- When the Earth Shakes
- Where My Journey with Resilience Started
- Finding Strength in Small Routines
- When Life Doesn’t Go as Planned (And That’s Okay)
- Weaving It All Together: My Personal Blueprint for Resilient Living
When the Earth Shakes
Where My Journey with Resilience Started
I wasn’t always this calm. Actually, I used to panic at the smallest disruption—a canceled plan, a sick child, a sudden bill. I would complain, cry, freeze.
But over the years, I started to notice something in the people around me—especially the older women in my neighborhood. They didn’t flinch when their routines were shattered. They simply adjusted. Almost like water finding a new path. I wanted to learn that.
My real turning point came after the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake.
Even though Tokyo wasn’t hit directly, the entire country felt it. Trains stopped. Shelves emptied. Everyone was scared. But then something quietly beautiful happened: people lined up patiently for water. They shared rice balls with strangers. The trains came back, little by little. Life didn’t snap back—but it reshaped itself.
That moment showed me what resilience really looks like in Japan.
It’s not loud or flashy. It’s not motivational speeches or bold declarations.
It’s silent strength. It’s enduring with grace. It’s making miso soup even when the world feels broken.
What “Resilience” Means to Me Now
At first, I thought resilience meant being tough—like fighting through every problem. But in Japanese culture, it often means being flexible. It’s closer to the Zen idea of mujo (無常), or impermanence. Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. So instead of clinging tightly, we let go. We flow. We adapt.
That might look like:
- Turning a job layoff into a side hustle opportunity (yes, even as a housewife)
- Managing the family budget creatively during inflation
- Reframing guilt from career breaks into strength from caregiving
- Building routine and community even when the future is foggy
I’ve come to believe that these aren’t just survival tactics—they are skills. And like any skill, they can be practiced, refined, and passed on.
Why I’m Writing This Blog Series
We live in unpredictable times. Climate change. Global instability. Social expectations shifting faster than ever. Whether you’re in Japan or abroad, you probably feel the uncertainty creeping into your daily life.
That’s why I wanted to share how I, as an ordinary Japanese housewife, learned to turn uncertainty into opportunity—not by controlling everything, but by learning to be okay when things fall apart.
In the next sections of this blog series, I’ll walk you through:
- How Japanese values like gaman (endurance), kaizen (continuous improvement), and shikata ga nai (acceptance) shaped my thinking
- My personal tools and habits for staying grounded
- How I’ve reinvented my identity and work, even from home
- And practical tips anyone (in any country) can use to build emotional resilience
Because whether you’re balancing motherhood and ambition, managing aging parents, facing layoffs, or just trying to stay sane through world events—resilience is no longer optional. It’s essential.
Finding Strength in Small Routines
In the aftermath of any shock—whether it’s a global crisis or a personal loss—the most powerful thing I’ve learned is this: resilience isn’t built in big heroic moments. It’s built quietly, day by day, in the smallest details of ordinary life.
After the earthquake, when everything felt unstable, I didn’t know how to “be strong.” I was too tired to be strong. But I could make breakfast. I could sweep the floor. I could write in my planner. I could smile at my neighbor.
That’s where it began—my recovery, my rhythm, my resilience.
My Rituals of Resilience: More Than Just Habits
In Japanese culture, we put a lot of value on routine. From morning greetings to seasonal foods, from how we clean our homes to how we arrange shoes by the door—there’s a quiet order that gives shape to our days. I used to think of these rituals as chores. But now, I see them differently: they are anchors.
Here are a few daily rituals that helped me reclaim control during chaotic times:
1. Opening the Window Every Morning
Sounds simple, right? But opening the window every morning—even during tough times—became my signal to myself: “Today begins. I’m still here.” I let in the air, the sounds of the street, the light. This one act made me feel less trapped.
2. Making Ochazuke When Life Feels Too Heavy
When I’m overwhelmed, I go back to the basics. For me, that’s ochazuke—rice with hot tea and pickles. Easy. Comforting. And deeply nostalgic. Resilience often begins with nourishing your body in simple, gentle ways.
3. Writing a “Tiny Win” Journal
Every night, I write down just one thing I did that day—even if it’s “didn’t cry” or “put on real clothes.” I learned this technique from a psychologist on NHK. It trains your brain to notice progress, not perfection.
4. Seasonal Rhythms and “Micro-Celebrations”
Japanese life is full of seasonal transitions—hanami, tsuyu, obon, momiji. I’ve started marking them intentionally, even with small touches like changing our home decorations or making seasonal sweets. These micro-celebrations remind me: life moves forward. And so can I.
The Japanese Values That Shape My Resilience
As I became more conscious of how I cope, I realized something: Japanese culture had already taught me how to be resilient—it just did it quietly.
Gaman (我慢): Enduring Without Complaint
This word often gets misunderstood. It doesn’t mean suppressing pain. It means honoring your strength—choosing calm over chaos. When I wait in line without complaining, or keep going when things feel heavy, I’m practicing gaman. It’s not about being passive. It’s about protecting your peace.
Kaizen (改善): Small, Continuous Improvement
I used to feel like I had to “fix my life” all at once. But kaizen taught me that one small improvement at a time is enough. Whether it’s organizing one drawer or updating my resume, I remind myself: little by little, I’m changing.
Shikata ga nai (仕方がない): Acceptance Without Defeat
This phrase doesn’t mean “giving up”—it means “accepting what I can’t change and moving forward anyway.” During COVID, when schools closed and I lost freelance work, I clung to this mindset. I stopped fighting reality and started creating within it.
How These Routines Protected My Identity
As a housewife, it’s easy to feel like you’re fading—like the world doesn’t see your efforts. I struggled with that, especially when everything felt unpredictable. But these routines reminded me: I am still me. I am still a person with agency, rhythm, and strength.
Making soup is not just feeding my family. It’s saying, we continue.
Tidying the entrance is not just cleaning. It’s preparing to welcome tomorrow.
I started to see myself not as a powerless bystander, but as a quiet leader of my home. And that shift changed everything.
When the World Feels Big, Start Small
If you’re reading this from across the world, and things feel overwhelming—start with one ritual. Just one. Something small and personal. That’s your seed of resilience.
You don’t need to rebuild your life overnight. You just need to show up—again and again. As we say in Japan:
「七転び八起き」(nana korobi ya oki) – Fall down seven times, get up eight.
And sometimes, “getting up” just means making the bed, putting on the kettle, or opening the window to start again.
When Life Doesn’t Go as Planned (And That’s Okay)
Sometimes, the universe doesn’t whisper—it shouts.
Just when I thought I had finally found a rhythm in my routines, life threw me a curveball I didn’t see coming: my husband was transferred to a different city with almost no notice, and I had to give up my part-time freelance work, leave behind my neighborhood community, and move to a town where I knew no one. Again, everything I had carefully rebuilt began to unravel.
I won’t sugarcoat it. I cried. I was angry. I resented being the one who had to put my career on pause, again. I resented being a woman expected to “adjust.”
But after a while—after the tears, after the packing, after the goodbyes—I realized something very Japanese had taken root in me:
Resilience isn’t the absence of frustration.
It’s the ability to carry it and still move forward.
The Moment Everything Turned
I remember one specific morning after our move. I had dropped the kids off at school. The apartment was a mess. I didn’t know anyone. My inbox was empty.
I sat on the floor and stared at my hands. I asked myself:
“Who am I without my routines? Without a job? Without a neighborhood?”
And then, I remembered something my grandmother used to say:
「風の強い日は、竹の心を持ちなさい」
(On windy days, have the heart of bamboo.)
So that day, I started again. I boiled water. I cleaned the genkan. I walked through the unfamiliar streets and nodded to the old lady sweeping in front of her gate. That nod became a daily ritual. That ritual became a conversation. That conversation became a friendship.
The life I lost in Tokyo didn’t come back—but a new version quietly started to grow in this unfamiliar place.
How I’ve Learned to Redefine Control
In Japan, we often distinguish between what we can control and what we must accept. This mindset has saved me more times than I can count.
When life shifts dramatically—job loss, relocation, illness, disappointment—it’s tempting to fight everything. But here’s what I’ve learned:
| I used to focus on… | Now I try to focus on… |
|---|---|
| What I can’t change | What I can nurture |
| Who left my life | Who’s showing up now |
| Opportunities I lost | Skills I still carry |
| What I can’t predict | What I can prepare for today |
Letting go of control doesn’t mean giving up. It means switching your grip—from clutching tightly to holding gently.
Turning Setbacks Into Strategy
I stopped thinking of “resilience” as recovering what was lost.
Instead, I started asking: “What new path is this moment opening?”
Here are a few shifts that helped me turn breakdowns into breakthroughs:
1. From Guilt to Growth
I stopped apologizing for starting over.
When people asked what I “do,” I started answering honestly:
“I’m building something new.” That gave me permission to grow, not just “bounce back.”
2. From Silence to Small Requests
I learned to ask for help. This sounds simple, but in Japanese culture—especially as a woman—we’re often taught to be self-sufficient and endure quietly. But I discovered that vulnerability is also strength. When I asked a neighbor to recommend a local babysitter, she introduced me to three. That opened a whole new circle of support.
3. From Waiting to Initiating
I stopped waiting for the “right” moment to reclaim my passions. I started small—writing during nap time, taking online courses at night, testing freelance projects again. This shift from passive waiting to active initiating made all the difference.
What Japanese Culture Teaches About Unexpected Turns
This phase of Ten—the twist—is so deeply embedded in Japanese thinking.
In fact, traditional Japanese storytelling follows the structure of Kishōtenketsu (起承転結), where Ten is the “unexpected development.” Unlike Western stories, which often emphasize conflict, Ten isn’t necessarily about fighting—it’s about recognizing surprise, shift, or realization.
That idea helped me reinterpret my life’s unexpected turns not as failures, but as pivots. Moments of quiet redirection.
A layoff doesn’t mean “you’re not good enough”—it means “your direction is changing.”
A relocation doesn’t mean “you’ve lost your place”—it means “you’re expanding your story.”
When Things Fall Apart, Look for What’s Trying to Grow
After the move, I eventually found new freelance clients, reconnected with myself, and began helping other women do the same—navigating career pauses, uncertainty, and new beginnings with clarity and confidence. That pain became purpose. That interruption became ignition.
So if you’re in your own “Ten” moment right now—lost, confused, untethered—I want to tell you:
You’re not broken. You’re turning.
Let the bamboo bend. Let the season shift. Let go of the path you imagined.
Something new is waiting where you least expect it.
Weaving It All Together: My Personal Blueprint for Resilient Living
We’ve arrived at the final piece of the journey—ketsu, the conclusion.
But like many things in life, this “ending” is more of a beginning.
Resilience, I’ve come to realize, isn’t something you arrive at. It’s not a trophy or a finish line. It’s a lifestyle. A mindset. A practice. And just like the seasons in Japan, it’s constantly shifting, teaching, and reminding us that even in chaos, beauty endures.
So in this final part, I’d like to offer the practical, personal strategies that help me live with resilient intention today—not as someone who has everything figured out, but as someone who has chosen to keep walking, no matter what the path looks like.
My Resilience Framework: The 5 Anchors I Return to
Through trials, transitions, and quiet reflections, I’ve identified five key pillars that hold me steady—my blueprint, if you will, for living with strength in uncertain times:
1. Start Small, Stay Gentle
Instead of trying to “fix” everything at once, I ask:
What’s the one thing I can do today to feel a little more grounded?
That might be:
- Cleaning one corner of the kitchen
- Writing one sentence in my journal
- Stretching for five minutes before bed
Small actions matter. They add up. They remind me that forward is still forward—even if it’s slow.
2. Protect My Inner Room (心の部屋)
I learned this term from a counselor on NHK. Your kokoro no heya—“inner room”—is a space inside you that only you can decorate, protect, and clean. When the world feels chaotic, I ask:
Is my inner room cluttered with fear, guilt, or comparison today?
Then I gently sweep it out:
- I log off social media.
- I practice deep breathing.
- I write a gratitude list (even if I don’t feel thankful at first).
Mental clarity is resilience. Emotional hygiene is strength.
3. Redefine What “Success” Means
This was a big one for me. As a housewife in Japan, it’s easy to feel invisible in conversations about productivity or achievement. But I’ve stopped measuring success by income or status.
Now, I ask:
Did I live today aligned with my values?
My success markers now include:
- A peaceful home environment
- Nourishing food shared with my kids
- Work that honors my capacity and season of life
- The courage to say “no” when I need rest
This shift has been the most freeing of all.
4. Keep a “Change Journal”
Inspired by kaizen (continuous improvement), I keep a monthly “Change Journal.”
Each month, I write:
- What challenge I faced
- What small action I took
- What I learned from it
Looking back, I’m amazed. Even months that felt like “failures” were full of quiet growth. This journal reminds me that even hard seasons are teaching seasons.
5. Stay Connected to Others (Even When It’s Awkward)
Resilience doesn’t grow in isolation. Especially for women, especially in motherhood, especially in transitions—we need each other.
So I reach out.
- I start a conversation with the mom next to me at school pick-up.
- I host a “tea and talk” morning once a month (just three friends, no pressure).
- I volunteer for one small thing at the community center.
These aren’t grand gestures, but they ground me. Because resilience is easier when you’re not the only one holding the weight.
Living the Resilient Life—Japanese Style
What I’ve shared throughout this series is deeply shaped by Japan—its nature, its customs, its unspoken wisdom.
But I believe these principles are global. And deeply human.
Whether you’re a mother in Tokyo, a freelancer in New York, a teacher in Nairobi, or a student in Berlin, resilience can look like:
- Honoring small joys in daily rituals
- Accepting change as part of the journey
- Prioritizing peace over perfection
- Staying soft without being weak
- And choosing to begin again, again, and again
Final Words: You Are Already Stronger Than You Think
If you’re reading this and feel like you’re barely holding things together—please know, you are not alone.
And you are not broken.
You are becoming.
You don’t need to hustle for your worth. You don’t need to fix everything overnight.
You just need to start. With one breath. One step. One choice.
Just like bamboo, just like tea, just like the tide—quiet resilience is still resilience.
With deep respect from one uncertain soul to another,
thank you for reading.
—A Japanese housewife, resilient and still learning 🇯🇵🌿
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