Self-Reliance Isn’t Defiance

Creative Response: My Journey Toward Self-Reliance

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string” (Self-Reliance). Those words have echoed through the most defining moments of my life, even before I ever read them. To me, self-reliance has never been about arrogance or pride— it’s about integrity, discernment, and the courage to stand firm when conformity feels easier. My journey toward self-reliance has been tested in many ways, but three moments stand out: my time in the Navy when I was stationed in Spain, a church social justice meeting that tested my self-expression, and my decision to trust my intuition during the COVID-19 pandemic. Each moment shaped my understanding that the most sacred voice is the one that rises from within.

When I was stationed in Spain, I learned that integrity often carries a cost. I was a BUCN at the time. I had just worked a late watch—a shift that, by regulation, allowed me to sleep in the next morning. Not long after I finally drifted into sleep, I was woken by a sharp knock on my door. A third-class petty officer stood outside and ordered me to muster with everyone else. I calmly explained that I was on late watch and allowed to rest, but a few minutes later, there was another, louder knock. This time it was the second-class watch coordinator, standing with another sailor beside him. His tone was already confrontational: “So, you’re telling me you told a third class ‘no’? That you’re refusing to muster?” I felt the tension immediately, the kind that rises in your chest when authority challenges principle. But I stood my ground. “Yes, I did,” I said, “because it’s in the instruction that those with late watch are allotted a sleep-in.” His reply was curt: “Then you can tell that to the chiefs.”

So, I got up, put on my uniform, printed the policy, and walked in with the paper in hand, thinking the truth would defend itself. It didn’t. The chiefs didn’t even look at it. They chewed me out—loudly, publicly, and without a moment to hear my side. But I didn’t lose my composure, because I knew I had done the right thing. I kept working hard, and months later, when evaluations came around, the same chiefs who had reprimanded me couldn’t deny my record. My paperwork—black and white—proved my performance. They could have easily given me the lowest possible rating after Captain’s Mast, but instead, they recognized my work ethic and awarded me an MP—the second-highest evaluation possible. Walking out of that office, I finally understood Emerson’s words: “Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind”. Even when others dismissed what I knew was right, standing by the truth gave me a peace no rank or reprimand could take away.

Years later, that same conviction showed up in a completely different place—my church. I had joined a social justice group, and during one meeting, we were asked to write down our responses to a discussion question on sticky notes. The leader read each one aloud, but when she came to mine, she paused, folded it in half, and set it aside. I waited for her to circle back, but she moved on. I finally asked, “Ma’am, why didn’t you read mine?” She smiled and said, “I think it might be too sensitive for some people in the room.”

That answer didn’t sit right with me. If we were there to talk about truth and justice, how could truth suddenly be off-limits? I said respectfully, “I’d like my words to be heard, too.” Then I read my note aloud. The room went silent—not out of anger, but realization. That moment taught me that conformity isn’t always enforced by rules; sometimes it’s disguised as politeness. Emerson said, “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist”. That day, I realized that even in sacred spaces, silence can become a form of submission. Self-reliance means honoring your voice, even when it shakes the room.

My most personal test came during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. Everywhere I turned, people urged me to get vaccinated. I listened, I prayed, and I researched—but deep down, my intuition told me not to. It wasn’t fear; it was faith. Emerson wrote, “To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men—that is genius”. That line describes exactly how I felt. I didn’t want to go against everyone else, but I couldn’t ignore the still, small voice inside me. My family didn’t agree, and my grandmother—whom I loved dearly—was persuaded by others to take the shot. She passed away soon after. That loss still aches, but it also confirmed what Emerson meant by trusting the light that comes from within. He said, “A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within” (6). That gleam was my guide. Even when it isolated me, it anchored me.

Each of these moments—standing firm in Spain, speaking truth in church, and trusting my instincts during the pandemic—taught me that self-reliance is not about defiance but alignment. The Navy taught me that authority doesn’t define what’s right. The church taught me that truth should never be silenced for comfort. The pandemic taught me that intuition is a divine compass. Emerson wrote, “For nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure”, and I have felt those lashes. But I’ve also felt the freedom that comes when you stand tall, knowing you didn’t betray your own soul. That, I believe, is what it means to trust the iron string within you—to live with integrity, even when the world demands otherwise.

Reflection: Echoes of the Iron String

When I sat down to write about my journey toward self-reliance, I knew I wanted to do more than just tell three stories. I wanted to connect the choices I made in those moments—standing up for what I knew was right in Spain, speaking my truth at church, and trusting my instincts during the pandemic—to the spirit of Emerson’s Self-Reliance. Each of those experiences tested whether I would yield to pressure or trust the voice within. In creating this response, my goal was to let the reader feel the tension I felt in those moments while also showing how they reflect Emerson’s belief that authenticity is sacred, and conformity is the enemy of the soul.

I began with my naval experience in Spain because it perfectly embodied Emerson’s line, “Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind”. When I stood before my superiors with the policy printed in hand, knowing they wouldn’t listen, I understood what Emerson meant about the loneliness of conviction. The Navy is built on hierarchy—on following orders without question—and yet, even in that rigid environment, my conscience refused to bend. In writing this section, I chose vivid sensory details—the knocks on the door, the silence in the hallway, the tension in my chest—to recreate that moment of moral isolation. I wanted the reader to see that self-reliance doesn’t always look like victory. Sometimes it looks like standing still while being misunderstood. That’s a truth Emerson knew well. When he wrote that “for nonconformity the world whips you with its displeasure”, he wasn’t being poetic—he was being prophetic. I felt those “lashes” in the form of reprimands, judgment, and whispers, yet they refined me rather than broke me.

The church story came next because it showed another side of self-reliance—one centered on the courage to speak rather than the courage to endure. Emerson wrote, “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist”, and in that moment, I realized how easily even good people can become gatekeepers of silence. By including dialogue in my writing (“Ma’am, why didn’t you read mine?”), I gave voice to the quiet resistance that self-reliance often requires. I wanted readers to feel that moment of discomfort—the pause, the glance around the room, the decision to speak anyway. Emerson’s essay isn’t just about defying authority; it’s about recognizing when society, even in gentle forms, conspires against individuality. In this section, I tried to reflect his tone of polite defiance: calm, firm, and unafraid to disrupt the peace in order to protect the truth.

The final story, about my decision during the pandemic, was the most personal and emotional. I chose to end with it because Emerson ends Self-Reliance by speaking about trust in the divine within oneself. “A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within”, he says—and that line became the heart of this scene. In the essay, I didn’t try to persuade anyone to agree with my choice. Instead, I used the story to illustrate how self-reliance is deeply spiritual. It’s about having faith in one’s discernment even when surrounded by doubt. The pain of losing my grandmother became a moment of reflection—proof that trusting my instincts wasn’t about defiance, but about connection to something greater. When I wrote this section, I intentionally slowed the pacing and softened the tone, mirroring Emerson’s own shift from fiery conviction to quiet transcendence near the end of his essay.

Stylistically, I modeled the rhythm of my writing on Emerson’s prose. His sentences are long, layered, and almost musical, moving between the poetic and the practical. I tried to echo that rhythm without losing my natural voice. His essay is rich with metaphor—he speaks of “iron strings,” “angels,” and “fatal shadows.” In my version, I replaced those metaphors with imagery from my own world: the sound of a knock on a steel door, the silence of a church room, the stillness of a decision made in faith. These images ground Emerson’s transcendental ideas in modern experiences that readers today can feel and recognize. In doing so, I hoped to honor his message while making it my own.

Writing this project deepened my understanding of Self-Reliance more than I expected. Emerson wasn’t telling us to reject society; he was reminding us not to lose ourselves in it. My experiences, though difficult, affirmed that lesson. In every setting—military, religious, or societal—there will always be voices demanding conformity. But as Emerson wrote, “To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men—that is genius”. That line now lives in me. It means that standing alone is not isolation—it’s integrity. Through this creative response, I discovered that my life, in its own way, has been an echo of that iron string Emerson described—a steady vibration of truth that keeps me grounded, even when the world grows loud.

Works Cited

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Self-Reliance. 1841. American Literature Since the Civil War