Fragile Isn’t a Flaw: Embracing the Beauty of Being Handled with Care

Yvonne Smith, LPC, CCTP, CTIC

I’ve yet to meet someone who enjoys being called fragile. Fragility—often associated with weakness, instability, or brokenness—tends to make people uncomfortable. Yet, as time passes, I am becoming increasingly convinced that healing and wholeness do not equate to the absence of fragility. Fragility, often wrapped in grief, disappointment, and uncertainty, is a part of the human experience—one we move in and out of, often without consent.

Feelings of fragility often surface when we surpass what psychology calls the Window of Tolerance. This “window” represents the range of emotional and physiological experiences we can manage without becoming overwhelmed. As life’s circumstances push us beyond this window, our nervous system shifts into overdrive. We may lash out, become hypervigilant, experience panic attacks, or display other physical and psychological stress responses. It is in this space that fragility emerges—when circumstances beyond our control seem to compress our resilience down to the size of a mustard seed.

While our window of tolerance can—and does—expand through spiritual empowerment, practiced resilience, and adaptive coping skills, acceptance of fragility as a normal part of the human experience is essential for healthy growth and forward movement. Fragility is not a failure of growth; it is often the very soil in which growth takes place.

Elijah was distressed and overwhelmed, wishing to die (1 Kings 19). His story reads much like modern-day experiences of stress, grief, disappointment, and emotional exhaustion. I often see believers in counseling who are traumatized, anxious, and emotionally overwhelmed. Many did not choose the circumstances they are facing, and without their consent, they became fragile—not broken, but fragile—and rightfully so. Their fragility does not negate their strength or perseverance; it reflects a temporary state of being.

On our journey, we will have moments that wear down our mental and emotional health, leading us to our own juniper tree moments and trek through the wilderness. Finding peace during these seasons of fragility begins with acceptance and how we understand ourselves. I often view myself as glass—both fragile and durable. Glass must be handled with care, yet it is also sturdy and designed for a purpose.

My favorite glassware holds hot tea, ice water, juice, or coffee. It can be placed in the freezer, refrigerator, or microwave. I don’t baby my glassware—I use it for its intended purpose. But using it beyond that purpose would lead to cracks in its design, and once cracked, it must be discarded.

The good news is that, unlike glassware, we are designed to be renewed and restored. The neuroplasticity of our brains—working in tandem with the Spirit of God—is the space where resilience is formed and our window of tolerance expands. But how do we actually get there? How do we intentionally move toward resilience through both spiritual formation and therapeutic practice?

We get there through suffering in Christ's will and executing small, intentional practices that train the nervous system to remain anchored in truth during moments of fragility.

When we become fragility’s victim, rather than pitching tents in our mental and emotional turmoil, we are invited to suffer in Christ and to choose to walk in biblical truth. We suffer in Christ by making decisions rooted in His Word rather than meddling in conclusions driven by uncertainty. While staying this course isn't easy, remember that Elijah's trek through the wilderness led directly to an encounter with the Lord and greater clarity.

Intentional practices such as reading and ruminating on Scripture help retrain the brain toward resilience as we rehearse and meditate on truths deeper than our current realities. This constant feeding of scripture to our inner man, coupled with the work of the Spirit, allows these eternal truths to settle in our hearts and minds, while growing deep, stable roots that spiritually empower us and neurologically wire our brains to withstand life's storms.

While we must not ruminate on a negative report, we also cannot ignore it. Similar to a lament, we are invited to name and address the issue while ultimately concluding that God is in control. For example, we may say, “Lord, I am afraid of the circumstances in front of me. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t have the strength to move on, but I know that Your strength is made perfect in my weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Statements of faith like this allow us to acknowledge the problem while anchoring ourselves in the truth of God’s word. This practice is not only powerful in spiritual formation; it is also a therapeutic antidote—gently shifting our attention from problem-oriented thinking to solution-oriented hope. These statements of faith position our minds in expectancy, reminding us that there is a Power beyond ourselves who is both willing and able to intervene. In this space, hope is activated, resilience is birthed, and our window of tolerance expands as we wait upon the One who will reveal Himself as powerful.

We do not need to play God or attempt to be Christ—we are simply called to remain in Christ, holding fast to the promise that He will restore, satisfy, and deliver. Even when the outcome we prayed for is not the outcome we received, we trust that God will yet restore, refresh, and hold us together as we grieve and heal. The key is to remain in Christ so that our thoughts, decisions, and behaviors reflect our position.

If you find yourself in a fragile state like Elijah, allow yourself to rest and let God minister to you. When you cannot fight, trust God to fight on your behalf and to strengthen you for the next step. God did not rebuke Elijah when he wished to die; instead, He provided rest and miraculously supplied a meal. Only after this did God call him forward—into a wilderness of rough terrain where he would encounter Yahweh.

Trust that, like Elijah, you will encounter God and emerge from the wilderness with greater clarity—recognizing that what made you fragile is also shaping the durability needed for the purpose God has designed you to fulfill.

Don’t run from your fragility. Embrace it. Remember that—the boundary lines have fallen for you in pleasant places. (Psalm 16:6)