Facing Myself: How Discomfort Requires Practice

The Hard Practice of Facing Myself  

Lately, it’s been hard—it’s been all the things, to be real. I’ve found myself needing to slow down, really slow down, but I’m not great at that. Historically, when things feel heavy, I ramp up. I cling to the illusion of control, thinking if I just do more, move faster, or fix something, I can outrun the feelings.  
I can’t run anymore, I’m tired. So, I’ve started trying the little things I know to do—and I think they’re working?

I want the answer to be more impressive. Like, give me a glamorous, life-changing wellness ritual that sounds cool and mysterious when I casually drop it into conversation. But no. It’s just fresh air, movement, and sitting with myself. Again—no matter how many tarot cards I pull. 

So here’s what I’ve been turning to lately—what’s been keeping me grounded and helping move through all the noise. 

Discomfort as an Invitation  

For most of my life, discomfort has been that thing I avoid at all costs. It’s easy to stay busy, scroll mindlessly, or convince myself I’m too evolved to feel whatever it is that’s bubbling up. But lately, I’ve been (begrudgingly) leaning into the idea that discomfort isn’t my enemy.  

I wouldn’t call it a friendly invitation—it’s more like a knock on the door you really don’t want to answer. But when I do open the door (after some dramatic sighing, of course), discomfort has something to say.  

What I’ve been experimenting with is curiosity. Not fixing. Not running. Just asking, “What’s here? What do I need right now?” It’s awkward and slow and sometimes frustratingly unclear, but it’s also kind of… helping.  

The Annoyingly Simple Tools  

Okay, here’s the part where I tell you the revolutionary things I’ve been doing to “be myself.” Ready?  

Yoga

I drag myself to the mat, flop around, sink down, move into shapes, breath into those shapes and quiet just enough to feel more like myself each time. It looks different every day, because I am different every day - what a mind fuck. But it’s a practice of acceptance and I need it to move through my days the way I want.

Walkabouts

Walking. Literally just walking. Me, my feet and Rosie (pictured above). It’s maddeningly simple, but the fresh air and movement seem to work some kind of magic on my overactive brain. 

Meditation

It’s nothing like I imagined. I learned that my body is VERY loud, she has opinions and needs me to hear them. So, meditations look different than how I imagined they would. But it’s my practice, it should look like me. Which means sometimes I’m flat on my back, other times I’m cooking or staring at the woods—let yourself do you!

Rest

Rest is the most magical of all. How do we just, turn off? It’s wild. Don’t even get me started on dreams. But in talking about rest, I can hear my need for productivity woven in. Unless, I feel better so I can do more, then was rest worth it? I’m learning to give myself permission to just be in my body.

None of this is groundbreaking, I know. It’s annoyingly simple and almost painfully unexciting. But for whatever reason, these tools have been giving me just enough room to sit with myself, which feels like progress.  

That Little Kid Needs Me To Show Up

Last night, I got a text from my dad that really upset me. Normally, I’d push past it, brush it off, or tell myself I was overreacting. But this time, I paused. I said out loud, “I’m allowed to feel this. I am safe.”  

It was such a small moment, but it felt massive. I let myself feel the hurt, instead of trying to fix it or shove it away. By shifting toward the feeling, I realized there was room for it to move through me without consuming me, and that moment was a seismic shift. I was practicing discomfort—the glory lasted only a moment, but left a mark. 

I don’t have all the answers—I don’t really believe in answers. But I’m sharing this because sometimes it helps to hear what’s helping someone else, even (especially?) if it’s painfully simple.  

If you’re in it, too, start small. Lie on the floor and take a breath. Walk until your brain feels less loud. Sit with your feelings for just thirty seconds. It’s not about fixing or figuring it all out—it’s about giving yourself permission to just try.  

You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to take up space.