Resilience is the new obedience

You know, there’s one thing we hear over and over, almost like an unquestioned truth: resilience. We’re told it’s one of the greatest virtues, a badge of honor to wear proudly. But today, we’re going to scratch beneath that polished surface and explore what this word really means in our everyday lives. Because behind the heroic, inspiring image of the “resilient person” often lurks a darker, more complex, and far less glamorous reality.

In this episode, we’re getting real. We’re going to break down why resilience, as it’s currently pushed on us, has become toxic. We’ll stare straight into the eyes of that deep fatigue, that smothered anger, that painful creativity that often comes with the constant pressure to “hold on no matter what.” And above all, we’ll ask ourselves: do we really have to put up with this? What if, instead of passively taking the hits, we finally decided to actively build our lives?

Welcome to Cappuccino & Croissant, the episode where we stop celebrating the idea of surviving at all costs and start thinking about the true reclaiming of our lives.

🧱 The Myth of Resilience – Toxic Glamour

You know what resilience is, right? That word that’s thrown around like a badge of honor, a chic label pinned on people who manage not to completely collapse under pressure. In theory, resilience is the ability to endure, to withstand the storms, to bounce back again and again—even when your mind and body are begging you to stop. But let me tell you something: resilience, the way it’s been sold to us today, has become toxic.

Look around you. Open Instagram, LinkedIn, TikTok. What do you see? All these “inspiring” stories—people smiling, showcasing their emotional scars like trophies. We eat those stories up, don’t we? The single mom working three jobs to make ends meet. The broke creative up late until 3 a.m., downing a third cup of coffee just to keep going. The entrepreneur who survived five failed ventures but now beams with hope, swearing the sixth one’s bound to succeed. And you know why we love these stories? Because they’re comforting. They numb our collective guilt: “If they can do it, I don’t really have to worry too much.”

But let’s look deeper, beneath the shiny and inspiring surface. Psychologically, celebrating resilience means glorifying suffering. It means expecting people to quietly bear everything, to turn their exhaustion into performance. It’s telling someone who’s already gasping for air, “Keep running, we love watching you push your limits!” We never talk about the real price tag, the brutal mental toll forced resilience demands. Burnout, chronic anxiety, depression hidden behind a frozen grin—that’s the reality beneath the golden image of resilience.

On a societal level, it’s even worse. Because behind this glorification lies a twisted logic of individual responsibility. If you fail, it’s because you weren’t resilient enough, not brave enough, not strong enough. It’s never because the economy’s broken. Never because the job market is saturated. Never because mental healthcare is practically unreachable for those who need it most. No, you are the problem. You didn’t take enough hits. So keep taking them.

Economically, resilience has become a productivity tool in disguise. We applaud the resilience of employees facing massive layoffs, who swallow ever more precarious working conditions without complaining, who work longer hours for no extra pay. Being resilient turns you into the perfect employee, the one who won’t demand anything because they can “handle it.” In that sense, “resilient” just means “profitable.” You become a resource to be exploited until you’re completely burned out, only to be tossed aside when you can’t produce anymore.

Cognitively, this never-ending resilience literally drains the brain. Our cognitive capacity is limited. Each decision, each bit of extra effort to overcome an obstacle, erodes your ability to think clearly, to create freely, to truly live. You’re told to keep bouncing back until your mind becomes a worn-out machine, a chain of soulless habits. And when you can no longer be sharp and focused, they blame you for lacking willpower, for being mentally weak.

Need some examples? Amy Winehouse, driven to the brink until it killed her—yet we still celebrate her tortured genius today as the embodiment of this unhealthy resilience. Anthony Bourdain, who seemed unbreakable until the day he broke for good. Or it might just be your friend, your coworker, maybe you, pushing your limits further every morning, not knowing how much longer it can last.

That’s the brutal truth here: the way we’re forced to be resilient isn’t a virtue anymore; it’s a sentence. A sentence to keep going under impossible conditions, to smile through the weight of chronic exhaustion. We don’t celebrate genuine strength—strength that comes from healing, rest, the recovery of dignity. Instead, we celebrate painful survival, blind perseverance, the ability to take more and more without ever saying “enough.”

The raw truth is that forced resilience isn’t proof of character. It’s proof that our system is sick, that it forgot real courage sometimes means refusing to keep taking hits.

💥 Creating When Your Tank Is Empty

Creating when you’ve got nothing left—does that sound familiar? That feeling that comes after years, sometimes decades, of standing upright despite everything? It’s that moment when your brain screams, your body shuts down, your heart feels empty—and yet, you keep going, producing, creating. We’ve been told creativity is an infinite resource, an endless fountain of fresh ideas. Reality? That fountain can dry up. And when it’s dry, every drop you force out comes at a high price.

Psychologically, creating in a state of deep exhaustion is like walking a tightrope at the edge of a cliff. Every creative act hurts. Finishing any project feels like a bitter victory, because you know it cost you more than it gave back. It’s like filling a cracked cup: you can keep pouring water, but it’ll never truly fill up. You end up wearing yourself out trying to maintain some facade of normalcy, because the outside world expects you to be productive, high-performing, and creative—even when you’re in ruins inside.

This brutal truth hides behind those romantic tales of the tortured artist, the one who suffers in silence but produces heart-wrenching works. Let’s be honest: that myth of the tragic artist is toxic. It glamorizes suffering, treats it like a requirement. In reality, creating shouldn’t be synonymous with suffering. Creativity is vital, not a punishment. But in our society, somehow, the worth of an artwork seems tied to the creator’s pain. The more you suffer, the more “authentic” or “deep” your art is deemed to be. Twisted, isn’t it?

On a societal level, this same destructive logic appears in how we treat creators. How many artists are stuck in chronic financial insecurity, forced to juggle multiple day jobs just to keep creating? How many must choose between buying art supplies or buying food? How often do we hear that “real artists don’t need money” or “passion alone should get you through”? The harsh reality is that without financial means or stability, creating becomes a daily battle not to sink entirely.

Economically, creators are often exploited until they’re drained. Their work is undervalued, their creations consumed without genuine compensation. People expect them to produce endlessly, often for free, in exchange for “exposure” or the hope of future “opportunities.” But guess what? Exposure doesn’t pay the bills. Potential opportunities don’t fill your fridge. We wear creators down, then act surprised when they disappear—replaced by others ready to give everything for nothing.

Cognitively, creating under constant pressure, in a state of chronic exhaustion, slowly destroys your mental abilities. Creativity demands clarity, mental breathing room, a certain inner freedom. When every thought is weighed down by daily survival, anxiety about the future, or the burden of an unresolved past, it’s nearly impossible to tap into your full creative resources. The mind grows sluggish, confused, drained by the simple demand to produce something original. Suddenly, creativity becomes torture instead of pleasure.

You want concrete examples? Take Vincent Van Gogh, admired today as one of the greatest painters in history, who lived in heartbreaking poverty, sliding into madness without ever tasting success in his lifetime. Sylvia Plath, a brilliant poet consumed by her inner demons until her tragic end. Or consider all the anonymous artists—maybe even you—who keep creating behind the scenes, absorbing every rejection, every silent response, every failure without ever stopping, because creating has become the only way they know to exist.

Facing the truth means admitting that creating without internal resources, without external support, without recognition, can be profoundly dangerous. It leads straight to a creative burnout, where each new idea hurts to birth, where you dread the next project more than you look forward to it.

The hard truth is that creating on an empty tank isn’t admirable. It’s not romantic. It’s hazardous. It’s slow self-destruction in the name of a toxic ideal. What we really need isn’t more glorification of the tortured creative, but genuine support, decent conditions, and authentic recognition for creators.

Because in the end, creating should be a source of life, not a slow and silent way of dying.

🧨 The Fatigue That Never Goes Away—and the Anger That Rises

That fatigue that doesn’t go away—yeah, you know it. It’s not just from one bad night’s sleep or a single busy week. It’s a deep, anchored, ever-present fatigue that set in gradually over years of putting up with too much in silence. That kind of fatigue isn’t cured by a lazy weekend or a short vacation. It becomes your default state, a constant haze, shading every day in gray. And just when you think you can’t be any more tired, you discover whole new depths of exhaustion.

Psychologically, this constant fatigue is no small thing. It signals profound mental burnout, often hidden by an appearance of ongoing productivity. Beneath that surface lies silent collapse: difficulty making decisions, creeping anxiety, loss of motivation, a dwindling ability to feel joy or appreciate life’s simple pleasures. Every new day is a mountain to climb, every ordinary task feels insurmountable. Your mind grows foggy, weighed down by the daily effort of pretending everything’s normal.

Socially, this chronic fatigue reveals a sick society—one where working more, faster, harder is the new normal. A society that treats exhaustion like a proof of dedication, where being overloaded is considered a status symbol. We’ve all been in those absurd conversations where people brag about their lack of sleep or their constant stress, as if it’s something to admire. The truth is, we’ve built a world in which it’s shameful to admit you’re tired, where acknowledging your limits is seen as a sign of weakness.

Economically, chronic fatigue has even deeper roots. Our current economic system thrives on overconsumption, hyper-productivity, and maximum individual exploitation. You’re expected to be perpetually online, responsive, and available. Unpaid overtime is taken as a given, and real rest is a privilege out of reach for many. Rising job insecurity, relentless financial pressure, ongoing economic uncertainty—all these factors create a collective exhaustion that slowly erodes any chance at real optimism for the future.

Cognitively, perpetual fatigue comes with severe consequences for our intellect and emotional well-being. When your brain is always exhausted, it can’t process information effectively. Memory falters, focus crumbles, mistakes pile up. You forget more easily, you lose your train of thought, you can’t sustain a deep or innovative line of thinking. This gradual mental wear can lead to anxiety disorders, depressive episodes, even full-blown burnouts. Your mind becomes a battlefield, battered by invisible daily wars.

But there’s another thing silently growing beneath this endless fatigue: anger. A quiet, creeping anger, often unspoken but very real. It’s the anger of constantly pretending to be okay, of being pushed beyond your limits day after day, of feeling ignored or belittled despite the constant effort to stay afloat. And the more you bury that anger, the closer it gets to boiling over. It can erupt suddenly in intense bursts of irritation, in abrupt crises, or just simmer as a diffused sense of injustice.

Far from being a weakness, that anger can become a powerful resource—if you identify it, accept it, and learn to channel it. Anger can fuel real change, pushing you to set clear boundaries, refuse abuse, demand something better. It reminds you that you’re not meant to live forever on the brink of collapse, that your physical and mental well-being isn’t negotiable. It can finally free you from the guilt of not being perpetually productive or perfect.

Yes, facing this reality is brutal—but necessary. It’s harsh to admit you’ve been living drained for so long, slowly destroying yourself to meet a world’s impossible demands. It’s crushing to realize your fatigue isn’t a personal failure but the logical outcome of a toxic environment. Yet that harshness can be liberating: it shatters the illusion that you must keep living this way. It lets you finally say “enough,” slow down, and genuinely take care of yourself.

The cold truth is that no one can sustain this pace forever. Recognizing both your chronic fatigue and the anger beneath is the first step to reclaiming your life. It’s not surrender—it’s lucid, genuine courage, and necessary resistance to a destructive norm. Because ultimately, real strength lies in saying “no,” in rejecting permanent exhaustion as a way of life.

🛠 So Now What? What if We Stopped Taking Hits and Started Building?

So… what now? What if we stopped taking hits and actually started building? That’s the real question. Until now, we’ve talked survival, fatigue, anger. We’ve exposed why this system is toxic, how it eats us alive. But we haven’t yet explored how to shift from mere survival to something more solid, more lasting, more real. Something that isn’t just a way to keep hanging on, but a genuine reclaiming of our lives.

Psychologically, this shift is crucial. It means breaking away from the victim mentality that society wants us to embrace. Because, yes, as long as we remain in passive resilience, we stay victims—trapped in an abusive system, doomed to endlessly endure. Choosing to build instead of enduring means taking back your power, being an actor rather than a helpless spectator. It’s a path to restoring self-esteem, finding real meaning in what you do, what you create, and who you are.

Socially, refusing to take the hits passively is a profoundly subversive act. It challenges all those unspoken norms that revere exhaustion and silent suffering. It means you no longer play by rules set by people benefiting from your chronic fatigue and forced resilience. Building your own framework—your own boundaries, your own rules—becomes a form of powerful resistance to a society that celebrates extreme individualism and relentless exploitation.

Economically, rebuilding your life inevitably calls for a form of increased autonomy. Depending solely on traditional systems for survival often means insecurity or surrendering to unacceptable conditions. By creating your own economic models—whether through independent entrepreneurship, collaborative economies, or community networks—you free yourself bit by bit from oppressive economic constraints. The goal isn’t just making ends meet, but living with real dignity, with genuine stability and security.

Cognitively, shifting from endurance to construction restores your long-term mental capacity. Once you stop merely taking hits, you give your mind room to breathe, to recover, to reclaim its creative and critical thinking skills. Innovation, thoughtful decision-making, creativity—these reawaken the moment you’re no longer trapped in survival mode. Your brain returns to functioning more naturally, unchained from the constant pressure that exhausts and numbs it.

Recognizing this possibility is radical but necessary. It means admitting that enduring passively—though it might look like short-term survival—is a dead end in the long run. It demands accepting that true security doesn’t come from outside promises or shallow encouragements, but from your own ability to build something that actually meets your needs.

Need examples? They’re everywhere. Artist collectives establishing autonomous structures to share their work without bowing to exploitative platforms. Local communities setting up their own economic circuits, free from the tyranny of global markets. Individuals who, after hitting burnout, rebuild their professional lives on healthier, fairer foundations aligned with their deepest values.

Yes, this choice is brutal. Because building means demolishing what no longer works. It means cutting ties with toxic relationships, leaving exploitative environments, giving up cozy illusions that are quietly destructive. Rebuilding after years of endurance often involves an initial loneliness, a temporary sense of isolation, a dizzying uncertainty. But unlike the harshness of passive resilience, this pain can be liberating. It’s the healthy pain of genuine healing, of real transformation.

The raw truth is there will never be a perfect moment to stop taking hits and start building. Waiting for that ideal moment is just another trap set by our fear of change. The time to say “stop,” to set your boundaries, to create something new is always now. You don’t need external validation; there’s no green light to wait for. All that matters is your decision, your determination to reject permanent exhaustion as a life plan.

Because in the end, building is more than a personal choice. It’s a necessary act of rebellion in a world that worships your ability to keep swallowing punches. It means taking control of your life—and symbolically, of the collective future we want to shape.

🎧 Conclusion

So here we are. After everything we’ve shared, there’s one crucial truth: we’re not doomed to suffer forever. Forced resilience—this unhealthy worship of exhaustion and silent suffering—isn’t mandatory, and it’s certainly not a virtue we should blindly chase. What we ought to celebrate is not our infinite capacity to take more hits, but our courage to finally set limits, to say “no” to what destroys us, to actively build the spaces where we can truly exist.

Now, let me ask you: are you ready to stop being merely resilient and start building? To stop passively accepting what society throws at you, and finally create something that truly resonates with who you are? Because no one else can make that decision for you.

I invite you to react, to reflect, and most importantly, to act. Join me on social media so we can keep this conversation going. Subscribe to Cappuccino & Croissant for more episodes that push you beyond easy soundbites. Check out my books, listen to my music, visit my website—spaces where I share, uncensored, this quest for authenticity, this genuine reclaiming of our lives.

Ultimately, building your life is more than just a personal decision. It’s a collective movement toward a world where chronic fatigue and toxic resilience are never again acceptable norms.

So, are you ready to join me on this journey? Together, let’s stop merely surviving. It’s time to really live. All right then—take care, and see you soon!