Comfort in Discomfort
Sometimes I feel like my life was always destined for pain.
The pain of knowing.
The pain of grief.
The pain of heartache.
The physical pain.
Growing up with childhood sexual abuse, constantly seeing the byproduct of people doing horrible stuff to each other like assaults and murders, and witnessing so much human suffering can either sink you or propel you forward. I choose the latter. I’ve kind of gotten used to it in the almost 4 decades that I’ve been alive. Although my goofiness, sensitivity, and empathy may not allude to any form of mental or physical toughness, I can assure you that I’m probably one of the toughest bitches you know.
It takes a lot of strength to be this gentle of a person.
I don’t quit when it’s uncomfortable. I might pause a second, catch some air, but I don’t quit. I’ve started to come to embrace the pain of life though. I think I give a big credit to jiu jitsu for that. In fact, this stream of thought came to me during a drilling session this week.
My training partner, Simona, who is NOT heavy by any means, was working on passing my Del A Riva Guard. For those of you who don’t speak BJJ, it’s a position in which I’m on my back with one of my legs wrapped around the outside of hers, trying to control her with the other three limbs I have left by way of a combo of different grips. I hate this position. My ankle doesn’t have the flexibility AND it absolutely sucks when someone defeats it by a simple smash pass (which is just as the term describes).
It’s only made worse when the smash passer in question places their head next to yours and proceeds to cross face the crap out of you with their shoulder. As I said before, Simona is a tiny lady… but she feels like a brick shit house when she’s collapsing her whole weight against your feeble legs. Before you know it, you’re just in a tiny, twisty ball on the bottom waiting for her to finish murdering you while coach and her talk through the process.
It’s not comfortable. Then again, life’s not comfortable. We don’t grow when we’re comfortable.
Wtf am I even doing with my life….
I used to envy people who grew up with wealth. With parents who pay for their college. Pay for everything. Who haven’t worked a shit job or physical labor before in their life. Who haven’t had to witness anything outright traumatic. Who don’t know what it’s like to have to fight another human being… hell I don’t even know what it’s like to fight another human being in the context of saving my own life, which is a totally different ball game.
I used to envy privilege, while also acknowledging the fact that I do have privilege of my own. I don’t want it though. I prefer the harder route of carving my own path… which at 37 I’ve done a pretty damn good job at.
But back to discomfort. Yes.
Whether it’s emotional, physical, or psychological… we are programmed to avoid discomfort yet it’s with a slightest amount of discomfort where we grow tremendously. I swear for every ounce of discomfort, you grow a pound of resiliency… but it has to be a manageable amount of discomfort… otherwise you spoil the recipe.
I guess I’m in discomfort so often that I sort of find it comfortable. I’m used to it… physiologically my body has adapted to being red-lined so much that normal day to day operations fatigue me. I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing though… if I’m being honest. I want a peaceful life… I crave it. But I know strife is what I need to evolve.
