How to Find Strength in Uncertainty

What happens when hope fades into the background? When the usual spark that keeps us moving forward feels dim or distant? In this episode, I share a deeply personal story about encountering The Void—a space of emptiness and uncertainty—and what I learned about finding strength when hope wasn’t leading the charge.

We’ll explore the quiet power of resolve, how it differs from pushing through, and why it’s okay to let go of the need to fix or fill the empty spaces in our lives. If you’ve ever felt stuck, lost, or unsure of what’s next, this episode is for you. You’ll hear about the small moments that brought hope back, the lessons hidden in stillness, and how to keep going, one steady step at a time.

Listen now for an honest, heartfelt conversation about embracing life’s messiness, navigating uncertainty, and finding beauty in both the quiet and the chaos.

I’ve been looking for a way for how to find strength in uncertainty, without invalidating my experience. For a long time, I believed that pushing through meant I was being strong, resilient, and grounded. In the ICU, that’s how I operated, holding onto that constant need for control amidst chaos. But when I had to leave that career, a job that had defined so much of my identity, I encountered something that I didn’t expect: The Void.

This Void wasn’t just an absence of direction or motivation; it was a space that felt empty in a way that echoed. It felt like a missing part of myself. Back when I had part of my thyroid removed due to a tumor, I didn’t expect my body to regrow that lost piece. But I also hadn’t fully come to terms with what that scar symbolized—a constant reminder of the parts of me I couldn’t recover. 

And now, standing at the edge of this new Void, I realized that I would need to accept that this too, represents a part of me that I could not recover.

As it Often Is, the First Step I Took Was Resistance

At first, I resisted. I felt myself wanting to push through, to fill the emptiness with something productive or purposeful. But every attempt felt hollow, like I was pouring water into a cracked vase—it didn’t matter how much I poured; it would all drain away. I realized that perhaps I wasn’t meant to fix or fill this space. Perhaps, like my scar, it was something I was meant to carry with me, not erase.

That felt very heavy. I didn’t want to have to carry this burden with me for the rest of my life! And I started to feel hope grow quieter until it was almost gone.

In moments like these, resolve isn’t the bright, blazing force of hope. It doesn’t sweep in with promises of better days or silver linings. Instead, resolve is a quiet companion that says, “Even if nothing changes, I will carry you through this.” There’s a stillness in resolve, a sense of being willing to hold the weight of whatever we feel, to walk through it step by step, even when the path isn’t clear.

Sitting with The Void

The Void became something I learned to sit with. I didn’t try to understand it or conquer it; I just acknowledged it, like an old friend with whom words weren’t necessary. I started spending intentional time with it, no longer letting it linger at the edges of my awareness, waiting for me to give it attention. I realized that part of moving forward didn’t mean filling the emptiness but rather learning to coexist with it, allowing it to be part of my life without defining it.

The Void, for me, felt like the left side of my thyroid, a part of myself that wasn’t coming back. It had left a scar, a reminder that there are voids we can carry without needing to fix them. And the strangest thing happened—when I stopped fighting it, when I stopped trying to cover it with positivity or purpose, I began to feel lighter. Slowly, without any grand revelation or sudden shift, hope started to trickle back in, like drops of rain after a long drought.

This wasn’t the hope I’d known before. It was quieter, softer, like the sun peeking through after a storm. It didn’t promise to make everything okay, but it reminded me that life could continue with both beauty and pain coexisting. There was space for both, and I didn’t have to choose one over the other.

A Path Forward Without Pushing Through

In our culture, we’re often taught to “push through,” to fight against whatever’s holding us back. But what I learned from The Void is that sometimes, pushing through isn’t the answer. Sometimes, the real strength lies in standing still, in letting the wave of discomfort wash over us and simply being with it.

Resolve is different from resilience. Resilience is about bouncing back, about returning to some version of ourselves we recognize. Resolve, though, is about moving forward even when we’re not sure what we’re moving toward. It’s the willingness to keep going, even if that means stepping into the unknown.

When hope quiets, resolve steps in, steady and unshakable. It’s not flashy or inspiring, but it’s enough. It’s the small, persistent voice that says, “Even if the path is unclear, I’ll walk beside you.” Resolve allows us to sit in the mess, to acknowledge the parts of ourselves that feel broken or empty, and to recognize that those parts don’t need to be fixed to be whole.

Meeting Ourselves in the Quiet

The Void taught me a lesson that I couldn’t have learned any other way. It showed me that my strength didn’t come from my ability to keep pushing or to find immediate answers. It came from my willingness to sit with myself, to honor the quiet parts, and to accept that sometimes, the journey forward doesn’t involve constant action.

If you’re standing in your own void, if you feel like hope has grown quiet and you’re not sure what’s next, I want you to know that there is strength in simply being with yourself in this moment. You don’t have to push through. You don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, just the willingness to keep going, even in the silence, is enough.

Embracing Both Hope and Resolve

I no longer see The Void as something I need to conquer or fill. It’s simply a part of my journey, a reminder of the parts of me I’ve lost and the parts I’m still discovering. I carry it with me, along with the scar on my thyroid, as a testament to the things I’ve endured and the lessons I’ve learned. And, in some strange way, it has become a source of quiet strength—a place within me where both hope and resolve can coexist.

If you find yourself in this space, know that you’re not alone. There’s no need to rush through it or fill it with meaning before you’re ready. Let resolve hold you, let it guide you gently forward, and trust that in time, hope will return, soft and steady, like the light that shows up just before dawn.