11 things I've learnt through life’s hardest lessons

There’s truth in the old saying that life is the best teacher. While books, courses and advice can and do offer valuable insight, it’s often our lived experience – especially the challenging moments – that teaches us the most.

It’s not always easy to spot growth when you’re in the thick of it. But once things settle – even slightly – there’s an opportunity to pause, look back, and acknowledge what those experiences taught us. Often, we’ve grown more than we realise.

Here are some of the top lessons I’ve learnt through my own journey – through trauma, loss, near burnout, and everything in between:

Out of the greatest discomfort comes the greatest growth.

This line has become a bit of a mantra for me. I wouldn’t wish many of my experiences on anyone – and I absolutely wouldn’t want to relive them – but they’ve shaped who I am. There are lessons within the wounds, even when they’re slow to heal. For making me the person I am, for the lessons they’ve taught me, and the growth they’ve afforded me, I am actually grateful. It was a liberating moment when I came to this realisation.

You don’t have to hit rock bottom to ask for help – but if you do, it’s still not too late.

There was a time when I thought I had to manage on my own – that asking for help meant I’d failed. But I’ve learnt that true strength lies in knowing when to reach out. Whether it’s a psychologist, a friend, family or a colleague – having someone walk beside you can make all the difference.

Emotional numbness isn’t the same as resilience.

I used to think that keeping it together meant I was strong. But numbing, avoiding and pushing through at all costs only delayed the crash – which ended up being bigger and harder than it could have been. Real resilience means feeling the emotions and learning how to process them in healthy ways, not fleeing from them.

Connection is a lifeline.

When I isolated, my mental health deteriorated. When I reconnected – to nature, to community, to people who cared – I started to heal. We’re not meant to do life alone. Letting someone in, even just a little, can open the door to hope. In the depths of mental distress, connection can feel overwhelming – but that’s exactly when it matters most. Making the effort, however small, should never be underestimated.

Self-care has to change with your seasons.

What worked during one hard time might not help in the next. I’ve had to adapt my wellbeing practices constantly – simplifying when I had no energy, and expanding when I felt strong enough. Self-care is never one-size-fits-all.

It’s okay to rest.

I used to think that being strong meant pushing through no matter what. But actually, one of the most powerful things I’ve learnt is that it’s okay to pause. To rest. To recover. Sometimes coping and adapting means choosing to stop before you break. In fact, it often requires it – as time spent self-reflecting allows for awareness to build strategies to meet current needs.

Your story might help someone else survive theirs.

Speaking openly about mental health – including suicidal thoughts, trauma and burnout – is scary and it’s hard. But I’ve seen how much it matters. Every time we create space for courageous conversations, we reduce stigma and let others know they’re not alone.

You’re not the same person after the storm – and that’s okay.

Every event shapes us. We can’t go back to who we were, but we can choose how we move forward – who we want to be and the steps to get there. We can choose how we rebuild. For me, that’s meant turning pain into purpose, and sharing what I’ve learnt to help others heal.

Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness.

For a long time, I avoided showing vulnerability – believing it made me appear weak or incapable. But I’ve since realised that letting others see the real, unpolished parts of my story has built deeper trust, connection and healing – for me and for others. There is real courage in saying, “I’m not okay,” or “This is hard for me.” Vulnerability invites support – and that’s where true strength is found.

Being real creates real connection.

Authenticity matters. When I started sharing my true story, others began to open up too. Whether it was a colleague, a friend, or someone in the audience after a talk, people connected more when I was honest about the struggle – and the challenges with recovery. You never know who might be waiting for permission to drop the mask and feel safe being themselves.

Small steps are still steps.

It’s easy to feel discouraged when the journey feels long or progress seems slow. But every tiny action counts. Whether it’s going for a short walk, drinking a glass of water, finding the strength to call someone you care about or just getting out of bed on a hard day – those small wins matter. Progress is progress.

Final thoughts

These lessons can certainly be found in studies and academic settings, but they take on a deeper, more personal meaning when they’re shaped through our own struggles. For me, they became real through my lived experience. My challenges became my lessons and in turn my growth and my strength. It required learning to process them and move through them, rather than be trapped in them.

If you’re navigating your own challenges, take heart, it gets better, day by day, little by little. The lessons come later – as things begin to settle and when you take the time to pause, reflect and grow from what you’ve been through.