Why Comfort Keeps You From What You Want

Last March, I made myself a promise.

I was going to challenge myself to send 3 emails, 1 blog post, 1 Substack, and 2-3 LinkedIn posts every week for one year.

I sat down to write the first email.

And I froze.

My hands hovered over the keyboard. My chest felt tight. My brain started offering me a dozen reasons why this was a terrible idea:

"You don't have anything new to say."
"Everyone else has already said this better."
"Who are you to think your thoughts matter?"

I almost didn't hit send.

The Brain's Ancient Protection System

There's a concept in behavioral psychology called the motivational triad. It describes three core drives that have guided human behavior for survival:

1. Seek pleasure
2. Avoid pain
3. Conserve energy

These instincts kept our ancestors alive when food was scarce and danger was real. The problem? Your brain still runs on this ancient operating system—even though your modern life requires something very different.

When I sat down to write that first email, my brain wasn't protecting me from actual danger. It was protecting me from discomfort.

The vulnerability of being seen. The risk of judgment. The pain of potentially being wrong or unoriginal or irrelevant.

So instead of writing, my brain offered me the pleasure of distraction. I could scroll social media. Research "how to write better emails." Plan the perfect content strategy.

Anything but the uncomfortable act of actually putting my thoughts out there.

How "Seeking Pleasure" Keeps You Stuck

Here's what most people don't realize: when your brain seeks pleasure, it's not always seeking what will actually make you happy.

It's seeking what will make you comfortable right now.

For me, that looked like:

• Reading about writing instead of writing
• Planning content instead of creating it
• Learning new strategies instead of implementing old ones
• Scrolling, researching, organizing—anything to avoid the vulnerability of hitting "send"

The irony? None of those things made me feel better. They just delayed the discomfort.

Meanwhile, the thing that would have actually made me feel better—writing and sharing my thoughts—was the exact thing my brain kept steering me away from.

The Shift

It's been months since that first email. I've been sending 3 emails, 1 blog post, 1 Substack, and 2-3 LinkedIn posts every week.

And here's what I've learned: my nervous system has gotten calmer.

The vulnerability of putting my thoughts out there still shows up. But it doesn't run the show anymore.

Because I stopped trying to eliminate the discomfort. I just stopped letting it make my decisions.

Now when I feel the pull toward distraction, I just notice it:

"Oh. There's my brain trying to keep me comfortable."

And then I write anyway.

Sometimes I remind myself: even if no one else reads what I write, at least my children will know my thoughts and feelings and the tools I use.

That helps.

But the deeper truth is this: the resistance isn't a sign that I shouldn't do it. It's just information that my brain is trying to keep me safe.

And safe, in this case, meant staying invisible. Staying small. Never risking being seen.

I don't want that life anymore.

What This Means for You

When you feel the pull to scroll instead of starting, to plan instead of doing, to research instead of implementing—that's not laziness.

That's your brain seeking the pleasure of comfort over the discomfort of growth.

The thing you keep avoiding? The one you know would make you feel better?

Your brain is protecting you from the vulnerability, the effort, or the uncertainty that comes with it.

But here's the question: What are you missing by staying comfortable?

What opportunity, relationship, or experience is on the other side of that discomfort?

What does the version of you who chooses growth over comfort get to create?

Start Here

Pick one thing you've been avoiding.

Not the biggest, scariest thing. Just one thing that you know would move you forward but feels uncomfortable.

Notice the resistance. Acknowledge that your brain is trying to protect you.

And then do it anyway—even imperfectly.

That's how you retrain your nervous system. One choice at a time.

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