A Different Kind of Strength

Substack writer Alexander Lovell says resilience means "you'll never go back to who you were."

Dr. Alex Lovell at Pioneer Park in Salt Lake City, Utah, 2025

I have had the privilege of becoming acquainted with

Alexander Lovell, PhD

via Substack throughout the last few months of 2024. His writing deeply reflects his values, and I have found his voice to be among the most authentic on this platform. Today he offers a snapshot of his story, which is profound in its stark reality of hardship and reassembling a life and self from the fragments he was left with as a young adult. What I love most about this essay is that Alex tells us that resilience isn’t about unbreakable strength. Instead, it’s understanding that you will never be the same as before, and that you can find a way to rebuild your life, despite the inevitable obstacles.

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I was seventeen, which is a tricky age even on a good day—old enough to think you’ve got the world figured out, but young enough to be wildly off-base.

Things at home took a turn when my mother discovered a DVD of Brokeback Mountain in my room. One moment, I had a roof over my head and a place to belong; the next, I was handed a few wrinkled bills and sent packing, my beat-up car stuffed with whatever clothes I could grab.

I was completely unprepared.

My emotions were all over the map—betrayal, fear, heartbreak, anger, confusion. I landed (briefly) with someone I barely knew, which, in hindsight, was a terrible recipe for disaster. I remember the taste of cheap wine I’d never had before, the stale smell of a spare bedroom I didn’t want to be in, and that lurching feeling of losing control over my own safety. By morning, their offer to stay felt more like a trap. Nauseous and shaken, I left, trusting no one—especially not myself.

With nowhere else to go, I drifted downtown, sleeping in my car, scoring dollar-menu meals when I could. It’s funny how something as humble as a McDonald’s burger can feel like a lifeline when you’re so close to losing hope. But then even that semblance of stability vanished—my car got ticketed, impounded, and I found myself forced onto the streets. I heard rumors that Pioneer Park might be a place to find help, though it felt surreal to look for “safety” in a spot best known for the opposite.

So there I was, stuck, asking myself the million-dollar question: How am I supposed to get out of this mess?

A Different Kind of Strength

Pondering this essay, I keep circling back to the notion of “I grow strong again” as the human experience in miniature. Life never seems to follow a neat script. Hardship can show up uninvited and quickly knock you off your feet. Yet, it’s through these unpredictable trials that we learn, unlearn, and ultimately discover we’re capable of more than we realized. That, to me, is the heart of resilience—this choice to keep paddling even when the current is rough.

When people talk about resilience, they often make it sound like a single trait, but I see it as a whole spectrum.

Two qualities I admire most are plasticity and resoluteness. Plasticity is about being shaped by life’s challenges—accepting that you’ll never quite go back to who you were, and understanding there’s growth hidden in that change. Then there’s resoluteness, which reminds me of a tenacious little plant pushing up through a crack in the pavement. It’s about persisting, even when life stacks every odd against you.

Why Not Ask for Help?

Looking back, you might wonder why I didn’t just reach out. I’ve gone to therapy to understand that myself. The short answer is that the people who were supposed to protect me did the opposite. I was assaulted the very first night I spent alone. I had no phone (not everyone carried one back then), no car, and nowhere safe to turn. The rumors I heard about shelters made them sound more terrifying than staying on the street.

I’ll be honest: I sank into self-pity for at least a week—maybe longer. There’s a myth that if you’re truly resilient, you’ll never snap or stumble. But real resilience looks more like falling flat on your face, then dragging yourself upright again and again. And that’s what I tried to do. Because surviving on the streets comes with its own obstacles: Where do you shower? How do you apply for a job with no phone or address? Who’s going to hire someone whose entire wardrobe fits in a backpack?

Rewriting My Path

Bit by bit, I started tackling these questions. First, I had to reconcile where I thought my life was headed (graduating high school with an associate degree, maybe medical school, and training as a surgical technologist) with the new reality that all of that was slipping out of reach.

That’s when an odd little spark of growth appeared. It wasn’t a lightning-bolt revelation—more like a gradual realization that if I couldn’t change my whole life in one fell swoop, I could change my mindset.

Some days, all I could manage was a halfhearted promise to myself scribbled on a newsletter: Don’t lose yourself in drugs or alcohol, no matter how bad things get.

Other days, my “progress” was buying an extra apple turnover from McDonald’s and calling it a miniature celebration.

And on better days, I mustered just enough willpower to take small little steps to support my long-term plan: get off the streets, get a job, and reclaim my future.

As time passed, I noticed that plasticity in action—yes, I was different, but I was finding strengths I didn’t even know I had. Resoluteness, that little green shoot in the pavement, started taking root in me. My old life had fallen apart, but I was building something new.

I wouldn’t be who I am today—more confident, gritty, and honestly, more compassionate—if I hadn’t been forced to rebuild from zero.

Finding a Helping Hand

I also learned that kindness does exist in the most unexpected places.

Sure, there were individuals on the street I had to steer clear of, but there were also people who took it upon themselves to guide me around common pitfalls, share their resources, and keep me out of dangerous spots. Not everyone living on the margins chose that life.

Circumstances can be painfully unforgiving, and we all end up learning survival skills we never wanted to need.

Eventually, the slow trickle of my daily efforts met with an actual opportunity. By the time I turned eighteen, I managed to get a gym membership (so I could shower), enrolled in a few community college classes (which gave me access to a student loan), and used that loan to secure a tiny studio apartment.

Finally, I had an address, a phone, and free internet at school.

A kind woman at the college phoned a temp agency on my behalf, set up an interview, and I got the job. Just like that, homelessness was in my rearview mirror, and I had a foundation from which to really rebuild.

Looking back on all this, I can see how each moment of adversity forced me to adapt in ways I never thought possible. It’s not glamorous or easy, and I don’t recommend it as a shortcut to personal growth. But it did teach me that resilience isn’t about being unbreakable; it’s about stitching yourself back together, time and again, as life keeps unfolding in unpredictable ways. And if you ever find yourself wondering if you can keep going, remember: you only need one—yes one—opportunity, and one small step at a time to grow strong again.