When struggling to get out of bed in the morning due to pain and

When Yolanda Hadid declared, “When struggling to get out of bed in the morning due to pain and exhaustion, the last thing on the priority list is going to get a blow dry,” she spoke not of vanity or appearance, but of the heavy cost of illness and suffering. Her words carry the quiet gravity of one who has walked through weakness and discovered that in such states, the smallest acts of survival outweigh the trappings of luxury. This quote is a testimony to the way pain strips life down to its essence, forcing us to measure what truly matters when strength is scarce.

To rise in the morning, for most, is a simple and often unremarkable act. Yet for those weighed down by exhaustion or enduring chronic pain, it becomes a heroic struggle. Hadid reminds us that in such moments, adornments—whether fine clothes, styled hair, or polished appearances—lose their importance. Survival becomes the victory. The ability simply to rise, to stand, to breathe, to face the day is itself a triumph, greater than any external presentation. Her words are a reminder that life’s truest battles are often fought in silence, unseen by others.

The ancients knew of this struggle between body and spirit. Consider Epictetus, the Stoic philosopher, who lived with lameness and constant discomfort. He taught that the body may be afflicted, but the soul retains its dignity if it endures with patience and truth. He would have understood Hadid’s confession well: that when the body is weakened, external concerns fade, and what remains is the will to simply continue. For the philosopher, as for Hadid, the priority is not appearance, but perseverance.

History gives us the story of Franklin D. Roosevelt, who, after being stricken with polio, endured pain and paralysis for the remainder of his life. Rising each morning was itself a trial. Yet his focus was not on appearances, but on strength of purpose. Though his legs failed him, his will did not. He reshaped his existence around what mattered most—leading his nation through depression and war. Roosevelt, like Hadid, reminds us that when life presses us down, dignity is not found in outward image, but in the courage to continue despite weariness.

Hadid’s words also offer a lesson in compassion. Many judge others by how they present themselves, forgetting that some may have fought battles simply to leave their bed. To dismiss the weary or ill because they do not meet standards of appearance is to show ignorance of the unseen struggles they bear. Her reflection invites us to look deeper, to extend kindness, and to honor resilience in all its forms, even when it comes clothed not in glamour, but in endurance.

The teaching is clear: do not measure your worth—or that of others—by the outward polish of appearance, but by the unseen strength it takes to endure the day. For some, rising at dawn and facing the hours ahead is as great a victory as any conquest in battle. Learn to recognize these victories in yourself and in those around you, and let compassion shape your judgment.

Practically, this wisdom calls us to gentleness—with ourselves and with others. If you struggle under the weight of exhaustion or pain, release the pressure to adorn yourself for the world’s gaze. Celebrate the small victories: rising, walking, breathing, enduring. If you are strong and unburdened, extend understanding to those whose struggles you cannot see. Offer help, patience, and love, for in doing so you honor the dignity of the human spirit.

Thus, Hadid’s words, though framed in the language of daily life, become a profound teaching: that true beauty lies not in styled hair or flawless presentation, but in the quiet heroism of those who rise despite their suffering. Let us learn from this: to value endurance above appearance, compassion above judgment, and perseverance above perfection. For in these truths, humanity finds its noblest strength.