The Necessity of an Uncomfortable Place

Me in 2004, before I knew just how many uncomfortable places life would ask me to grow through.

I haven't packed in 18 years.

The last time I moved, I was leaving my mom's house and moving into my first apartment in Chicago.

I had clothes, a mattress, an IKEA dresser and whatever else a young woman takes with her when she's starting out on her own.

Moving wasn't that heavy of a load.

This time is different.

I'm a grown woman now, and apparently grown women accumulate STUFF. 

I have furniture. Dishes. Books. Files. Keepsakes. Photos. Clothes for every occasion known to humankind. Things I've purchased. Things I've been given. Things I've kept because they meant something to me and things I've kept for 15 years for sentimental value.

Packing after 18 years isn't simply putting your belongings into boxes.

It's going through your life.

Every closet, drawer, file cabinet, and forgotten corner has the potential to remind you of a person you were, a place you've been or a season you haven't thought about in years.

You're constantly making decisions about what stays, what goes and what deserves to come with you into whatever is next.

Some decisions are easy. Why do I own this? Trash.

Others require a little more consideration.

And then there are the things that stop you completely.

That's how I ended up sitting in the middle of packing materials reading something I'd written years ago instead of actually packing.

I came across several old pieces of my writing.

Some were typed.

Others were handwritten.

There were notes, edits, and ideas I'd apparently considered important enough to save.

One piece in particular caught my attention.

The Necessity of an Uncomfortable Place.

Twenty-two years later, reading words from a younger version of myself while packing for what's next.

I don't remember exactly what was happening in my life when I wrote it or what prompted me to put those particular thoughts on paper.

But as I started reading, I recognized myself immediately.

Not necessarily the woman I am today, but definitely the woman I was becoming.

I wrote about discomfort and the role it had played in my life.

I wrote about people seeing potential in me before I could fully see it myself and being pushed into experiences that didn't necessarily feel natural but ultimately developed parts of me I would need later.

As I sat there reading words I'd written so many years ago, I realized I've been thinking about the necessity of uncomfortable places for a very long time.

The interesting part is that after all these years, I still believe much of what I wrote.

I just understand discomfort differently now.

People Saw More in Me Than I Saw in Myself

The original “The Necessity of an Uncomfortable Place” written years before I knew how much life would teach me about discomfort.

I am a Chicago West Sider. I grew up on North Avenue and Laramie from birth to age 15.

In the original piece, I wrote about growing up in an environment some people would probably describe as challenging. There were gangs, drugs, burglaries, and occasional crime, but as a child, that wasn't how I experienced my life.

It was home.

I had friends, family, clothes I liked and things I wanted. I was a happy kid.

I wasn't sitting around thinking about whether greater opportunities existed somewhere else.

Other people were.

As I got older, teachers, coaches, family members, and others began telling me they believed I was capable of more.

They saw possibilities for my life that I couldn't necessarily see yet.

There's something both beautiful and uncomfortable about that.

When someone sees something in you that you haven't fully recognized in yourself, their belief can feel like an assignment you aren't sure you're qualified to accept. Suddenly, you're being introduced to a version of yourself you haven't met yet.

I experienced that more than once.

And then life said, “That's nice. Now go talk to strangers.”

One of those experiences eventually led me into sales, which was an interesting choice considering I was an introvert who didn't particularly enjoy approaching strangers.

Because obviously that's who you send into sales.

But that uncomfortable environment required something from me.

I had to learn how to approach people, start conversations, listen, connect, communicate confidently, and handle rejection without allowing every "no" to become personal.

Eventually, something that once felt unnatural became a skill.

At the time, I couldn't have known how much I would eventually rely on those abilities. I didn't know the rooms I'd walk into, the executives I'd support, the businesses I'd build, the clients I'd work with or the people I'd eventually teach.

I certainly wasn't standing there thinking, One day this discomfort will all make sense.

I was probably just trying to get through the day.

Looking back, though, I can see the connection.

There were people throughout my life who pushed me toward opportunities because they could see beyond who I was at that particular moment. Their belief didn't eliminate my fear or automatically give me confidence.

What it did was make me consider the possibility that perhaps there was more in me than I knew.

Eventually, I had to find out for myself.

That's one of the things younger me got right in that original piece. An uncomfortable place can introduce you to parts of yourself that comfort never requires you to meet.

Sometimes the person waiting on the other side of your discomfort is you.

Experience Added an Asterisk

Reading my old words, I could see how strongly I believed discomfort was necessary for growth.

And I still do.

Mostly.

When I was younger, I viewed discomfort almost exclusively as something to push through.

If something was hard, keep going.

If I was afraid, do it anyway.

If I wasn't good at something, practice until I got better.

Circa 1997–1998. Apparently, I've been practicing this philosophy for a while

If an environment stretched me, grow.

There is value in that mentality.

It has served me well.

I've walked into rooms where I didn't know anyone and figured it out.

I've accepted opportunities I wasn't entirely sure I was ready for and learned along the way.

I've stayed with difficult things long enough to discover that I was far more capable than I initially believed.

Some discomfort really is an invitation to grow.

But experience has also taught me something younger me didn't understand yet: not every uncomfortable place deserves your endurance.

There are places designed to stretch you and places that simply drain you.

There are situations where fear is evidence that you're standing at the edge of something new. And there are situations where that knot in your stomach is trying to tell you something you need to hear.

Wisdom, I've learned, is knowing the difference.

And apparently, an asterisk or two.

That's the part I couldn't have written at 20-something because I hadn't lived enough life yet.

Back then, I thought strength meant staying.

Now I know sometimes strength is recognizing when you've stayed long enough.

Sometimes the uncomfortable place is exactly where you need to be because you're learning, stretching, developing, and becoming.

But sometimes you've already learned the lesson.

And staying longer doesn't make you stronger. It just makes you stay longer.

What Uncomfortable Place Are You Avoiding?

Near the end of the original piece, I asked readers to think about what they were avoiding because it seemed too challenging, stressful, or difficult to face.

I stopped when I reread that question.

All these years later, I still think it's worth asking.

Discomfort has a way of making familiarity look incredibly attractive.

We know how this works.

We know who we are here.

We know what people expect from us.

Whatever is on the other side requires us to relinquish some of that certainty.

It could be a conversation you've been avoiding, an opportunity you keep talking yourself out of, or something you've wanted to start but haven't because you don't feel completely prepared.

Maybe the uncomfortable thing is an ending.

Maybe it's admitting you've changed your mind about something you were once absolutely certain you wanted.

It could even be walking away from something you're very good at because being good at it is no longer enough of a reason to keep doing it.

Most of us would really prefer a detailed itinerary before making decisions like those.

Me, requesting the detailed itinerary life refuses to provide.

Departure time.

Arrival time.

Expected turbulence.

Exact destination.

Preferably with confirmation that our luggage will make it too.

Life rarely offers that.

There are moments when we're asked to move without proof that moving is the right thing to do.

Other situations require us to remain uncomfortable long enough to develop the skills, patience, confidence or courage we'll need for whatever comes next.

The goal isn't to avoid discomfort.

But I don't believe the goal is to glorify it either.

These days, I'm more interested in understanding what my discomfort is trying to tell me.

Being still until I figure out which one I'm feeling. 😂

Fear because something is new feels different from the quiet realization that something isn't right for you anymore.

Being challenged isn't the same as being depleted.

Doubting whether you're capable isn't the same as knowing you're capable and realizing you simply don't want to do it anymore.

Those distinctions aren't always obvious while we're living through them.

But I've learned they're worth paying attention to.

Some Things Are Worth Carrying Forward

Eventually, I had to put the papers down and get back to packing. The boxes weren't going to pack themselves, although I gave them ample opportunity.

But I kept thinking about what I'd read.

I've accumulated a lot more than furniture in 18 years.

I've accumulated experience.

Apparently, the experience has to come with me too.

I've made mistakes, changed my mind, accomplished things I once couldn't imagine, and walked into rooms where I wasn't initially sure I belonged.

There were uncomfortable seasons that developed me, and others I probably stayed in longer than I should have.

All of it taught me something.

That's what made finding those old pages feel so timely. Here I am physically sorting through nearly two decades of my life, deciding what deserves space in the next one.

Some things have me asking, Why on earth do I still have this?

Others are harder to release because they represent a memory, a person or a version of my life that mattered.

I realized beliefs can require that same kind of sorting.

We carry ideas about ourselves for years without stopping to ask whether they still fit.

Things we learned about success, work, relationships, ambition, strength,and perseverance can follow us from one season to another simply because we've never thought to unpack them.

Reading my old piece gave me the opportunity to unpack one of mine.

Do I still believe there is value in an uncomfortable place?

Absolutely.

I know fear can convince us to play smaller than we're capable of playing.

I've experienced what can happen when someone recognizes potential in us before we see it ourselves, and I've learned that feeling unprepared doesn't always mean we aren't ready.

What has changed is my belief that pushing through is always the answer.

When you realize pushing through is not, in fact, the only option.

Growth has required me to stay when leaving would have been easier.

It has also required me to leave when staying would have been more familiar.

That last lesson may have been the harder one.

There is a certain confidence that comes from knowing you can handle a difficult situation. But there is another kind of confidence in knowing you don't have to prove it every time.

What I'm Taking With Me

Maybe that's part of what 18 years of living gives you.

Not a lighter load.

Clearly.

A little older. A little wiser. Still packing.

But hopefully, better judgment about what deserves to be carried.

So the furniture is coming.

An unreasonable number of clothes are coming.

The keepsakes that still mean something to me have earned their boxes too.

And apparently, a few words from a much younger version of myself are coming along for the ride.

She couldn't have known everything that was ahead of her when she wrote The Necessity of an Uncomfortable Place. 

She didn't know all the ways discomfort would eventually challenge her, develop her, redirect her, or teach her when enough was enough.

But she understood something I still believe today.

Comfort won't always take us where we want to go.

Eighteen years later, I'd simply add this:

Don't be afraid of an uncomfortable place. Just make sure you understand what it's asking you to do.