January 12, 2025

It was uncomfortable

12 minutes

The randomiser wheel picked “It was uncomfortable”. I’m currently using a tool to select phrases for my daily journal practice. They are all associated with the theme of Strength.

Discomfort helps me know I’m alive. It’s more concerning when I no longer feel it. Uncomfortable even. No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. If I feel uncomfortable when I don’t feel uncomfortable, I still feel uncomfortable. Weird. Perhaps it’s more of a sensitisation thing. It ought to be concerning if I don’t notice discomfort. Or if I shrug my shoulders in the face of it. When I’m withdrawn, numbed out, and disconnected. Going through the motions, letting it happen, passive, indifferent and cynical.

I’ve noticed lots of things I wish I felt more uncomfortable about.

I want to feel uncomfortable because it’s a barometer of my engagement—an indicator of whether or not my nervous system is connected.

There are many discomforts. Some open doors to better places and others invite me to be a better person. Certain discomforts ignite a fire that is hard to extinguish. Others persist and endure. Some never go away. Some create possibilities that were inaccessible until now. Others will be strongly felt right now, but in time, they will fade and be forgotten. Discomfort can be a sign of, and a catalyst for change, a question that pokes and prods, tickling and shaking me awake, even when I’d much rather still be asleep.

It was uncomfortable…

When I didn’t know what I was doing.

When my legs felt wobbly, and I still had a mile to go.

To hear those words, “We need to talk”.

When I asked for what I wanted.

When you addressed the elephant in the room.

When we all knew, but he didn’t think we did.

When I started here.

When I told you off.

In that cold building.

When you told me to stop.

When I heard your story.

Whenever I walked.

To carry you.

To imagine a different future.

When I had to tell them what I had done.

When I admitted to myself.

When it suddenly stopped working, and we had to devise a new plan.

When I realised I was lost.

When I couldn’t afford it.

When they used those words.

When I couldn’t think my way to a solution.

When you put me on the spot.

When I realised I was wrong.

When you assumed.

To remember.

When I forgot.

When no one laughed.

When you cried.

When I had to choose.

When you asked for what I didn’t have.

When you pushed me.

When I pushed you.

To ask you to stop.

To let go of all those other possibilities.

In the silence.

When it turned out I was right.

When I looked you in the eye.

When we didn’t know what to say.

When the words came out wrong.

When they wouldn’t stop talking.

When it dawned on me.

How do I react to discomfort? Do I want to eliminate it at the source, hide, adapt, and learn from it? It depends on the situation, who is impacted, and the potential impact of enduring it. There are uncomfortable things that, when endured, lead to positive outcomes. Some uncomfortable things, when endured, lead to lower horizons. There are uncomfortable things that, when endured, can build inner strength and resilience, which can be used in the future and passed on to others.

Replacing and Reframing

Something interesting happens when you invert those phrases and replace the discomfort with safety, maybe as a desire (“I want to feel safe”) or a reframe (“I felt safe”). This can show us the kind of world we want to create and paint a picture of what safety and connection look, feel, and sound like for us.

What would need to be true for me to be able to say…?

I felt safe, though I didn’t know what I was doing.

I felt safe even when my legs felt wobbly, and I still had a mile to go.

It felt safe to hear those words, “We need to talk”.

I felt safe when I asked for what I wanted.

I felt safe when you addressed the elephant in the room.

I felt safe when we all knew, but he was unaware we did.

I felt safe when I started here.

I felt safe when I told you off.

I felt safe in that cold building.

I felt safe when you told me to stop.

I felt safe when I heard your story.

I felt safe when I walked.

It felt safe to imagine a different future.

I felt safe when I had to tell them what I had done.

I felt safe when I admitted to myself.

I felt safe when it suddenly stopped working, and we devised a new plan.

I felt safe when I realised I was lost.

I felt safe when I couldn’t afford it.

I felt safe when they used those words.

I felt safe when I couldn’t think my way to the solution.

I felt safe when you put me on the spot.

I felt safe when I realised I was wrong.

I felt safe when you assumed.

I felt safe to remember.

I felt safe when I forgot.

It felt safe because no one laughed.

I felt safe when you cried.

I felt safe when I had to choose.

I felt safe when you asked for what I didn’t have.

I felt safe when you pushed me.

I felt safe when I pushed you.

I felt safe to ask you to stop.

I felt safe to let go of all those other possibilities.

I felt safe in the silence.

I felt safe when it turned out I was right.

I felt safe when I looked you in the eye.

I felt safe when we didn’t know what to say.

I felt safe when the words came out wrong.

I felt safe when they wouldn’t stop talking.

I felt safe when it dawned on me.

What would need to change or happen for these to be true?

Does any of this resonate with you? I’d love to hear from you. Drop me a message. What would you write about in response to the prompt “it was uncomfortable…”?

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By Andy Mort

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