Stronger...
Five women who found strength through adversity reveal what helped them to be more resilient
‘While we will never forget the difficult events, we can learn to co-exist with them’
When Suleika Jaouad was diagnosed with leukaemia aged 22, she coped by sharing her struggle to survive.
‘It was spring 2011 when I was told I had leukaemia. I’d recently graduated from college and moved to Paris, where I worked as a paralegal, but my dream was to become a war correspondent. The world was truly my oyster. However, when a simple itch, initially diagnosed as burnout syndrome, turned out to be cancer, everything changed. Before I knew it, I was on a plane back to New York, where I would spend the next four years of my life in a hospital bed. Told I had only a 35% chance of survival, I felt all my courage disappear.
I was devastated, unable to fathom how rapidly my life had changed. There were days when I would lie there and simply wanted to give up. Although I believe that we can survive anything when a goal is in sight, when that end point keeps shifting, optimism can be impossible to maintain.
After a year of treatment, I was emotionally and psychologically drained. I had to make a decision; I could either let my diagnosis consume the little time I may have left or I could find a new way to endure my reality. So I sought solace in my love of writing and started a blog. While my dream of becoming a war correspondent was over, I learned to become a different kind of journalist, reporting from the front line of my hospital bed. Embracing my situation rather than striving for the things I wanted prior to my illness felt empowering. Writing helped me make sense of what I was living through and provided an escape. Through the words flowing from my fingertips, I found new strength.
The New York Times picked up my work and offered me the opportunity to write an essay, but I was brave and pitched for a weekly column called Life Interrupted instead. I got it and soon thousands of people from all over the world struggling from illness, heartbreak and unemployment wrote to me. Their letters became a source of comfort in my dark days.
But being cured of cancer is not where healing ends, it’s just the beginning. When I returned home, I thought I’d be ready to take on the world, but I’d never felt so afraid. I’d spent the past 1,500 days working tirelessly to survive, yet I had no idea how to live. To discover our strength, we have to face our fears. It was for this reason that in 2015 I embarked on a 15,000-mile road trip across the US with my dog, Oscar, to meet some of the people who’d written to me. I call them my “road guardians” because they taught me that while we’ll never forget the difficult events that occur in our lives, we can learn to co-exist with them. This has helped me not just to heal, but to create a new story for myself.
Strength is vulnerability. It’s being able to take off your armour and let people see your flaws with unvarnished honesty. I still keep all of those letters in a little wooden box and whenever I’m struggling I sit and read them. By sharing our troubles, we come to realise that we’re never truly alone.’
‘TO DISCOVER OUR STRENGTH, WE HAVE TO FACE OUR FEARS’
Between Two Kingdoms: What Almost Dying Taught Me
About Living (Bantam Press) by Suleika Jaouad is out now
‘There is a strength found in acceptance’
Ultra-runner and triathlete Mimi Anderson on how she found strength after a setback.
‘For me, strength is the union of body and mind. When I first started running aged 36, I was in a difficult physical and emotional place. In recovery from an eating disorder, I disliked the way I looked and my energy levels were low – even a mile on a treadmill at the gym left me breathless. However, the adrenaline I felt as my heart rate soared kept me going, and I slowly built up my stamina and fitness until I could run 10 miles outside with friends.
As soon as I put my running shoes on, I felt transformed and empowered. I stopped worrying about my appearance and learned to respect my body as this amazing machine that could be trained and pushed to achieve increasingly further distances. And, as my physical strength grew, so too did my resilience. I became my own mental cheerleader.
In 2001, I took on the Marathon Des Sables, a six-day self-sufficiency race in the Sahara Desert. After that, my challenges grew in length and intensity. I completed an extreme ultra marathon in the Arctic, became the female world record holder for running from John O’groats to Land’s End in 2008, and broke an overall world record in 2012 for running 345 miles from the top to the bottom of Ireland.
In 2017, I decided to take on my biggest challenge yet – a world record
‘I CAN ACTUALLY DO MORE THAN I EVER THOUGHT POSSIBLE’
attempt to run across America, from Los Angeles to New York. The plan was to run for 53 days, averaging 57 miles a day and sleeping in an RV. However, with just 13 days left to go, I was in extreme pain – even walking was excruciating. When an MRI revealed that I’d caused serious damage to my knee, I had to make the awful, heartbreaking decision to stop, or risk never running again. My body simply couldn’t cope with the pressure I was putting it under.
For a long time, I felt like a complete failure and fell into a deep, dark hole. Long-distance running had come to define who I was, so losing that was like losing my identity. And yet, as I discovered, there is strength to be found in acceptance. If you look hard and you want it enough, a new door always opens. For me, this came in the form of a friend suggesting I take part in a cycling event, which in turn led me to conquer a long-held fear of swimming in order to start doing triathlons.
Life doesn’t always work out the way you want or expect. But in facing setbacks, I have learned that I can actually do more than I ever thought possible. By seizing new opportunities and forcing myself outside of my comfort zone, I have grown in both confidence and resilience. I am stronger than ever before.’
Limitless: An Ultrarunner’s Story Of Pain, Perseverance And The
Pursuit Of Success (Summersdale) by Mimi Anderson is out now
‘Our vulnerability is a shared, uniting experience’
Nurse, professor and author Christie Watson explains how the pandemic changed her view on what resilience really means.
‘Nurses are not angels. We have flaws, worries and fears, just like everyone else. We are complicated people made up of light and dark, trying to do the best we can. If someone was suffering right there in front of you, the chances are that you too would find the courage to care. It’s not altruism, what we do, it’s human nature. I have been a nurse for more than 20 years, beginning my training in mental health nursing before switching to paediatric intensive care. Last year, I started a new job as professor of medical and health humanities at the University of East Anglia, however, during the first peak of the pandemic, I decided to return to the frontline.
I worked at the Nightingale Hospital in London as part of the Compassionate Care team. People talk about bravery during these times, but I did not feel brave. I felt fear and guilt that I might be exposing my
teenage daughter and son to the virus each time I came home. Those were the most difficult weeks I’ve had in my entire nursing career.
Then, over Christmas, I contracted Covid-19 myself. As a single mum, I was forced to shut myself in my bedroom on Christmas day, order the children a pizza and implore them to stay away from me. I had every symptom and was really unwell, regularly checking my oxygen levels in case I needed to call an ambulance. It was a horrendous, very worrying time, and it took about six weeks for me to feel completely better.
The meaning of the word ‘strength’ has changed for me in the last year.
I think the hero narrative we often give to NHS workers is quite unhelpful, and now strength in my mind is about honesty and fragility, that messy magic of what makes us human.
Like a lot of people, I have struggled. Juggling the demands of home-schooling two children as a single mum while working and worrying about my frontline colleagues has felt relentless. Sometimes, I get very anxious and sad. My mental health can be sketchy. But that’s okay. I have given up trying to do too much, accepting that everything is slower. If nursing has taught me one thing, it’s that there is always hope. Our vulnerability is a shared, uniting experience, and there is huge strength in our willingness to accept that, share our feelings and realise that we are not alone.’
The Courage To Care (Chatto & Windus) by Christie Watson is out in paperback on 10th June
‘Learning to forgive made me stronger’
Four years ago, Figen Murray lost her 29-year-old son, Martyn Hett, in the terrorist attack at Manchester Arena. Since then, she has devoted her life to promoting peace and positive change in his name.
‘I’ll never forget Martyn’s infectious giggle and the way he used to tease me. After his death, I had the Manchester bee tattooed on my wrist. The words beneath say #Bemoremartyn. My son united people and he made things happen. He brought a legacy of warmth and positivity. And after losing him, I knew that was something I wanted to continue.
Four years ago, I was a completely different person. I was an introvert and quite naïve. Before Martyn died, terrorism was something that happened on the news and in films. Then it happened in my world. I fervently believe that the bomber who stepped into the foyer that day was not born evil, he had been radicalised and brainwashed. He believed he was doing the right thing.
To this day, I feel no rage towards Salman Abedi. I have made the conscious choice to forgive him because hate only breeds hate. If I didn’t, I would have been eaten up with grief and bitterness. Terrorists want to cause division, hatred and anger, but my values as a person are about consideration, kindness and love. He may have taken my son that day, but he will never succeed in taking the essence of who I am.
I knew I needed to understand the background of terrorism to move forward. That’s why I’m currently doing a Masters in counterterrorism at the University of Central Lancashire. I also give regular talks on radicalisation and forgiveness in schools and over Zoom. Terrorists groom young people through all social media platforms, and it’s shocking to see the number of hands that go up when I ask if anyone has seen something online they think comes under the umbrella of terrorism. I tell Martyn’s story and I speak about tolerance. It’s so important to teach future generations about kindness.
In Martyn’s name, I have become fearless. I am determined to change legislation when it comes to increased security and mandatory searches at concert venues, a petition I am calling Martyn’s Law. I meet with the Government and the security industry, and I have made it clear that this is something I will never stop fighting for. My drive comes simply from being a mother. When Martyn died, something was unleashed inside me. I couldn’t save him, but I can make sure that he didn’t die for nothing.
Strength means resilience. It means courage, stamina and staying power. It also means finding peace. Having worked as a psychotherapist for more than 20 years before Martyn died, I have a lot of self-care skills that have helped me with my grief. One of these is knitting Peace Bears; little teddies that I sell but also give to people who have been kind to me, or who have given my life meaning. Knitting them helps my mental health, but they are also symbols of strength.
When something bad happens, we can either sink or swim. Martyn’s death made me a super-swimmer. And I will never give up.’
‘WHEN SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS, WE CAN EITHER SINK OR SWIM’
‘Integrity and empathy build strength’
Books helped Sharmaine Lovegrove to believe in herself and go from living on the streets to running her own publishing company.
‘One Wednesday afternoon in 1997, I packed up my belongings and left home. I thought we’d all have some cooling-off time and I would be back in a few months. In fact, I never went back and never reconciled with my parents. I wasn’t an only child, but I was a lonely child, and our values were very different. By the age of 16, it became clear that I was no longer able to live in my family home in a way I felt would be positive for my future, so I decided to go it alone.
I sofa surfed with various friends in London before staying at different hostels in Soho, and managed to complete my education with results that I’m proud of. But once I turned 19, the state is no longer seen as responsible for you and I was on my own. I tried to get accommodation, but the authorities didn’t believe my story because I was well-spoken, assuming my situation was self-inflicted. In the end, I had to sleep rough.
No one should have to live on the streets, especially at the beginning of their adult life. I had blankets and sleeping bags donated by a charity and I lived down a one-way alley behind Shaftesbury Avenue. I was on Job Seekers Allowance, so I had money to buy food and there were shelters across the city that allowed rough sleepers to use showers. Aware that I needed to stay out of trouble, I used my time wisely, escaping to see friends during the day and then at night I’d stick with two guys, one in his 20s and one in his 40s. They both took care of me and together we stuck to the shadows. Sadly, some of my other homeless friends weren’t so lucky and were preyed upon. Many ended up pushing drugs, turning to prostitution or becoming addicts.
It was a terrifying time, but I dared to believe I was worth more. Books I’d read as a child, such as Boy by Roald Dahl, or stories of activists such as Martin Luther King Jr and Malcolm X had taught me that I wasn’t the first person to suffer and I wouldn’t be the last. Their narratives inspired me to forge forwards and gave me hope that I too could make it out the other side and still achieve my goals.
After six months, I moved in with some friends. While they had been concerned about my living on the streets, I knew that leaving home had been my choice, so I was determined to figure things out on my own. But I soon realised that I needed to hold close those that really cared for me and be more open to help.
I eventually found an advert for a room on a boat called Goldilocks that was moored on the River Thames, and the people that lived there offered me a cabin. I found a job at the second-hand book market under Waterloo Bridge, where I honed my skills as a bookseller, before getting a job at Foyles running the Black literature section, and then becoming a literacy publicist.
Determined to pursue my dream of opening a book shop, I took on a second job waitressing at my friend’s restaurant, saved up all my money and moved to Berlin aged 27 for a fresh start. There, I became manager in a call centre and eventually met my husband, Thomas, who helped me to set up my own book shop called Dialogue Books. We ended up moving back to London and now Dialogue Books is an imprint for Little, Brown Book Group at Hachette UK, making me the first Black person to run an imprint at a corporate publishing house. When I look back at all I’ve achieved despite what I’ve been through, I just feel an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment.
We all have the ability to believe in ourselves more, but the key to discovering this is time and reflection. Books helped me realise that my problems weren’t bigger than the world and I think the more you see what other people go through, the more empathy and resilience you build. Strength means having integrity, and when we have this, we push through to make things happen. Being honest can be a catalyst for change, and to me, that’s amazing.’
‘WE ALL HAVE THE ABILITY TO BELIEVE IN OURSELVES MORE’