Grit

​​Whenever a student failed an exam in the course, I always sent an email encouraging him or her to come see me during office hours. I told them about resources we had available, including myself, TAs, and peer tutors. And yet many students didn’t respond, all but guaranteeing they would barely pass the course. A lot of students wrote back with explanations or excuses, seeming not to realize that I was offering help, not scolding them. Luis responded immediately, and in a panic. He had studied hard and had no idea why he had failed. He showed up to my office hours with his textbook and notes, wanting to review the exam questions to see what he missed. We went over his lecture notes and talked about how to listen more effectively in class and take better notes. We discussed strategies for studying from the textbook. This wasn’t a onetime officehours appearance. Luis kept showing up, once a week. Sometimes we talked about other things, including his other coursework, how he was fitting in at Stanford, and how he didn’t want to disappoint his family at home. Luis ended up with a B in the course, which is the only time in my career that I’ve seen a student who failed the first exam make such a dramatic recovery. More important, I told the ScholarMatch students, I was invested in him. When he needed a letter of recommendation to become a resident assistant in his dorm, I was thrilled to​ write it. When he needed a reference for a summer fellowship, I jumped at the chance to support him. I was officially a champion for Luis. And it happened not because he was a natural superstar who aced the course. It happened because he turned an adversity into an opportunity. He let an F be a catalyst to draw on the personal strengths that had gotten him into Stanford, and to develop the skills and relationships he needed to succeed here.--

​​Then I gave them an example from my own life, about how I had almost​ quit graduate school.

Near the end of my first year at Stanford, I was analyzing a data set that ourlaboratory had been collecting all year when a lab assistant asked me a question about​ an inconsistency in the file. When I checked the file we were analyzing against the​ original data, I realized that I had made a technical error, more than two months back,​ merging several sources of data. My error had destroyed the fidelity of the data file​ we had been analyzing, and all the findings we thought we had observed were not, in​ fact, accurate. They were the product of a corrupted data set. I was horrified by my error and thought it proved that I wasn’t cut out for a PhD.​ This wasn’t a new fear; I had worried the whole year that I would show my limits.​ Unlike most students, who proudly wore Stanford T-shirts and sweatshirts to class and​ around campus, I didn’t own a single item with a Stanford logo. Instead, I was already​ anticipating the shame I would feel if I failed and had to leave the university—and I​ didn’t want to feel foolish for having bought a Stanford hoodie. Telling my advisor about my mistake was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I​ actually thought it would be easier to quit the program and disappear. (After all, one​ of my fellow first-year PhD students had gone home for winter break and never come​ back. He sent his advisor an email that said, “Sorry, psychology research isn’t for​ me!”) But instead of hiding or slinking away, I sat down and explained what had​ happened. To his great credit, my advisor didn’t chastise me for my mistake. Instead,he told me a story about a similarly disastrous research mistake he had made early in​ his career. He helped me fix the file and get the project back on track. In fact, the​ entire lab came together to help me finish my first-year project, and I received more​ empathy than the judgment I had anticipated

People who cope with adversity by shifting and persisting seem immune to the toxicity of a difficult or disadvantaged childhood. Chen has studied children, adolescents, young adults, middle-aged adults, and older adults throughout the United States who grew up in what psychologists call risky environments. In every age group, those who report a shift-and-persist approach to stress are healthier. Chen uses a range of biological measures that are considered to reflect a toxic buildup of stress in the body, like blood pressure, cholesterol levels, obesity, and inflammation. Although a difficult childhood sometimes predicts unhealthier levels of all these factors, that is not the case for people who choose to see the meaning in stress and believe in their ability to learn and grow from it. They look as healthy as, or healthier than, people who had much less difficult childhoods. Finding the good in stress doesn’t improve just physical health. It can also protect against depression and strengthen relationships. For instance, those who find a benefit in taking care of a spouse with Parkinson’s disease—such as saying that they now have greater patience and acceptance or that they feel a stronger sense of purpose— are happier with their marriages, and so are their spouses. In teens with diabetes, benefit-finding reduces the risk of depression and also makes them more likely to comply with blood sugar monitoring and dietary restrictions. U.S. Army soldiers who see benefits in their deployment, agreeing with statements such as “This deployment has made me more confident in my abilities” or “I was able to demonstrate my courage,” are less likely to develop post-traumatic stress disorder or depression. The​ protective effect is strongest for soldiers exposed to the most combat and trauma.

Why does seeing a benefit in these circumstances help? The biggest reason is that seeing the upside of adversity changes the way people cope. It’s a classic mindset effect. People who find benefit in their difficulties report more purpose in life, hope for the future, and confidence in their ability to cope with the current stress in their​ lives. They then are more likely to take proactive steps to deal with the stress and to make better use of social support. They also are less likely to rely on avoidance strategies to escape their stress. Even their biological response to stress is different. In the laboratory, people who can find a benefit in their struggles show a healthier physical response to stress and a faster recovery. All this—rather than some sort of magical thinking—is why benefit-finding predicts outcomes as far-ranging as less depression, higher marital satisfaction, fewer heart attacks, and stronger immune function.

Other mindset interventions take a long-term approach, like asking people to write or reflect on the benefits of a difficult situation every day for several weeks. After one such intervention on adults with autoimmune disorders such as lupus and rheumatoid arthritis, the participants reported reduced fatigue and pain. Those who struggled the most with anxiety before the intervention showed the biggest improvements in physical well-being. Women who wrote about the benefits of their cancer experience ended up reporting less distress and had fewer subsequent medical appointments for cancer​ related problems. Tellingly, women who had been relying primarily on avoidance coping strategies, like denial and distraction, had the biggest reduction in distress.

I have to admit that even as I write about this research, I struggle with the term benefit-finding. It bothers me in the same way that I’ve witnessed others object to post-traumatic growth, or to the cliché “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes youstronger.” To my ears, benefit-finding sounds like the kind of positive thinking that tries to scurry away from the reality of suffering: Let’s look for the bright side so we don’t have to feel the pain or think about the loss. But despite my own allergic reaction, this research doesn’t suggest that the most helpful mindset is a Pollyannish insistence on turning everything bad into something good. Rather, it’s the ability to notice the good as you cope with things that are difficult. In fact, being able to see both the good and the bad is associated with better long-term outcomes than focusing purely on the upside. For example, people who report both negative and positive changes after a terrorist attack are more likely to sustain post-traumatic growth than those who initially report only positive changes, such as not taking life for granted anymore. The same is true for medical scares. Survivors of a life-threatening disease, as well as their caregivers, are more likely to​ experience lasting personal and relationship growth if they report both benefits, such as learning to live in the present moment, and costs, such as fatigue or fears about the future. Looking for the good in stress helps most when you are also able to realistically acknowledge whatever suffering is also present

The upside of stress