Using Adversity — The Hidden Power of Resilience in Chess

A pawn rises toward the sunrise — symbolizing growth, resilience, and transformation. Photo Credit: dreamstime.com

Every Sunday, I'm blessed with the greatest gift a chess player can have — a lesson with my beloved GM coach, Max Illingworth. Each lesson feels like a spiritual awakening. I'm often filled with new ideas and illuminating examples that change my entire perspective on the beautiful game.
However, it was a phrase he discussed on November 2nd, 2025, that truly caught my attention. While helping me improve my initiative, he directed me to several contemporary chess battles, most of which were quite overwhelming. As I was about to leave the Zoom call, I was awoken by something Illingworth said. He described counterattacking as a martial art — a discipline of patience and timing rather than brute aggression. Suddenly, the once-slumbering student in me perked up with interest.
My first proper understanding of counterattacking came in March 2025, when, during a period when I was desperate to transform my coaching philosophies, I revisited my old flame, Chessmaster Grandmaster (11th), as a way to inspire myself to stand out from the pack. It worked, as ever since then, I have come up with numerous high-level Lichess studies to help teach my fast-growing student community. Those lessons sparked a personal revolution; my coaching flourished as my Lichess studies elevated my students' growth to the next level.
Yet, it was the recent events that happened to me, including my breakup with my former company, Chess4Life, that prompted me to revisit the mental shift that helped me cope during my turbulent past. It was that moment when I realized that the habits that helped me survive weren't the ones that would make me thrive. Hungry for new ideas that could help revolutionize the game, I became determined to understand the history of the skills that helped great coaches and players before me reach the pinnacle of the sport.

Table of Contents

Early Resilience- A Trait Borne of Necessity
The Soviet Era- A Dawn of a New Generation
Josh Waitzkin- The Ultimate Competitor
Max Illingworth- Mindfulness in Motion
Michael Takahashi- The Japanese Salaryman with Midwestern Values
Applying it to Your Own Games
Conclusion
Further Study

Early Resilience — A Trait Borne of Necessity

An analysis session featuring players from the Saint Petersburg 1895-96 tournament. Photo Credit: ChessCafe.com

While the romanticists, such as Morphy, Alekhine, and Spielmann, dominated the chess world in the 19th century, the concept of chess psychology was still in its early stages of development. Even as Alfred Binet conducted one of the most impactful studies in chess history, also known as "Psychologie des grands calculateurs et joueurs d’échecs," the courage, fire, and ingenuity of beautiful chess combinations still ravaged the chess games during the 1890s.
But a quiet revolution was underway — Wilhelm Steinitz began to show that brilliance must rest on a foundation of logic. This new scientific approach — one of accumulating static advantages — directly contradicted the beliefs of those romanticists before him. With that insight, chess began its gradual evolution from an art form into a science of precision and strategy. As chess perspectives shifted, so did the results. Steinitz's victories over Anderssen in 1866 and over Zukertort in 1886 proved that logic could consistently beat inspiration.
These victories gave rise to a new breed — the counterpunchers. No longer were defenders paralyzed by the hostility of sudden attacks. Through the lessons brought forward by former champions Steinitz, Tarrasch, and Lasker, defenders began to hold their positions with calmness, absorbing the attack, and then launching a decisive counterattack with the opposing pieces on all the wrong squares. In front of you is a model example of one of the best early counterattackers of all time, Paul Keres:

While this game demonstrated a level of calmness in facing an attack, Keres's ideas led people to realize the key concept of the next era—the idea that positional soundness could coexist with dynamic possibilities. This dynamic awareness became crucial in the development of even more future world champions, as we will find out.

The Soviet Era — The Dawn of a New Generation

Viktor Korchnoi during an adjournment session. Photo Credit: Bert Verhoeff

As chess annotators began to explore the great games of Keres and the demise of the romanticists, something was brewing in the Soviet Union: chess, a game once considered a recreational activity, was becoming institutionalized. The USSR saw chess as a form of intellectual dominance.
Since the end of the Second World War, training, research, and schools started receiving funding. The Romantic and Classical ideals were now subordinated to scientific, objective preparation.

Subsequently, chess was viewed as more of a psychological sport, with Soviet trainers such as Mikhail Botvinnik, Alexander Kotov, and Yuri Averbakh incorporating psychological training into their chess development. In addition, books such as Psychology in Chess, The Secrets of Chess Training, and Think Like a Grandmaster began to emerge as the primary resources for chess improvement. Kotov's "Think Like a Grandmaster" not only reshaped calculation training but also became the cornerstone of modern cognitive chess. The "tree of analysis," as Kotov described it, served as a tool to illustrate a player's thinking process, with each branch reflecting one of the variations in the sequence of ideas.

As more trainers and coaches began to organize their students' thinking into transparent, organized variations, other terms, such as "candidate moves," emerged. This breakthrough in calculation ability would only enable counterpunchers, whose defensive skills depended immensely on the ability to set complex problems for their opponents, and separate the real threats from the bluffs.
It was also around this time that players began to develop their own psychological styles. Players like Tal, Geller, and Bronstein represented romantic fire reborn in modern form—speculative, yet psychologically grounded. As brutal attacks began to reemerge from the shadows, there was once again an answer: Viktor Korchnoi. Known as one of the greatest counterpunchers of all time, Korchnoi combined psychological resilience and incredible resourcefulness to match the power of his aggressive counterparts. This next game, taken from the 1971 FIDE Candidates Quarterfinal, is one of his finest efforts:

After reviewing this game, I came away highly impressed by Korchnoi's calm under pressure. As the tension mounted in the position, it felt like at every corner, Geller was one step away from delivering a decisive blow, yet Korchnoi, not fazed by his opponent's aggression, absorbed each of his attacks with a beautiful sense of harmony and rhythm, and then, as Geller's initiative began to fade, Korchnoi struck back with dynamic counterforces that left White paralyzed. As people started to respect the way counterpunchers like Korchnoi worked his magic, a single question emerged— could the lessons of psychological warfare on the board apply to the rest of life?

Josh Waitzkin — The Ultimate Competitor

A screenshot of Josh Waitzkin's Chess Academy from Chessmaster Grandmaster 11th Edition

As the 70s came and went, and the 1980s started, the Soviet School of chess psychology still cast a long shadow over the game that had stood for well over 1,500 years. Yet, despite the work done by the great Eastern philosophers before, it was the emergence of Western teachers, specifically from the US, that changed the landscape of chess psychology during the 1980s and 1990s. Bruce Pandolfini, a revered chess author and educator of the time, was one of the first American teachers to explicitly discuss psychological resilience and self-awareness as integral to chess mastery.
As a result of his teachings, phrases such as "visualization techniques," "pre-performance routines," and "dealing with performance anxiety" became central to educators' methods for working with their students. In addition, while players' styles became more defined during the Soviet era, they evolved from a style into a distinct trait. A lot of training discussion revolved around finding a "player's true character" and building a style that fit it — a theme central to Pandolfini's teaching philosophy. These seismic shifts in chess learning catalyzed a new figure who would continue to uncover the ideas surrounding chess and the mental development of the sport: Josh Waitzkin.
Emerging from Pandolfini's growing student community, Waitzkin turned failure into his greatest teacher — a theme that defined The Art of Learning. As Waitzkin put forth in the chapter on using adversity, he mentioned that "We have to learn to use adversity to our advantage — to be at peace with imperfection, and to turn our moments of disarray into fuel for creative energy" — Josh Waitzkin, The Art of Learning. Think of some of his famous games, most notably his match against Jeff Sarwer in the 1986 US Primary Championships. His games weren't only about tactics; they were windows into a developing philosophy of presence.
As I watched an 8-year-old kid fight back from setback after setback, I began to appreciate how he viewed the game at such a young age and how that perspective shaped the way he communicated his love of the game years later. Even as a kid under immense pressure, he carried himself with dignity and grace, even as he was hailed as the next American great through the movie Searching for Bobby Fischer. For today's players — especially those training online — Waitzkin's lessons on emotional recovery feel more relevant than ever. With that in mind, I want to turn you to one of his best wins of all time, one in which he embraced his mental strength with a fighting nature that resembled the greats before him:

As you probably observed from this game, the play of both players was far from perfect. As Waitzkin discussed in his introduction to the game in Chessmaster Grandmaster, he mentioned that high-level chess games are rarely perfect stories, featuring "two authors who want to tear each other apart." That being said, as the game started to shift, Waitzkin realized that his best path forward was to let the game come to him, seek clarity in the chaos, and then strike back when the moment demanded it. From the popularity of The Art of Learning emerged a new talent, one who would take Waitzkin's ideas and help change the future of chess education.

Max Illingworth — A Display of Mindfulness in Motion

An artist's rendering of the thought process, depicting color, harmony, and rhythm. Photo Credit: freepik.com

As chess continued to evolve with the turn of the millennium, players became fascinated with a tool that many thought could surpass their ability to view the game: engines. Having existed in primitive forms ever since the 1970s, engines have had a profound impact on chess. While players could spend many hours per day analyzing their games with data geniuses who could pinpoint mistakes in seconds, a growing fear emerged that chess was heading toward a state of perfectionism.

Indeed, ever since the rise of Rybka in 2005, chess engines have skyrocketed into the stratosphere, with modern engines like Stockfish NNUE, Leela, and AlphaZero now able to compete at an Elo rating of 3600- far beyond any human. Consequently, many researchers have begun to raise concerns about the impact of computers on human capacity, with some claiming that while "engines have significantly strengthened chess play, they have also posed challenges to human creativity and strategic thinking," as noted in a 2023 study by Modi and Acuna (Modi & Acuna, 2023).
From the fears of modern analysis to the yearning of the past, Max Illingworth stepped in. His approach represented the fusion of East-meets-West mindfulness—a counterbalance to the analytical noise of the computer age. Throughout his chess career, Illingworth observed the shift from Soviet thought to Western performance psychology, culminating in the current emphasis on seeking the truth. However, while the Soviets sought to control their mindset, Illingworth took a different approach. He realized that no one could perfect their mental game, but rather to understand their tendencies to make themselves better players. Chess psychology has historically revolved around mastery and perfection, focusing on training to eliminate mistakes and become objectively stronger.

Instead, Illingworth sought to bring a different perspective, one in which psychology is integral to personal development and self-discovery. In his Chess.com blog The Power of Form and Presence, Illingworth wrote, "only when you're able to turn off the mind chatter, and be here, in the now, do you regain agency over your life (as opposed to your mind and emotions)." As his contemporaries sought understanding for the most complex tactical positions known to man, Illingworth, like Waitzkin before him, sought clarity and peace through the harmony of movement: "The biggest thing that helped me improve when I was already a Grandmaster, funnily enough, was not the advanced strategies I studied, but rather, mastering the fundamentals. Making sure I never missed a simple tactic." It was this mental shift that led to one of his most outstanding ever achievements, winning the 2014 Australian Championships.
This win marked not only a high point in Illingworth's glittering career but also a beacon of hope and a symbol of his maturity breakthrough. No longer was he attached to the results and performances of his peers, but in his own clarity and calm. This mindset is the basis of his coaching, where he has stressed to numerous high-level students the importance of embracing complexity rather than fearing it, and cultivating psychological flexibility — the ability to adapt emotionally and strategically. With that in mind, I would like to present one of his greatest games of all time, mirroring his resilience in high-level competition and his grace under pressure:

You can feel the presence of mind that Illingworth displayed throughout the game. That being said, what stands out to me about this game is his patience and ability to let the game unfold naturally. This idea will remind you of the Waitzkin game, in which he struck with conviction at just the right moment. Yet, for all the tactical brilliance that came before this game, it was not a matter of any spectacular blow that gave White chances; moreover, it was his patient maneuvering of his pieces that brought him back. That point could not be more precise than in moves 25-27 of the game, when, having sensed his opponent's error in judgment, Illingworth did not rush the situation but continued to improve his pieces, allowing the game to unfold naturally. All of these ideas culminate in our final protagonist, who happens to be one of his students.

Michael Takahashi — The Japanese Salaryman with Midwestern Values

The neurodivergent brain, in all its glory. Photo Credit: Adobe Stock

Throughout my life, I've lived two opposing stories — that of the gifted neurodivergent thinker who sees patterns others can't, and that of the man battling his own self-doubt. Ever since I was a kid, chess has been an escape from my otherwise difficult childhood. As a kid with both ADHD and Asperger's, I was often bullied, made fun of, and treated below everyone else in the school.
Yet, for all the setbacks I faced, chess was my equalizing force. Every time I won a trophy, helped my elementary school achieve first at the state scholastic event, and represented my state at the National Junior High School Championships, I felt a sense of pride. The same people who once made fun of my neurodivergent ways now celebrate a chess champion to call their own. However, in many ways, I was a victim of my own success. As my performances began to improve and my rating increased by over 2,000 USCF, I started expecting more and more from myself. This became a big problem for me, as I began to question whether failing would make me a loser in everyone's eyes, and if they'd go back to bullying me like I experienced in elementary school. This was my struggle throughout high school, which, as difficult as it seemed, made graduating all the sweeter. In 2020, with the belief that I had finally conquered the wounds that once stained my reputation, I walked across the podium to receive my diploma. Except that never happened.

In March 2020, COVID-19 began. At first, no one thought it was a big deal, as it seemed like everything would be over in a couple of months. This wasn't the case.
As the months passed, the reality hit everyone that COVID-19 wasn't just the common flu: it was the start of a pandemic that would impact the world's history. In a span of a couple of months, I went from the possibility of playing in my final high school nationals and walking across the stage with my classmates to having everything taken away from me.
It's now November 2025, and the adversity that had hit my life wasn't over. I had gone from being a talent to earning my NM title, only to leave my college and the company that once trusted me, and desperately searching for an identity that could bring me the mental stability I was begging for. This is when Max Illingworth came into the picture. Facing an uncertain future and scarred from a troubled past, I put my trust in a man whom I thought could relate to me on a level that could run even deeper than chess. In an instant, things began to shift. The high-level Lichess studies that I cranked out were now getting attention. When life felt suspended, chess became my constant — the one thing that still offered rhythm and meaning.

Illingworth, impressed with my work ethic and attention to detail, gave me more opportunities than I had received at any other point in my life. Yet, for all of the success that occurred since that point, I had finally rediscovered my old self. At the core, I was a hard-working Japanese salaryman, infused with the work ethic taught by Japanese culture, while simultaneously born with the Midwestern toughness and determination that make up the person I am today.
I have learned that progress takes time and that learning a different side of chess is not a matter of stripping away my personality, but rather a window into my future, one where I am blessed with the ability to stay grounded and in harmony with myself, regardless of the challenges I face. From this point forward, I began to see myself differently, as a counterpuncher. Just as Steinitz and Korchnoi turned defense into attack, I learned to transform my own setbacks into a source of power. I hope you enjoy this masterpiece, which I believe is a symbol of my coming-of-age:

As you can see, my journey to this point has not been easy. It has been filled with trials and tribulations, and the nagging questions of whether I can actually make it. For years, I was stuck in my comfort zone, afraid to make mistakes and scared that my work would be undermined in the same way it was in my former company. This game represents my maturity growth; no longer am I shackled to the prejudices of my past, and I feel free, free to be myself and to use chess as a form of self-expression, which, by all accounts, is the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

Applying it to Your Own Games

Here are a few ways I've learned to turn adversity into power:

1. Welcome discomfort. When under attack, view it as an opportunity to test your defensive awareness.
2. Stay calm under fire. Most blunders arise not from calculation errors but emotional ones.
3. Study defensive masterpieces. Games by Petrosian, Karpov, and Korchnoi are gold mines of calm, precise play.
4. Build resilience off the board — Train your patience and focus, and they'll echo in your play.

Each of these habits strengthens your ability to counterattack with clarity instead of panic.

Conclusion

A beautiful chessboard in a room with the sunlight beaming in, a symbol for reflection and closure. Photo Credit: dreamstime.com

Looking back on this journey, I've come to realize that every era of chess psychology, from Steinitz to Korchnoi to Waitzkin to Illingworth, was never just about moves or results. It was about understanding the human struggle that lives within each position. Every time we sit across the board, we face the same opponent our heroes once faced: our own uncertainty. For anyone facing their own struggles — on the board or in life — may you learn to counterattack with clarity, patience, and purpose.
For me, counterattacking is no longer just a strategy; it's a reflection of who I've become. It's the courage to absorb pressure, to trust the process, and to transform adversity into creation. The most significant victories, I've found, don't happen on the board, but within the quiet space between thought and action — the moment you stop fearing imperfection and start embracing who you truly are.
That, to me, is the real game within the game.

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Special thanks to my coach, @Craze, for his invaluable help in shaping this post, and to the fantastic writers who came before me, for illuminating one of the most intriguing topics in chess history. If you've ever faced adversity in your own chess journey, I'd love to hear how you turned it into strength — share your story in the comments.

Further Study

Here are some excellent reads that influenced this perspective:

Illingworth, Max. “The Power of Form and Presence.” Chess.com, 2023.
Waitzkin, Josh. The Art of Learning. Free Press, 2007.
Kotov, Alexander. Think Like a Grandmaster. Batsford, 1971.
Modi, A., and Acuna, M. “Resilience in Decision-Making.” 2023.

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Michael Takahashi is a National Master, chess coach, and writer who explores the mental and spiritual aspects of improvement. Follow him @UncleRogerJr for more lessons on chess and self-mastery