Resilience doesn’t suddenly appear in adulthood.
It begins in childhood—long before we have the language to name it.

You can see it in the way children fall and get back up without hesitation. The scraped knees, the wobbly steps, the mistakes that don’t yet carry shame. Children don’t pause to question whether they’re “allowed” to try again. They simply do.

That instinct—to rise, adapt, and keep going—is universal.

For children with disabilities, resilience may show up earlier or more visibly. Their challenges are often physical, public, or misunderstood. They learn quickly how to adjust, problem-solve, and persevere in spaces that weren’t always built with them in mind.

But children without disabilities are building resilience too—through disappointment, learning curves, social struggles, and moments when life doesn’t go as planned. Their challenges may look different, but the muscle being developed is the same.

Resilience isn’t defined by what knocks you down.
It’s shaped by how you’re supported when you fall.

When children are met with patience instead of pressure, encouragement instead of comparison, and understanding instead of expectation, resilience takes root. They learn that failure isn’t final, that effort matters, and that asking for help doesn’t diminish their strength.

This is where disability and non-disability experiences intersect so powerfully. Both teach that progress isn’t linear, that persistence doesn’t always look polished, and that growth often happens in the unseen moments.

When we nurture resilience early—by modeling it, naming it, and celebrating it—we give children something lasting. A belief in their ability to adapt. A confidence that they can face hard things. A trust that they are capable, even when the path forward isn’t clear.

Resilience isn’t a response to disability.
It’s a shared human trait—one we all begin learning as children, and spend a lifetime refining.

And perhaps the greatest lesson is this:
The more we recognize resilience in one another, the more connected we become—not divided by difference, but strengthened by our shared capacity to rise.