What If Discomfort Isn’t the Enemy? | Understanding Comfort Zones and Fear

I used to think that feeling uncomfortable meant that I was about to do something that was a really bad idea.

My body would be trying to convince me that whatever I was getting ready to do was about to be the worst decision imaginable.

You might recognize the feelings… Your heart starts racing… You start sweating… Your stomach begins negotiating an emergency evacuation plan… Your brain produces an impressive list of reasons why maybe this isn't such a great idea after all… And your imagination comes up with every possible disastrous scenario for how this is going to end.

Sound familiar?

Well to me, it felt like those feelings meant one thing. Stop.

Don't speak up.

Don't raise your hand.

Don't have the difficult conversation.

Don't step onto the stage.

Don't hit "publish."

Don't colour outside the lines of what you’ve always done before.

Well, it turns out that it wasn’t really my body. It was my brain. It was just using my body as the messenger.

I was just interpreting the messages wrong…

And it wasn't trying to ruin my life.

No. It thought it was trying to save it.

By setting off the fire alarm…

Because someone had burned the toast.

So, I have this weird habit of visualizing the strange things our brains do in their misguided attempts to keep us comfortable… safe… and firmly “in our place”.

I kind of visualize my brain as attic space. It’s where I store all kinds of things. Boxes of memories… filing cabinets of useful – and un-useful – information… a cork-board of to-do lists and reminders…

You get it.

But up there are my “gremlins” too. You’ve met a few of them before. “Imposter Phenomenon”, who is always trying to escape to cause me to ask me who I think I am. My “Qualifications Gremlin”, who likes to poke his head out to question whether I have the academic credentials to be hosting a podcast.

And recently, “Hyper-vigilant Harry” has introduced himself. He’s my amygdala - the part of our brain heavily involved in our threat response.

I picture Harry as a little hedgehog. Tiny. Earnest. Absolutely convinced everything is trying to kill me.

He doesn't hate discomfort. He mistakes discomfort for danger.

Harry isn’t fear. He’s just the guy who sets off the fire alarm.

And to be clear… none of these characters are evil – or even bad. They are protection mechanisms with really outdated software.

Really outdated. Like 200,000 years outdated.

So, Harry has exactly one job.

Keep me alive.

He's incredibly dedicated.

Never takes holidays.

Employee of the Month for roughly two hundred thousand years.

The only problem?

Harry doesn't always know the difference between danger... and unfamiliarity.

To Harry... standing in front of an audience to give a presentation... starting a podcast... having a difficult conversation... asking for a promotion... or hearing something rustle in the bushes...

all belong in roughly the same category.

Potential threat.

Harry is doing his best. But remember… he's working with very outdated software.

One of the things that sent me down a rabbit-hole while I was researching this topic was a theory in neuroscience called predictive processing.

In simple terms, our brains aren't passive observers waiting for all the facts before deciding what's happening.

They're pretty sophisticated prediction machines, constantly making educated guesses based on our past experiences.

You’d think that would be incredibly efficient…

But sometimes what it is, is our brain putting a grizzly bear costume on a perfectly harmless bunny rabbit.

For years, before a Speakers Bureau presentation for Threads of Life, I genuinely thought I was going to throw up.

My stomach certainly believed it. My sweaty armpits believed it. Hyper-vigilance Harry definitely believed it.

And don’t get me wrong. A lot of that hasn’t changed much. Many of those feelings are still there.

What changed was the story I told myself about them.

Instead of assuming those sensations meant I shouldn't be there... I started asking myself a simple question.

“What if this isn't danger?... What if it's excitement?”

Something kind of funny, that a lot of people don’t know, is that excitement and anxiety feel remarkably similar in our bodies.

Racing heart… Butterflies… Adrenaline dump…

The sensations aren't always the problem (although I get that it feels like a real problem while you’re experiencing them). Sometimes it’s actually the story attached to those feelings that is the problem.

I'm not suggesting we ignore discomfort. Far from it.

Some discomfort protects us. Some discomfort is wisdom. Some discomfort is our nervous system telling us that something genuinely isn't safe.

That deserves our attention.

But some discomfort isn't asking us to run.

It's asking us to grow.

The trick isn't becoming fearless. It's becoming curious enough to ask: "What kind of discomfort is this?"

When I think about it, almost every meaningful chapter of my life began with discomfort.

Leaving an abusive relationship.

Returning to school.

Becoming a volunteer speaker.

Starting a podcast.

None of those things felt comfortable. But every one of them expanded what I believed I was capable of.

Certainly not because I suddenly became brave.

Because I kept collecting evidence that my brain's first prediction wasn't always right.

So this week... when Hyper-vigilance Harry starts waving his tiny clipboard around... don't ignore him.

He's just trying to help.

But I encourage you to not allow him to make every decision.

Pause.

Get curious.

Ask yourself whether you're facing a grizzly bear...

or simply a bunny rabbit wearing a very convincing costume.

You might discover…

that it was never a grizzly bear at all.