During the plague of locusts, swarms of insects consumed everything in their path, including the durable crops that were able to withstand the previous plague of hail, as the pasuk states, "And they will obscure the view of the earth, and no one will be able to see the earth, and they will eat the surviving remnant, which remains for you from the hail, and they will eat all your trees that grow out of the field" (Shemos 10:5). The Torah here is referring to the damage assessment recorded earlier in the wake of the plague of hail, where we are told, "The flax and the barley were broken, for the barley was ripe and the flax was in the stalk, the wheat and the spelt were not broken because they ripen late" (Shemos 9:31-32). The barrage of falling hail cracked and shattered the mature stalks of barley and flax, however, the young and resilient shoots of wheat and spelt, which bent but did not break, were able to absorb the beating.
According to Rav Sadiah Gaon (cited by the Ramban), the postmortem report following the storm of hail was not told from the perspective of the narrator but rather it was part of Moshe's conversation with Pharaoh. Before discontinuing the plague, Moshe informed Pharaoh that while it was too late to do anything about the ruined barley and flax the wheat and spelt could still be salvaged. Rav Baruch Mordechai Ezrachi (Birchas Mordechai) and Rav Chanoch Ehrentreu (Kometz Haminchah) explain that Pharoah stubbornly refused to relent because he believed that by being firm and standing his ground, he was demonstrating strength and power. In response, Moshe directed Pharaoh's attention to the stiff stalks of barley and flax which crumbled under the pressure of the hail, as opposed to the wheat and barley whose suppleness ensured their survival. Moshe was suggesting that Pharoah consider relaxing his hardened stance and recognize that sometimes strength is found in flexibility, not rigidity.
This message is echoed by the Gemara (Taanis 20a) which advises a person to model their personality and temperament after the reed, which is soft and pliable, rather than the cedar tree which is firm and taut. In a torrential downpour, with hail and driving winds, the cedar tree is likely to be uprooted or break in half, whereas the reed is constructed to bow but endure. Indeed, palm trees flourish even in tropical regions that are prone to hurricanes precisely because their trunks are uniquely designed to concede to the wind instead of battling against it. Similarly, in order to weather the inevitable storms of life, to roll with punches and be resilient, a person must recognize that being flexible and forgiving can be a sign of strength not weakness.
Judaism believes that every person possesses bechirah chofshis - the freedom to choose between right and wrong. This is the foundation of human accountability and responsibility and the basis for the entire system of reward and punishment. However, those who work in the bowels of bureaucracy, performing essential but monotonous tasks, often feel robbed of their bechirah chofshis. The only available avenue to reassert some measure of control, and flex their muscles, is by denying requests and saying "no."[1] However, in truth, the decision to be difficult, and the impulse to be inflexible, stem from a place of insecurity. Those who are empowered usually appreciate the strength in being agreeable, because it is more satisfying and productive to say "yes" than "no." This is critical when attempting to establish a robust and sturdy home. One of the miracles that occurred on a daily basis in the Beis Hamikdash was that "when the people stood, they were pressed for space, yet when they bowed down, there was plenty of room" (Avos 5:5). When family members stand their ground and refuse to give in, the house quickly becomes a very cramped and uncomfortable place. However, when everyone understands the strength of flexibility and the value of compromise, then there will be ample space for all.
[1]See Rav Hershel Schachter, Freedom of Choice.