We're Not Too Soft—We're Too Disconnected

I used to think I needed to suffer more.

Every morning at 5 AM, I'd drag myself to CrossFit, then take an ice bath, then meditate for 30 minutes before starting my 12-hour workday. I was optimizing everything. Tracking everything. Enduring everything.

And I was miserable.

The wellness industrial complex had convinced me that comfort was the enemy. That ease meant weakness. That if I wasn't constantly pushing through discomfort, I was somehow failing at life.

Sound familiar?

The Toughness Trap

There's this narrative floating around—you've probably seen it in your LinkedIn feed or heard it on podcasts—that our generation is fundamentally soft. That because we didn't fight in wars or survive the Great Depression, we're somehow deficient in character.

The argument goes: previous generations were forged by hardship, so they were tougher. We've had it too easy, so we crumble at the first sign of difficulty.

But here's what that narrative gets wrong...

It assumes that suffering automatically creates strength. That enduring pain—any pain—makes you a better person. That there's virtue in simply being uncomfortable.

I call BS.

What Resilience Actually Looks Like

Real resilience isn't about how long you can stay on a treadmill or how cold your showers are. (Though if those things bring you joy, more power to you.)

True resilience is emotional and psychological. It's the ability to:

• Process difficult emotions without numbing them
• Maintain relationships during stress
• Adapt your approach when something isn't working
• Find meaning in both struggle and success
• Ask for help when you need it

The Harvard study that tracked those treadmill test subjects? What it really measured wasn't toughness—it was privilege. Who do you think had the luxury to "push through" physical discomfort without worrying about injury, lost wages, or family responsibilities?

The ability to voluntarily seek out hardship is, itself, a form of comfort.

The Real Problem With Modern Life

Don't get me wrong. There IS something wrong with how we're living. But it's not that we're too soft.

We're too disconnected.

We're isolated from community. Separated from nature. Divorced from meaningful work. Cut off from our own intuition by the constant noise of social media and productivity culture.

We've mistaken comfort for fulfillment. We think that if we can just optimize our morning routine, track our macros, and hack our sleep, we'll finally feel... what? Complete? Worthy? Happy?

But here's the thing about happiness—it's not a performance metric.

My Wake-Up Call

Three years ago, I had what you might call a breakdown. Or a breakthrough. Honestly, the line between the two is pretty thin.

I was "crushing it" by every external measure. Six-figure salary, amazing apartment, Instagram-worthy workout routine. I could do a 20-minute ice bath without flinching.

And I couldn't get out of bed.

Turns out, all that toughness training had taught me to ignore my body's signals, not listen to them. I'd become so good at pushing through discomfort that I couldn't tell the difference between healthy challenge and harmful stress.

That's when I realized: endurance without wisdom is just elaborate self-harm.

A Different Kind of Training

So what's the alternative?

Instead of toughness training, I started practicing what I call "resilience building." The difference? Toughness is about enduring. Resilience is about adapting.

Here's what that looks like practically:

Emotional fitness: Learning to sit with difficult feelings without immediately trying to fix, avoid, or optimize them. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is cry.

Connection workouts: Instead of 48-hour fasts, try 48 hours of reaching out to people you care about. Build your support network like you'd build muscle—consistently and with intention.

Recovery as practice: Rest isn't the absence of work—it's a skill. Learn to truly disconnect. Take naps without guilt. Say no without justification.

Meaning-making over endurance: Viktor Frankl survived the Holocaust not because he was physically tough, but because he could find meaning in suffering. That's a different kind of strength entirely.

Intuition training: Your body is constantly giving you information. Are you listening? Or are you too busy following someone else's optimization protocol?

The Nuance Nobody Talks About

Look, I'm not saying comfort is always good or that challenge is always bad. The answer, as usual, is somewhere in the middle.

Some discomfort IS necessary for growth. But it should be chosen mindfully, not practiced compulsively. And it definitely shouldn't be worn as a badge of honor.

The goal isn't to become antifragile. It's to become fully human.

That means being strong enough to be vulnerable. Tough enough to be tender. Resilient enough to change course when something isn't serving you.

What I Do Now

These days, my morning routine is... whatever feels right. Sometimes that's yoga and journaling. Sometimes it's extra coffee and scrolling through memes.

I still work out, but I listen to my body. I still meditate, but I don't beat myself up for missing days. I still push myself, but I also give myself permission to rest.

And you know what? I'm happier. More productive. Better at my job. More present in my relationships.

Turns out, self-compassion is way more effective than self-optimization.

Your Turn

So here's my challenge for you—and it has nothing to do with ice baths or intermittent fasting:

This week, practice one act of radical self-compassion.

Maybe that's taking a mental health day. Maybe it's saying no to plans you don't actually want. Maybe it's asking for help with something you've been struggling with alone.

Notice what stops you. Is it guilt? Fear? The voice in your head that says you're being "soft"?

Get curious about that voice. Whose voice is it, really? And is it serving you?

Because here's what I've learned: the strongest people I know aren't the ones who never break. They're the ones who break beautifully, heal intentionally, and keep showing up as themselves.

That doesn't make them soft.

It makes them human.

What does resilience look like in your life? I'd love to hear your thoughts—the messy, complicated, real ones. Not the optimized version.