Anti-Fragility in Adults: Do We Still Bend Without Breaking?

What does it mean to be anti-fragile as an adult? Not just resilient, but anti-fragile—the kind of strength that grows in the face of pressure, that bends without breaking, that somehow becomes more whole after being shattered.

Here’s the thing: I’ve lived through pain. Real pain. A failed business. Poverty at 40. Not having enough—and worse, not being enough. I’ve faced rejection that felt like a soul-crushing weight and once even a breakup that left me staring at walls, wondering if I’d ever feel whole again.

There have been moments where life squeezed me so tight that my body turned on me. Nosebleeds. Stress so bad I couldn’t hold my bladder. Numbers so high (legit didn’t even notice my blood pressure was high enough to kill me) my dentist wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. There was no bear chasing me— but I know what it’s like to worry that the person you’re running from will find you. That kinda fear is real. It’s heavy. And it doesn’t just let you go. You gotta break that thing off of you.

But you know what I discovered? Even in those moments, I never broke.

Faith, Hope, and Stubborn Optimism

I won’t lie—I don’t know exactly where my resilience comes from. Maybe it’s God-given. Maybe my mom planted it in me. Maybe it’s a mix of naivete, arrogance, and sheer stubbornness. Whatever it is, I’ve always had faith.

Faith that tomorrow will be better. Hope that even when everything feels like it’s falling apart, something brighter is waiting on the other side. Something Bigger. That was my theme song in 2023, “Bigger” by Travis Greene, JJ Hairston, and Donishisa Ballard.

I’ve clung to that hope in the darkest times. When the eviction notice came. When the repo man took my car. When someone else’s failure knocked my life off track. I ever tell you the story about the time I was assaulted? Then had to stand up bloody and bruised to fight off my attacker? Yeah. That happened. .

Even then, I refused to let those moments define me. Instead, I filed them away as stories—wild, chaotic adventures that I survived. They weren’t tragedies. They were chapters. And I was still writing.

The Audacity of Survival

Let’s be honest—survival takes audacity. It’s bold to keep dreaming after failure. It’s defiant to love yourself after rejection. It’s brave to believe in a brighter future when your present feels impossibly dark.

If hope is naive, then I’ll take naivete every time. I’ll take the kind of hope that feels reckless, the kind of faith that dares to say, I’m still here. Because that hope is what keeps me moving. It’s what allows me to bend without breaking.

Anti-fragility isn’t about avoiding pain—it’s about refusing to let pain have the final word. It’s about turning your worst moments into proof of your resilience. It’s the look in your eyes when you realize no one is coming to save you, and the threat is so immediate, so overwhelming, that flight isn’t an option. Instead, you stand up, bloodied, steady yourself in a fight stance, and then charge full speed at the threat—bent but not broken. Indomitable.

Bend, Don’t Break

To anyone who feels like they’re breaking: you’re not. You’re bending. And on the other side of this? There’s growth waiting for you. There’s beauty waiting for you. There’s a better version of you waiting to emerge.