metaphor in the book moved me deeply: when you’re drowning, the people who truly care for you become your “emergency oxygen supply”—they give you just enough air to hold on until you surface.
In real life, however, people often avoid talking to those in pain—afraid of saying the wrong thing. We default to silence, saying, “I don’t know what to say.” But silence can hurt more than a hesitant “Are you okay?”
Sheryl suggests saying: “I don’t know how to help, but I’m here.” Or even better: “I see your pain. I’m not going anywhere.” Sometimes a simple hug or a look of empathy can mean everything.
We can also flip the script and ask for help. Most people who care for us want to help—they just need us to open the door and let them in.
4. The Platinum Rule: Love People the Way They Want to Be Loved
There’s an old rule that says, “Treat others the way you want to be treated.” But Sheryl offers something deeper: The Platinum Rule—treat others the way they wish to be treated.
We can’t impose our version of healing on others. Some need to talk, some need solitude. Some want daily check-ins, others need space. Real support means respecting differences, honoring boundaries, and being the quiet presence when words fail.
5. Recovery Isn’t About Going Back—It’s About Moving Forward Differently
Many assume resilience means returning to how things were. But Sheryl teaches: True resilience is building a new life—one shaped not despite the pain, but through it. It’s letting new flowers bloom from old wounds.
Life won’t be the same again. What was lost is truly gone. But we can still create new meaning, new joy. It won’t be the innocent joy of before—but something deeper. A joy that has known darkness and still chooses light.
Final Words: To the You Who Once Broke, and to the You Who Might Fall Again
If you are in a dark season now, don’t rush to “bounce back.” Don’t pressure yourself to be okay too soon. Your sadness, numbness, anger, or helplessness—these are not shameful. They are your soul’s way of healing.
Give yourself permission to move slowly. Permission to be messy. And believe this: even if you’re still underwater, one day you will rise again. You will breathe again.
You’ll discover you’re stronger than you ever thought. That the world isn’t entirely cruel. That the moment you walk toward the light, life will quietly open a window just for you.