Transcript for Writing Your Resilience podcast Episode 97 

Gratitude, Grief, and Growth: What Frida Kahlo Taught Me About Resilience with Lisa Cooper Ellison

Lisa Ellison [0:02]
 
 
Welcome, everyone. This is the Thanksgiving episode. Today, I know that some of you are having the happiest time of your life—you’re enjoying all the food, all the people, all the things. But for others, you’re just hoping it’s not going to be a shit show—or if it is, that you know how to gracefully exit without getting any of that muck on you.

And there are others of you who may be alone today and wishing for the whole day to be over. Friends, I have experienced all these kinds of days over the years.

There have been good years, where the biggest problem I had was how stuffed I felt after eating a delicious meal. Then there was the year my marriage ended on Thanksgiving. The year family members had a “fuck you” contest in front of my boyfriend. And the year I canceled Thanksgiving because my brother had died, and I felt like I had nothing to be grateful for.

There was also the year I scrubbed the walls of my house to get rid of the mold that was making me so sick I was going to have to quit my job and go on a very long illness journey. I remember all the hard work I did inside and outside while my neighbors enjoyed joyful football games and laughter in their yards. That year, I ended my day with a thankless meal of turkey and green vegetables—because that was all I could eat.

So yeah, sometimes my Thanksgivings have been amazing, and sometimes they’ve been incredibly dark.

When life is good and I’m having those great times, I can begin to believe that all is right with the world—and that it always will be because I’m doing everything right. But when it gets darker—or let’s say really dark—I can begin to wonder what I’m doing wrong or why I’m being punished.

I’ll have this “Why me? Why me? Why me?” running like a broken record in my head. I’ll begin to beat myself up if I’m alone because I feel like I have nothing to be grateful for. And if I’m around people, I’ll still feel that way, but I’ll try to put on a happy face and act like it’s not happening.

Here’s what I want to tell you: whatever your experience is today—whether it’s the highest of highs, the lowest of lows, or somewhere in between—you don’t have to question your feelings or cover them up.

If life is great, enjoy all there is to enjoy. If you’re feeling sorrow, feel sorrow. Know that I stand by you and am holding space for you.
Because let’s face it, life is complicated. Sometimes there are no easy answers and nothing to say. But here’s one thing I know with 100% certainty: even in the darkest of times, there is always art.
Art helps us create a record of what is—and sometimes that is the most magnificent thing you can do.

Let me tell you about my inspiration for this—someone I’ve looked to in some of my darkest times: Frida Kahlo.

If you don’t know who Frida Kahlo is, she was a painter from Mexico who created most of her works in the early 1900s. Frida was severely injured in a bus accident when she was 18 years old, and those injuries caused lifelong pain. She married another famous artist who often overshadowed her and cheated on her, so she never had the romantic partnership she longed for. She also suffered a tragic miscarriage that broke her heart.

She took all that pain and used it as inspiration, channeling everything into achingly beautiful works of art. I’ll link a few of them in the show notes so you can see what I’m talking about.
Is her art for everyone? No. But if you’re struggling right now, seeing how someone distilled their pain into something that has endured the test of time can serve as powerful inspiration.

If you’re hurting, I hope that art—whatever form it takes for you—becomes the balm that gives you a sense of purpose and a way to channel your grief, sorrow, rage, or whatever you’re feeling today.
And if you’re one of my listeners bracing for a shit show, I want to offer the advice I’ve used for years: Know your exits.

If you need to take a break, people are unlikely to follow you into the bathroom—especially if you say your stomach isn’t doing well. No one will question how long you’re in there, and it can give you the freedom you need if you feel like you can’t leave.

Lisa Ellison [7:30]

 But also—right? We’ve talked about a lot of darkness, but we don’t want to dismiss the light either.

If you’re having a great day, have an amazing day! Take a photograph of all the things you’re grateful for—all the wonderful things that happen. Because we’re human beings: we have great days, and we have tough days.

You can look back on those photos on a hard day and remember that things change—and whatever you’re going through will pass.
It’s important for us to be with what is and to capture the story of it, no matter what it is—because when we do that, that’s how we build our resilience.

So, I want to thank you for being here, for listening—not just to this episode, but to this podcast, which has been running for almost two years. I’m so grateful to each and every one of you for your support, and for the fact that we get to come together and write our resilience—together.

Over the past two years, so much has changed in my life. I have so many things I’m looking forward to that I never could’ve expected when I first started this podcast. I have projects that didn’t even exist back then. My work life is completely different than what I thought it would be.

And you know what? That’s because of this podcast—and because of all of you.

None of this happened in a vacuum. It all happened while my dad was sick, while I faced my own health issues, and while other things in my life made me wonder if I could get any of this done.
So, I just want to say thank you for showing up—because when you’ve shown up for this podcast and for me, it has built my resilience.

And my deepest wish is that, by showing up with these episodes week after week, I support you as you do the same.

As you do this, may all the stories you embrace, pay attention to, and create art from, free you from whatever doesn’t serve you—so you can continue to always, always write on.