22/04/2025
Part 5 Healthy Relationship Patterns
Discomfort Isn’t a Sign to Stop
Feeling something doesn’t always mean you’re being harmed.
And discomfort doesn’t always mean something is wrong.
One of the most important things I’ve learned (and continue to relearn) is this:
You are responsible for your emotions.
Other people can trigger them, but they are yours to notice, name, and respond to.
This doesn’t mean your feelings are wrong or that you should dismiss them. It means you don’t outsource the management of your feelings to others. You don’t expect people to change just so you never have to feel something hard.
It’s also important to say:
This is not about accepting abuse.
Abuse is about repeated patterns of harm, control, manipulation, or degradation.
Taking responsibility for your emotions is not the same as excusing someone else’s behavior.
But outside of those dynamics, it’s easy to fall into what psychologists call emotional reasoning—believing that if I feel hurt, it means someone hurt me.
Or if I feel anxious, it means I’m unsafe.
Or if I feel rejected, it means they don’t care.
And while feelings are always real, they aren’t always reliable guides.
Sometimes we act on those emotions by blaming others. Or avoiding situations that might stir them up.
This is called experiential avoidance—choosing short-term relief over long-term growth.
But here’s the thing:
When we live according to our values—not just our feelings—we will feel uncomfortable.
We will have to risk hard conversations, tolerate uncertainty, and face vulnerability.
That’s the cost of authenticity, intimacy, growth.
Values-based living doesn’t always feel good in the moment.
But it creates a life that feels meaningful over time.
So next time you’re emotionally activated, pause and ask yourself:
• Am I trying to escape this feeling, or understand it?
• Am I making this decision to stay safe—or to stay true?
• Is this about what I value—or what I fear?
Because the work isn’t about never feeling anxious, hurt, or vulnerable.
It’s about learning how to hold those feelings without letting them run the show.
A little while ago, my son was really excited to try jiu-jitsu. He’d been talking about it for weeks—totally lit up by the idea of it.
The first couple of sessions went well. He was enthusiastic, engaged, and proud of himself for trying something new.
But by the third class, the novelty had worn off. The moves were more challenging. He realized he wasn’t instantly good at it—and he wanted to quit.
As his parent, it was so tempting to say, “Okay, no problem.”
He was discouraged. I could see the disappointment on his face.
And inside me rose all the usual emotions:
• Guilt.
• Self-doubt.
• A part of me wondering, “Am I pushing too hard?”
• Another part saying, “Maybe this just isn’t his thing.”
• And even a little resentful and angry that I had just paid for these lessons!
But once again, I paused and asked myself:
What do I value?
I value commitment.
I value learning to tolerate the messy middle of growth.
I value teaching my kids that being bad at something at first doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing.
So I encouraged him to stick with it a little longer—to push past that initial dip in confidence and discomfort.
Not forever. Not at all costs.
But long enough to give himself a real chance to see what might be on the other side of hard.
Growth doesn’t always feel inspiring in the moment. Sometimes it feels like resistance, awkwardness, and not being where you hoped you’d be yet.
But learning to stay—to sit in that discomfort instead of fleeing it—is one of the greatest skills we can offer our kids (and ourselves).
Here’s another example:
I was talking with another parent recently about a moment that really stuck with me.
Their child had started working with a writing tutor to strengthen some core skills. It wasn’t easy—the child had a learning difference that made writing especially challenging, and every session took real effort and focus.
After a few lessons, the child said they wanted to quit.
“It’s boring. It’s pointless. I hate it.”
The parent could see the frustration and exhaustion—and felt that all-too-familiar pull:
• Guilt.
• Helplessness.
• The desire to rescue their child from discomfort.
• That quiet, self-doubting voice: “Maybe this is too much. Maybe I’m pushing too hard.”
And it would’ve been so easy in that moment to say, “Okay, let’s stop.”
To soothe the child’s pain—and their own.
To buy some short-term relief.
But instead, this parent paused and asked themselves—not “What feels good right now?”—but “What do I value here?”
They valued education.
They valued resilience.
They valued teaching their child that meaningful progress often comes with frustration, effort, and discomfort.
They didn’t ignore the feelings—either their own or their child’s—but they didn’t let those feelings make the decision.
Instead, they let values lead.
And that’s the real lesson.
Living according to our values doesn’t always feel good.
Sometimes it means tolerating guilt, frustration, doubt, and the urge to rescue.
But it also means we’re building something more lasting than comfort:
we’re building character, confidence, and capacity.
