My Eucalyptus Soul

Photo credit: John Carnessali

A Story of Shedding, Fire, Grit, and Becoming

There is a kind of strength that does not arrive with applause. It grows slowly and often out of sight. It rises through experience, failure, reflection, and every honest moment you face head-on. It shows up after enough storms that you finally stop wishing for different weather and start shaping yourself into someone who can stand in the wind.

That is resilience.
Not toughness.
Not perfection.
A becoming.

For years I studied people without ever calling it that. Every person I met taught me something. Some revealed traits I needed to strengthen. Some showed me shadows I needed to acknowledge. Some modeled paths I knew I never wanted to walk. All of them shaped me. This is how resilience grows. Not through ease. Through accumulation. Layer upon layer, like the bark of a tree.

And somewhere in that journey, I saw myself in one of the most underestimated trees on earth: the eucalyptus.

It grows where others cannot.
It sheds what no longer serves it.
It stores what matters deep within its core.
It survives fire not by resisting it, but by knowing how to rise through it.

That tree became the mirror I needed.

Before I explain why, here is the piece that lives at the center of this story. It is the journey written as a poem.

My Eucalyptus Soul

I was not born strong.
Strength found me after life stopped waiting for me to catch up.
So I learned to stand.
Quietly. Early. Alone. Without applause.

I became a student of everything.
Every person I met held up a mirror.
Some showed me pieces of myself that needed to soften.
Some revealed shadows that needed room to breathe.
Some taught me what not to become.
All of them were teachers in their own way.

I grew like a eucalyptus in difficult soil.
I did not ask for the rocky ground or the relentless sun.
I learned to use what was given.
I learned to store wisdom the way the tree stores water.
I learned to let go of what no longer fit.
I learned that fire does not always destroy.
Sometimes it clears the way for what has been waiting beneath the ash.

There are people I carry compassion for.
People who live in cages shaped by fear, nostalgia, or old pain.
Some keep the physical reminders of life close because they fear the memories might slip away without them.
There is tenderness in that, not weakness.
They hold the past because it once brought comfort.
They move carefully because the world has not always been kind.
I do not judge them.
I honor their journey, and I walk my own.

Resilience taught me to travel lighter.
Not because I care less,
but because I trust more.
I trust that what is meant to stay will stay.
I trust that what needs to fall away will fall away when it is time.
A eucalyptus does not cling to old bark.
It releases.
It renews.
It grows new layers when the old ones have served their purpose.

But resilience has a shadow.
It hides behind the strength others admire.
It whispers that I can hold the weight alone.
Sometimes I believe it.
Sometimes I forget that even fire-hardened trees need rain.

Still, my roots run deep.
My capacity to rise has not faltered.
When life cracks the ground beneath me, I grow anyway.
When storms come for my peace, I bend and return.
When others break like rubber bands stretched too long,
I straighten and continue.
Not because I am unbreakable,
but because I know how to come back to myself.

My eucalyptus soul knows how to begin again.
It knows how to walk through fire and emerge taller.
It knows that everything is a lesson.
Every encounter.
Every loss.
Every joy.
Every ending that quietly dressed itself as a beginning.

This is the story of my becoming.
Rooted.
Resilient.
Reborn again and again.

I am not the rubber band that snaps from trying too hard.
I am the tree that rises after the burning.
I am the one who sheds, releases, renews, and grows.

This is my eucalyptus soul.

Where Resilience Becomes Grit

There is a turning point where resilience changes shape. It no longer shows up only when something goes wrong. It becomes the way you move through the world.

That shift is called grit.

Grit is not force.
It is not pushing yourself to the edge.
It is not grinding through life.

Grit is the positive side of resilience.
It is what happens when you rise so many times that rising becomes your nature.

Resilience teaches you how to recover.
Grit teaches you how to continue.

Resilience shows you how to stand back up.
Grit gives you the direction to walk forward.

Resilience is rooted.
Grit is purposeful.

Many misunderstand grit as strain. But grit that grows from resilience feels grounded. It feels like momentum built on wisdom. It sounds like a quiet voice saying, “I know who I am. I can keep moving.”

The eucalyptus teaches this too.
It does not only survive fire.
It grows because of it.
It pushes new growth through ash.
Not out of force, but out of design.
Out of knowing.

Grit is resilience in motion.
And if you have ever learned to rise, then you have grit woven into the very structure of your soul.

The Lesson: Letting Go Is Strength

Many people believe resilience is about holding on. White-knuckling. Pushing through. But true resilience is built on release.

To grow, we shed:

• Expectations

• Old versions of ourselves

• Stories that no longer fit

• Roles we have outgrown

• Emotional bark that protected us once but limits us now

Resilient people understand that clinging is heavy.
Letting go is not loss.
Letting go is evolution.

The Shadow of Strength

Every strength has a shadow. Even resilience.

The shadow of resilience is believing you never need support. It is the quiet instinct to carry everything alone because you always have. It can look like independence, but sometimes it becomes isolation.

Even fire-adapted trees need rain.
Even the strongest roots need nourishment.

Strength does not eliminate connection.
Strength requires connection.

The Invitation

So here is the question I offer you, the same one I ask myself:

• Where are you holding on to something that wants to be released?

• What old bark is ready to fall away?

• What fire are you still fearing, even though it may be clearing the way for new growth?

You may have a eucalyptus soul too

Capable of shedding

Capable of rising

Capable of becoming through every chapter

Capable of beginning again, stronger and wiser than before.

There is wisdom beneath the ash.
And you are built to rise tall enough to find it.

When you are ready, let’s talk.

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Photo credit: John Carnessali