What Does Not Kill You Breaks Your Arm: When Losing Feels Like Dying
Does pain really make you stronger? Or does it just leave you bruised, aching, and trying to convince yourself it was all worth it?
I’ve never liked that saying — “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Honestly, I’d rather be unbroken than stronger. I’d rather keep my bones intact and stay out of trauma clinics.
And what about the soul — or call it the mind, that inner pulse that keeps us moving? Does it need to be shattered before it understands life? Are tears the price of wisdom?
Even metals have different melting points. That’s why we use tungsten, not iron, for light bulbs. People have breaking points, too. What strengthens one may destroy another. That’s why telling someone in the middle of a storm that it will “make them stronger” can be so shallow.
If someone told me my eating disorder made me strong, I’d laugh bitterly.
No, it made me miserable!
It stole years from me. Years I should’ve spent learning, making friends, shaping myself. I didn’t grow wiser. I had to unlearn toxic beliefs just to function again.
Still, some failures come with gifts in disguise. Not getting what I wanted — relationships, jobs, friendships — opened doors I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. Maybe I didn’t choose the best path, but I found peace and new goals.
Truthfully, I’m writing this to cope with my recent sports loss. I keep trying to convince myself it didn’t teach me anything, but maybe it’s redirecting me. It forced me to face what’s blocking me. It humbles me.
I thought I had a calm mind , at least after the first messy competition. I blacked out during that one. I don’t remember how I fought, just that I stayed in for five minutes. I lost, but I learned. I steadied my breath and showed up to the next match stronger.
Let me tell you this: calmness — especially fake calmness — doesn’t win matches.
I saw my opponent’s stance and instantly knew — I was outmatched. She was sharp. Experienced. Focused. She dismantled me in under a minute. She walked away with a win. I walked away with a bruised arm and a broken ego.
I broke down crying in front of my coach and team. The tears tasted like failure.
And the crying didn’t stop that day. I kept spiralling. That cruel voice came back — the same one that haunted me during my eating disorder. It whispered that I deserved the pain. That I should’ve broken my arm. That I failed.
I stopped training. I isolated myself. I knew it wasn’t about the sport. It was about shame. I had trained harder than most — dieted, slept, and worked. Yet I stood there injured and invisible, watching others get medals despite their losses, just because their categories were smaller. No one acknowledged my effort. I bullied myself harder than anyone else could.
You might think: so you trained for applause?
No. But the praise still matters. When I shared my journey and frustration with my closest friend, she simply said: “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you.” And that softened me. Those words reached a part of me I didn’t even know needed healing.
She reminded me: “Not all applause is real. Sometimes, people cheer because it’s easy. But real care comes from the few who truly see you”.
So now, every time that cruel voice rises again, I answer back.
I tell it: I don’t care what you say. You’re not in control anymore.
Because what tried to break me didn’t kill me — and it didn’t make me stronger either.
But love, dedication, and the quiet pride of someone who truly knows me?
That’s what’s building me back.
But this isn’t a tale of instant joy or a perfect ending.
I would mislead you if I wrapped it up with a “they lived happily ever after” vibe. The relief is brief, lasting only a few days, before another frustration hits. It’s comforting to have support, but it doesn’t fix your problems right away.
You are not alone.
But you are.
You’ll question yourself a thousand times: Is this the right choice? Is it okay to keep going when all I want is to retreat to my bed and hide from the world?
I don’t have an answer.
I have hope and the will to keep going. Step by step, day by day.
Maybe one day, it will all make sense.
On that day, I won’t need to say, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” because I will stand victorious.
