Running on Fumes: Learning What Resilience Really Is

 

Tonight, I learned what resilience is.

Or maybe it’s stubbornness.
Or heart.
Or hard work.
Or simply the refusal to give up when everything says you should.

Honestly, I don’t know what to call it.

This morning I woke up with the little $200 I made this week sitting with my patient. I finally found somewhere that would cash it. I bought a light for the house, a few linens, and a pair of shoes that don’t destroy the backs of my heels. I bought dog food, a container to put it in, a couple of drinks, lunch for Paisley and me—and then I went home and made meatloaf with mashed potatoes.

I took dinner to her dad.

After that, I spent the very last of my money buying snacks so Paisley could have friends over tonight.

And just like that—broke.
Gone.
Every dollar.

So tonight, I’m learning resilience. I’m learning what it means to work on fumes.

I am exhausted. I worked five hours sitting with my patient, and now—thirty minutes after getting off—I’m DoorDashing, hoping to make enough money for gas for the week and kitty litter while it’s still on sale at Publix. Never mind the bills waiting to be paid with no cash behind them yet.

As I write this, I find myself wondering what I was thinking. Why I thought moving out of a paid-for home was such a great idea. Why I felt like I needed to do that.

Then I talked to her dad on the phone.

He told me he’s going to move someone into his house. He was trying to make me mad. I told him I’d move someone in with me. He said he didn’t care—it’s my house. I told him I didn’t care what he does either. We’re adults. We’re on our own. If that’s what he feels like he needs, then he should do it.

And the truth is—I’ve enjoyed the peace.
I’ve enjoyed being by myself.

Well… “by myself” with six dogs, two cats, a pig, and a revolving door of teenagers crammed into a 12x40 tiny house.

I am so tired.

But I am also grateful.

Grateful for the things that have been gifted to me.
Grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given.
Grateful for laughter filling my tiny house, food on the table, and the quiet peace of knowing I am doing the best I can—even when it costs me everything I have that day.

If this is resilience, then I’m learning it one exhausted, faithful step at a time.

And tonight, that has to be enough.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
— Galatians 6:9

If you’re reading this and you’re running on fumes too—if you’re stretching dollars, carrying exhaustion, and wondering how you’ll make it through the next day—please know this: you are not weak, and you are not failing. You are still showing up, and that matters.

Keep going, even if all you can do today is one small, faithful step. Rest when you can. Ask for help when you need it. And if this story sounds like yours, share it with someone who needs to know they’re not alone.

Sometimes resilience looks like strength.
Sometimes it looks like survival.

Either way—don’t give up.