I was having a conversation with a client recently about the discomfort of not being able to run due to an ongoing injury. Oh boy, could I recognize that feeling. Two years ago, when I was dealing with ongoing foot pain, I felt grief about not being able to do something that brought me so much joy.
Alongside her grief was a restlessness she couldn’t shake. For years, she’d been accustomed to moving her body in a certain way. And without that outlet, she had found herself turning to food.
Discomfort can do this. We find ways to change the feeling. It can be as simple as pulling out our phone when we’re bored in the carpool line. Or crunching our way through anger after our boss has criticized our work.
There are so many ways we try to move ourselves out of whatever we’re feeling.
And these coping mechanisms can work! At least for a little while. We feel some relief. We arrive somewhere more comfortable.
Sometimes, though, we might notice that what brought relief in the moment didn’t feel so helpful afterward. And then more thoughts might follow…
Why did I eat that?
Why did I just spend 30 minutes scrolling through Instagram?
Ugh, I wish I hadn’t had that second glass of wine! (The 3 a.m. thought…)
And now there’s another layer of discomfort—the thoughts about how we tried to feel better.
I was wondering how feeling ‘comfortable’ or ‘content’ became the desired way to feel. Could restlessness, sadness, or discomfort also be ways we feel life moving through us?
