You Are Resilient

david_myers
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Some people live charmed lives. Some people endure persistent depression. Most people—likely including you—manage well enough, but with occasional heartaches. A relationship fails. A job is lost. An illness strikes. A war devastates. A nation regresses. And we are distraught. 

Malte Mueller/GettyImagesMalte Mueller/GettyImages

 

When struck by “the hurt we never hoped to find,” the pain feels like it might never end. The breakup, the disability, the defeat, the failure, the disaster, the layoff are loud bells that cannot be unrung. There’s no do-over for the paralysis, the divorce, or the loss of a beloved pet. The stomach knot cannot be willed away. And in extreme instances—the unfillable hole following a child’s death—the aching sense of loss endures. 

 

Yet amid most pain, there is a glimmer of good news in a stunning psychological science finding: Most of us are more resilient than we expect. Studies of people’s “affective forecasting” reveal that, when imagining or experiencing either bad or good events, most folks overestimate the intensity and the duration of their future emotions. They mispredict how good or bad they will feel some time after a romantic breakup, an election win or loss, or a sports victory or defeat. As the Scottish writer George MacDonald observed, “When a feeling was there, they felt as if it would never go.”

 

The shorter-than-expected half-life of emotions even extends to extreme events. Faculty members up for tenure have predicted that a negative decision would be permanently deflating—yet 5 to 10 years later they experienced happiness equivalent to those who received tenure. People who suffered distress from proximity to the 9/11 terrorist attacks typically managed to recover good mental health. Even those experiencing the severe disability of complete paralysis—becoming “locked-in”—typically wish to continue living, with most regaining a reasonably “happy, meaningful life.” 

 

At the other extreme, what do you suppose might be the emotional aftermath of your awakening tomorrow with all your wishes granted—to a world with no bills, no ills, and the endless holiday of your dreams? The available evidence from people such as lottery winners is that winning is great, but the immediate euphoria fades sooner than expected. U.S. economic growth—with a tripled average disposable income since 1957—has made us no happier. Mega-millionaires are no happier than “mere” millionaires. 

 

The surprisingly transitory nature of our emotions is explained by what psychologist Harry Helson long ago called the adaptation-level phenomenon—our tendency to judge events relative to our recent experience. Our experiences of loud or soft, pleasant or unpleasant, hot or cold are all relative to that to which we’ve adapted. Perhaps you’ve noticed: A 60 °F (16 °C) day after a hot summer feels cooler than the same temperature after winter’s cold. 

 

Our emotions similarly ride up and down with variations from our recent experience. As our achievements rise, we feel successful and satisfied. As our material acquisitions grow, we feel pleasure. But soon we adapt. What had felt good now feels merely neutral, and what formerly was neutral may feel like deprivation.

 

As the impact of bad events dissipates, a silver lining may linger. Some have experienced “posttraumatic growth”—a greater appreciation for life, renewed relationships, or spiritual growth. After being struck down, they come back stronger. From the pain comes a gain.

 

Sometimes the aftermath of temporary self-inflicted pain is more intense pleasure. A cold swim adds bliss to an ensuing hot shower. A religious fast enhances our savoring of the break-fast meal. Sexual abstinence enables a more ecstatic reunion. The aftermath of an uncomfortable hard workout is a relaxed glow. Through such experiential contrasts we can harness the power of “benign masochism”—the conversion of a negative into a positive experience.  

 

More generally, life’s downs prepare us to appreciate life’s ups. The experience of night enables our appreciation of day. Illness renews our awareness of health. The dejection of the last defeat enhances our joy in the next victory. U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts explained the phenomenon to his son’s ninth grade class:

 

From time to time in the years to come, I hope you will be treated unfairly, so that you will come to know the value of justice. I hope that you will suffer betrayal because that will teach you the importance of loyalty. Sorry to say, but I hope you will be lonely from time to time so that you don’t take friends for granted . . . and I hope you will have just enough pain to learn compassion.

 

I expect that for you as for me, life is a mix of pains and pleasures, of disappointments and delights, of sufferings and satisfactions. Knowing our human capacity for resilience doesn’t take the hurt out of pain or lessen our dismay over ignorance and injustice. But knowing that the pain seldom lasts forever can help us endure and glimpse a brighter future beyond our current angst. The Psalmist understood: “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”

 

David Myers, a Hope College social psychologist, authors psychology textbooks and trade books, including his recent essay collection, How Do We Know Ourselves? Curiosities and Marvels of the Human Mind.

About the Author
David Myers has spent his entire teaching career at Hope College, Michigan, where he has been voted “outstanding professor” and has been selected by students to deliver the commencement address. His award-winning research and writings have appeared in over three dozen scientific periodicals and numerous publications for the general public. He also has authored five general audience books, including The Pursuit of Happiness and Intuition: Its Powers and Perils. David Myers has chaired his city's Human Relations Commission, helped found a thriving assistance center for families in poverty, and spoken to hundreds of college and community groups. Drawing on his experience, he also has three dozen written articles and a book (A Quiet World) about hearing loss and his advocacy for a transformation in American assistive listening technology.