Cleaving from our own comfort

The uncertainty inside and the choice we have to be more of who we are in our leadership and in our lives.

"But there are sacrifices for every choice that goes against the grain. You don't slash and burn without cleaving from your own comfort."

Scrapping the Lawn
Maya Stein

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I hold a deep responsibility for other people's growth. I know it's not mine to carry, but when I'm trusted with guiding transformation and change, I want to control this. I care so much about these humans and the possibility of them tasting better that I get stuck in the story: it's all up to me.

And then I remember there's always a crumbling in their growth journey that only they can hold. They are not alone in this, but I can only walk them to the door. They get to choose whether — and how quickly — they turn the handle with their hands. They get to choose whether they will actually cross the threshold into the adventure of the unraveling.

I have come to know this heavy feeling as the burden of truth. I know that in the palm of their hands is the most special treasure — their sense of agency, their power, their light — and I'm asking them to take hold of it. Claim it, once again, as their own.

This will set you free.

When we're choosing to grow, there is a soul fight that happens. And when we step into the process of unlearning, there are two paths that are constantly offering invitations. Both require effort. Both require energy. One keeps leading us back to the dead-ends we've explored before. The other leads us toward a version of ourselves that is stronger and wiser than we've ever imagined.

The well-worn path

This well-worn path is a deeply rutted road. There is seemingly no effort required to tread here. When things get hard, it's just a frictionless slide back into our familiar and dysfunctional patterns and behaviors. Our untrue stories that keep us stuck.

This well-worn path is habit. We don't have to think about taking this path. It's automatic. It's where we've been conditioned to go in the uncertainty because we haven't yet questioned what we think we know. It's as easy as listening to and not disrupting the harmful ways we talk to ourselves when we're scared, lost, or failing. It's as easy as numbing that fear with anything that won't make us feel when we're hurting and don't want to face the pain.

On this well-worn path, our plates are overflowing with busy. We take on too much. We stay caught up in the stories of no choice. No time. No boundaries. No space. No rest. No agency. We run from discomfort and conflict. We ignore emotions, neglect our needs, blame others, and feed on our feelings of inadequacy.

We are addicted to this first path even though it causes deep suffering. It keeps serving up the same useless advice, but we keep choosing it regardless. It appears to be comfortable and lack effort, but it actually takes a lot from us. It’s exhausting. It feels heavy, hard, depleting, dark.

It sucks us dry.

On this path, we push through.
We press repeat.
We stay stuck where we are.

The tall grass

This less familiar path has tall grass. It's harder to see the ground and requires some effort in wayfinding because it's new to our conditioning. This path does require energy. And even more courage and risk. This path is hard, but in a different way. Since it's not habitual yet, it feels scary. It appears to be dark, but actually, it's where all the light is found.

This less familiar path requires work but this work feels different. This path is where we experience what it feels like to be home. To be strong and powerful. We have to work for this. We have to practice being with our difficult emotions. We have to meet our critical thoughts with compassion. We have to be courageous in speaking up when we’ve made a mistake or be brave in asking for what we need.

Sometimes the work of this path is a lot, but this work fuels us. It gives us more energy, ideas, connection, trust, and love. Although scary, it feels lighter. Exciting. Inspiring. Calm. Once we get on it, this path feels authentic to who we are and want to be. This path is resilience.

On this less familiar path, we are building the muscle to zoom out and slow down when no one around us is doing any different. We recognize when we are spinning because we’re listening to our bodies and paying attention to the signals its sending. We are conscious that it takes a different kind of effort to experience ease.

In the tall grass, we are intentionally choosing to examine, disrupt, and question where the unnecessary pressure is coming from. We are willing to face into discomfort rather than eject ourselves from it. We work through our emotions and stories of shame and understand where we're stuck so we can ask for help. We are patient and loving with ourselves. We know it’s hard. We remember who we want to be. We take a break. We forgive ourselves. And we keep trying.

On this path, we rest.
We press pause.
We explode into our greatest potential.

Cleaving from our own comfort

We’re going to oscillate between these two paths because we’re human. And it’s important to acknowledge that when we’re committed to the process and expansion of growth — of keeping our promises to ourselves about who we really want to be — our old habits and behaviors often become a security blanket we clutch. We're so afraid to let go of what we know, so we settle in, hunker down, and hold on tight. Even when we know we’re self-sabotaging and there are better choices we can make.

But if we're conscious of this — and we build the sensing and courage to turn toward the signals of discomfort — we will know in our bodies when it’s time to choose the tall grass. That unfamiliar path that continues to invite us to cleave from our own comfort.

I know what it feels like to be on both of these paths. I still shift between them, but I’m getting so much better at paying attention to the "comfort" of that well-worn, deeply rutted road where I'm soaking in a bath of my own fear and doubt.

I know very well when I’ve taken up permanent residence in the swirl of my suffering. I know I’m on this well-worn path when my body feels heavy and sore from carrying the world on my back. Everything is harder and takes longer. I'm spending days — if not weeks — bumping up against the same challenges. The same ceilings. The same limiting stories.

I’m getting so much better at trusting there is respite for me in the tall grass, and if I orient there — instead of abandon myself — I won’t have to ignore my emotions or push through the pain. I can just let them come through and love myself in the process.

When I have the strength to choose the tall grass, I know it’s always a doorway to a reckoning. It's inviting me to crumble what's really holding me back. Crumble what I’ve allowed to build up for so long. And what I'm learning is that stepping into these invitations seems daunting and overwhelming at first. Until it isn't. It's not that I get to skip the part where I feel pain or discomfort. But now I'm experiencing what resilience really feels like.

The more we cleave from our own comfort, the more we learn to show up for ourselves, the more we make space from the noise, we will experience how much faster we can get up when we fall. How much smarter we are. How much more loving and compassionate we can be. How much easier it is to be true to ourselves because it's what we've been practicing. This work builds up too, but only to kindly remind us — when we're in those old, well-worn habits — to stop ourselves and reorient toward the tall grass, where we know we’re equipped with the strength and confidence of our truest selves.