'I was feeling unwell. Then, my partner and son were rushed to hospital.'

Life often throws curveballs, sometimes all at once, creating moments when survival feels like a juggling act: this was such a moment.

It was a Friday evening, and I was shooting a television segment in Sydney for New Zealand TV about the Australian dating app voluntary code. My expertise in dating apps and intimacy, built through years of research and a PhD, has brought me here—a great opportunity to share insights on a topic I'm deeply passionate about.

But I wasn't well. For weeks, I'd battled relentless sinusitis, exhaustion, and a persistent upper respiratory infection. As I powered through the interview, I felt a sudden snap, crackle, and pop in my ear. Warm fluid streamed out, and while I hoped it wasn't visible on camera, I suspected I had ruptured my eardrum. Far from ideal. The videographer assured me it wasn't noticeable, but a trip to the emergency room confirmed my fears.

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Saturday brought vertigo so intense I could barely stand. By Sunday, my focus shifted when my son's fever spiked dangerously above 40°C. Another trip to the hospital revealed two nasty viruses.

That week spiralled into a nightmare. My partner, who suffers from severe anxiety, began showing strange symptoms—fatigue, confusion, and laboured breathing. After an attempt to dismiss it as an anxiety attack, he deteriorated rapidly. On Friday, I drove him to the hospital, where he was rushed into resuscitation. His oxygen levels were perilously low, and his kidneys were struggling. By afternoon, he was on a ventilator in an induced coma. Both my partner and son had strep pneumonia and the ruptured eardrum tended to indicate I might have had the same thing.

Meanwhile, my son's condition worsened. He developed pneumonia and was transferred to the Children's Hospital at Randwick, where he needed a chest drain. For weeks, I oscillated between caring for my son in the paediatric ward and my partner in the ICU and work.

Amidst the chaos, questions about survival, caregiving, and the future loomed large. And yet, I survived. My son recovered. My partner pulled through.

When people ask, "how did you make it through?" My answer comes down to three simple truths about resilience.

Live the small things.

In the bleakest moments, it was the tiniest sparks of joy that sustained me. Walking around the hospital, in moments of time out, I found solace in the unexpected beauty of flowers growing nearby. I lost myself in the words of a book, finding a sanctuary within its pages. Despite the chaos, I marvelled at my children's laughter, even in the darkest moments.

Resilience, I realised, isn't forged in grand victories but in embracing the small things. These fleeting moments of beauty, humour, and connection expanded my world, creating pockets of peace amidst the storm.

Life often feels overwhelming when viewed as a whole, especially during crises. Focusing on manageable fragments—the quiet rustle of leaves, the warm embrace of a loved one—grounds you. These small moments don't erase the challenges, but they create breathing space to endure them.

Accept life's lack of control.

If there's one certainty in life, it's that it rarely goes to plan. This realisation hit me repeatedly during those weeks. Despite my best efforts to protect and care for my family, life unfolded unpredictably.

Control, I've learnt, is an illusion. You can plan meticulously, take every precaution, and still face the unexpected. Resilience lies in embracing this truth. Instead of fighting the chaos, let it wash over you. Ride the waves, even when they seem insurmountable.

This perspective comes from years of meditation and mindfulness practice. As a former yoga instructor and lifelong learner, I've cultivated a quiet mind that understands impermanence. When the ground beneath you shifts, finding stillness within yourself allows you to navigate uncertainty without losing balance.

Love is bigger than everything.

Through it all, love was my anchor. Love for my children kept me present during sleepless nights at the hospital. Love for my partner gave me the strength to advocate for his care when he couldn't speak for himself. Love for my work reminded me of my purpose, even as life seemed to unravel.

Resilience thrives in connection—whether it's with people, passions, or principles. When you nurture love, it becomes a powerful force that transcends fear and exhaustion. It's what drives you to show up, to keep going, and to rebuild after the storm passes.

Love is expansive. It doesn't diminish in adversity; it grows. Even as I contemplated devastating possibilities—losing my partner, becoming a single mother—it was love that gave me hope. It reminded me that life, no matter how fragile, is worth fighting for.

***

When my family finally returned home, life felt surreal. The weight of those weeks lingered, yet I returned to ordinary life. People marvelled at how I had managed to persevere. But the truth is, resilience isn't about extraordinary strength or unshakeable resolve. It's about quiet determination, about finding meaning in the mundane, and about leaning into love when everything else feels lost.

Dr Lisa Portolan is an academic at the University of Technology Sydney with a PhD in dating apps and intimacy, and the author of several books, including Love, Intimacy and Online Dating: How a Global Pandemic Redefined Intimacy, and Ten Ways to Find Love… and How to Keep it (due to be released in February, 2025).

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Feature image: Supplied.