Why “Just Be Resilient” Isn’t Enough for Women’s Health
It was 8pm and I was furiously typing away on my laptop to meet a Travel Request deadline for my upcoming work trip. Snacking on my sad attempt at a “girl dinner” cheese plate, my hair was thrown into a lopsided messy bun and my over-excited staffy — with absolutely no concept of personal space — was trying to climb into my lap for the 1000th time that night. It was all getting a bit much.
By that point, I could feel the first signs of an episode of pain creeping in, but I pushed it as far to the back of my mind as I could. Honestly, it felt like the least of my problems. Between juggling the pressure of my corporate job — a workplace that was constantly disgruntled by the constant requirement for flexibility in my schedule— and the unpredictable tsunami of “last-minute.com” notice from my partner’s chain of command, my nervous system was already on edge. Then it happened, my Partner got the call that he had to pack up and go…pronto! A decision that weighed heavy with consequence. This meant that no one would be home to mind the dog and due to last-minute nature, we had no one who could on such short notice…Shit. This meant the work trip would have to be cancelled. I absolutely would be on my final straw at my job and this same straw would be the one to break the camel’s back.
When the pain in my abdomen hit, it hit hard. I tried to get onto my partner with no success. I contacted a family member to come and help me — someone who usually couldn’t travel at the last minute, but by some miracle was able to make the 4-hour trip. For a while, the airwaves were silent. What I didn’t know at the time was that communication was happening behind the scenes at Field however, it got quietly pushed to the backburner.
When my emergency was finally addressed, the “solution” to my troubles was a confusing blur of unclear plans and shifting timeframes. That lack of clarity, combined with my inability to advocate for myself clearly while in extreme pain, left me feeling more helpless and alone than I ever had before.
Even with the help of my family member — bless them — they couldn’t stay long. And when I was alone again, I realised something uncomfortable: I was exhausted from being expected to conform to the unspoken code of “just be resilient.” Pick yourself back up. Crack on with it; It felt like an insult to all I had already been carrying.
The recovery was brutal. It took months to regain any sense of normality, and I had to make abrupt changes just to survive — often with little to no support. Some of those changes weren’t always for the best, especially in the long term. Yet another set of challenges to face. But they forced me to rethink everything I believed about strength, health, and what resilience was really costing my body.
What happened that night changed the way I see resilience.
I had done everything “right.” I stayed productive, I didn’t fall apart until I physically couldn’t hold myself up anymore. And still, my body paid the price.
I chose to share this experience because nearly every Defence spouse I’ve spoken with, has their own version of a moment like this — an experience that leaves a lasting impact on how we see and navigate this demanding way of life. Somewhere along the way, women — especially Defence partners — were taught that being strong means being silent. That your health comes second to the mission, the job, the schedule. But the truth is, resilience without support doesn’t make you strong. It makes you sick.
Chronic stress doesn’t just live in your thoughts. It lives in your body.
When your life is filled with constant uncertainty, emotional load, and pressure to keep going, your nervous system stays on high alert. It doesn’t know the difference between a true emergency and an overwhelming to-do list— it just knows it isn’t safe to fully relax. Over time, this state becomes maintained. Not healthy, but familiar.
In women, this often shows up quietly at first: disrupted sleep, a shorter fuse, digestive issues, cycles that shift, or energy that never quite returns. These aren’t random flaws. They are intelligent responses to long-term stress.
Your body isn’t trying to sabotage you. It adapts the only way it knows how — by prioritising survival over repair, urgency over balance, coping over healing. And eventually, something has to give.
This is why “just be resilient” falls short as health advice. It focuses on behaviour, not biology. It asks women to override internal warning systems instead of listening to them.
After that experience, I realised something had to change — not dramatically overnight, but in small, steady ways.
One of the first things I had to relearn was boundaries. Defence life doesn’t naturally encourage them, and neither does the culture of “just cope.” But I began having honest, respectful conversations with my partner about what I could realistically hold and what I couldn’t. Boundaries didn’t mean withdrawing support — they meant being clear about my limits. They became something we fortified together, not something I had to defend alone.
Movement also became part of my recovery, though not in the way it used to be. Even when pain is present, keeping the body gently moving matters. For me, that didn’t mean a militant gym routine or pushing through workouts that left me depleted. It looked more like walking, stretching, light strength work, or simply getting outside. Gentle movement helped my nervous system feel safer, improved circulation, and reminded my body it didn’t have to live in constant tension.
Another surprisingly powerful shift was keeping my meals regular. Not perfect. Not fancy. Just consistent. When stress is high, blood sugar becomes another thing the body has to manage, and skipping meals adds to the load. I focused on eating often enough, with simple, supportive ingredients. It was a relaxed approach — one that didn’t demand energy I didn’t have.
Reaching out for support was, without a doubt, the hardest step. But it was also the most impactful. Help doesn’t always arrive in one big form — sometimes it comes through many small doors. Open Arms was one. Honest conversations between my partner and their chain of command were another. Mental health is often discussed in one-on-one meetings within troops, and it mattered that we talked openly about expectations and my “nurture points” within Defence life. There was also support available through the Padre, something I hadn’t been aware of before; I was told that it was important to check in-advance if their contact details were up-to-date for when my partner is away, in the event an emergency arises.
I also leaned on my fellow practitioners. For me, that meant booking in with my Naturopath — one of my dearest mentors in Herbal Medicine, Mel. Even Naturopaths need support. Having someone hold space for my body and stress, without minimising either, made a sizeable difference.
From there, I started exploring ways to connect.
Starting your own WhatsApp group can be an invaluable social resource — it eases the pressure of organising in-person events that may not always come to fruition. From these online connections, you can dip into plans like casual coffee dates, mothers’ groups, or creative events such as Paint and Sip nights. Over time, I began to build a “tribe” — not huge, but real. People who understood this life without needing it explained, offering support in small, yet invaluable ways that make all the difference.
Looking back, that night was a turning point — painful, overwhelming, but ultimately clarifying. It reminded me that resilience alone isn’t enough to protect our health, and that asking for support, setting boundaries, and nurturing small, consistent routines aren’t signs of weakness — they’re acts of self-care and survival. Recovery isn’t instant, and it isn’t linear, but even small steps — reaching out, moving gently, eating regularly, or connecting with a supportive community — can make a real difference. For women navigating Defence life, it’s a reminder that strength isn’t measured by how much you can endure alone, but by how well you can care for yourself along the way.