The Sense of Hope
Of all the dimensions in the Resilience Tree™, hope is the one people most often assume is fixed — something you either possess or you don’t. You’re labeled as a “hopeful person” or a “not‑so‑hopeful person,” as if hope were simply a matter of temperament or outlook. That framing has always troubled me, because it reduces hope to a personality style rather than what it truly is: a capacity that can be cultivated, strengthened, and returned to, even after it has been shaken.
The Sense of Hope is one of the six outer core dimensions in The Resilience Tree™ model, and in my experience working with individuals, teams, and organizations, it is the one that often does the most quiet, structural work. It is not the loudest dimension. It does not announce itself the way Sense of Identity does or show up in day‑to‑day decisions the way Sense of Purpose does. But when hope is strong, the other dimensions hold better under pressure. When hope is thin, even a person with a clear sense of identity and a deep sense of purpose will struggle to move forward.
That is why Sense of Hope is one of the key roots of everything we do. Not the whole tree, but integral to the root system that keeps the whole thing flourishing.
What Hope Actually Is
In the context of the Resilience Tree™, Sense of Hope includes optimism, but it is not limited to positive thoughts or emotions. Optimism is a disposition. Hope is an orientation — a way of relating to the future with steadiness and trust. Optimism, together with readiness, future‑focus, affirmation, and maintaining a healthy sense of humor, helps bring a realistic yet hopeful outlook. Hope allows us to trust that even if things do not turn out the way we want or expect, there is still a path forward and something worth moving toward.
People sometimes come to me after a loss, a failure, a diagnosis, or a season of sustained difficulty. Many will say something like: I used to be a hopeful person, but I’m not anymore. What I hear in that is not the death of hope. I hear someone whose hope has been buried under the weight of what they have been carrying. That is different. Hope that has gone quiet is not the same as hope that is gone.
I have lived that difference from the inside. There were seasons when the way forward was so obscured that hope felt buried, not absent — still there, but covered by everything I didn’t yet know how to hold. And yet, even in those darkest stretches, something in me remained — a quiet ember my faith had tended over a lifetime. It did not depend on my emotional clarity. It simply endured, even when I could not see where it might lead.
What I’ve learned is that hope returns in different ways. Sometimes it comes back in an instant — a sudden clarity, a breath of grace, a moment that shifts everything. But more often, hope returns through small, ordinary movements. A morning walk that steadies your spirit. A conversation that opens more than you expected. A moment of prayer or stillness where something inside aligns again. You don’t always notice hope returning in real time. But one day you realize you’ve been moving forward again, guided by something deeper than circumstance — something that lived in you all along.
What a Developed Sense of Hope Looks Like
In the RTI assessment, we look at Sense of Hope as a measurable dimension — not because hope can be reduced to a score, but because seeing where it sits relative to your other dimensions tells you something important. A person whose Sense of Hope scores significantly below their own average is often carrying a weight that the other dimensions cannot compensate for. That is useful information. It is a place to put attention.
A mature Sense of Hope reveals itself in quiet but unmistakable ways. It shows up as the capacity to sit with difficulty without being swallowed by it. It shows up as a steady belief that what comes next can hold goodness — not a naïve certainty, but a grounded openness, a willingness to trust. It shows up in the simple, resilient acts of continuing to plan, to invest in relationships, to stay engaged even when the fruits of that effort are not yet visible.
People with a strong Sense of Hope do not experience less pain than anyone else. They experience it fully. But they carry it differently. They refuse to let pain become the whole story of what is possible.
The Source of Hope Matters
One thing I have noticed across many years of working with people in different contexts and cultures is that hope is always anchored to something. No one hopes in a vacuum. They hope because of what they believe, who they love, what they have survived, what they have been promised, or what they have seen become possible in their own life or in the lives of others.
For me, the wellspring of hope is faith. That isn’t a requirement for working with me or for taking the RTI. People from many traditions — and from no tradition at all — engage with Resilience Land. But it would be less than honest to pretend that my own Sense of Hope, especially in the seasons when it felt most obscure, came solely from my own strength. Again and again, it has been held by a Presence larger than my capacity to create hope on my own. That is simply my lived experience, and it belongs in any truthful conversation about resilience.
Whatever your source of hope may be, naming it matters. Hope is not a mood that drifts in and out; it is something deeper, something with roots. When hope feels thin, knowing where those roots are gives you a place to return — something steady to lean on — rather than waiting for a feeling to reappear.
A Starting Place
If your Sense of Hope feels far away right now, begin with whatever is still quietly drawing you forward. It doesn’t have to be big or convincing. Often, it’s something small — a person who reached out, a project that still stirs a little interest, a morning that felt even slightly lighter than the last. Those small movements matter. They’re not proof that everything will be fine; they’re signs that hope is still present, still offering you a direction to lean toward.
If you want to understand where your Sense of Hope sits alongside your other resilience dimensions, the RTI assessment is a good place to start. Not because a score captures your whole story, but because it opens a conversation worth having — with yourself, and with someone who can help you take the next step with clarity and support. f this reflection has stirred even a small sense of possibility in you, trust that. Hope rarely arrives all at once; it usually begins as a quiet pull toward life. Wherever you find yourself today, you’re not walking this path alone. Grace has a way of meeting us right where we are and steadying us as we take the next step.