Resilience doesn’t always look brave. Sometimes, it’s about showing up when things are uncertain and you’re not sure what’s next. For me, it started in my home office, surrounded by lists, plans, and spreadsheets that made my head spin, trying to build something new from the ground up.
When I decided to start my curling academy, I knew the sport inside and out, but the business world was a different game. Retiring from competitive curling meant rebuilding my identity, but I also knew I was ready for a new chapter. On the other hand, starting a business meant risking my time, my savings, and my confidence on something I believed would work, but there were no guarantees.
In what I’ve come to think of as my “previous life,” I spent over a decade working in government and at the time, I felt very comfortable with the idea of a steady paycheque and a pension. I walked away from that in 2016 to focus on curling, and after winning a world championship and competing in two Olympic Games, it seemed obvious that I had made the right decision. But the next chapter of leaving curling for entrepreneurship felt more than a bit scary.
When I reached out to my network, I was met with a chorus of opinions. The timing wasn’t right. We were heading into a recession. Curling was too niche. The risks were high. “What if you fail?” I was asked by someone I deeply respected, and I remember how one little question so quickly turned my confidence into doubt.
But I was more interested in finding the answer to a different question: “What if I succeed?”
I had built a career around performing under pressure. As an athlete, my life was about planning, preparation, and execution. But in entrepreneurship, there are no guarantees, no scoreboard, no finish line. Just the challenge of whether I could actually make it work.
Through all of it, I held onto one core belief: resilience isn’t a trait you’re born with. It’s something you train.
For me, resilience is the willingness to work through the struggle, learn from it, and trust that something good is waiting on the other side. It’s the strength you build through quiet determination.
I’ve always believed that every problem has a solution. In curling, when a game wasn’t going our way, we didn’t give up. We adjusted and found a different way to win. And if we didn’t win, we always learned something.
I brought that same mindset into building my academy. I leaned on mentors, asked for advice, and taught myself as I went. I ignored the doubters when I needed to. I made mistakes, regrouped, and tried again. I treated every setback like a puzzle with a solution.
There were days I questioned if I was on the right path, especially knowing how many small businesses struggle in their early years. But I believed deeply in the programs and services I was offering. I’ll never forget the day I opened registration for my first youth program. Within a few hours, half the spots were gone. Within days, it had sold out. It was confirmation to myself that I could do this.
I’ve had moments when my resilience was tested more deeply. When I was still competing, I experienced a major setback in my curling career. The kind that pulls the ground out from under you and forces you to rethink everything. I felt like the map of my life had been redrawn in an instant, without my consent.
During that time, I often took walks outside to clear my head. I would put on my headphones and listen to Peloton audio walks. Instructor Robin Arzón’s mantras played on a loop in my head, reminding me that I “didn’t wake up to be mediocre” and to “start before you’re ready.” One day she said something that completely stuck with me: “You’ve survived 100 per cent of your bad days.” It was simple, but the truth. It reminded me that even when everything feels uncertain, I’ve already survived every challenge or setback I’ve met so far. That reminder made me more determined to keep going.
I wrote down a list in my journal of the things I could control. My attitude. My effort. My goals. My actions. It wasn’t a magic fix, but it gave me something to hold onto. I couldn’t change what happened, but I could decide what I was going to do next.
That list became one of my go-to tools, and it’s something anyone can use. The next time you feel stuck, try writing down two lists: what’s within your control, and what’s not. Then focus your time and energy on what you can control. It sounds simple, but that small shift can help you regain a sense of ownership when things feel out of your hands.
Over time, I’ve learned that resilience is being able to sit with disappointment without letting it define you. It’s having the courage to start over and the faith to keep going, even when the path takes you to unexpected places and progress feels slow.
I see resilience reflected in so many friends I admire. The sports reporter thriving in a male-dominated field. The doctor who makes career choices that align with her purpose, even if it means turning down a promotion. The mom who is the head coach of her son’s competitive hockey team. The countless women in my life who are caring for their families while building their careers, even when the juggling act looks impossible. They are finding ways to give back and lift others as they climb. Every one of them is building resilience, often without realizing just how strong they are.
You don’t have to be an athlete to build resilience. You just have to keep showing up.
Whenever I face something tough, I still remind myself: you’ve survived 100 per cent of your bad days. And that’s the real proof that resilience isn’t found. It’s built.
