Comfort is a Liar
Do you like scary movies? I don’t. Well – I do now. Kind of. The older I get, the more I tolerate them. Never alone though. I’m not trying to invite spirits into my upstairs apartment via Netflix, thanks.
I don’t watch them for the cheap thrills or that charming hollow feeling in your gut when a creepy sound comes from behind a slowly creaking door (…so maybe I’m still firmly in the no thanks camp) but for another reason: perspective.
Picture it. You’re in a scary movie. It’s 3AM. There’s blood smeared across the wall and something’s thudding its way up the stairs. What do you do?
I’ll tell you what I’d do: I’d kindly whisper, “Thank you for your time and your… unique decor choices but I have to go. For, like, ever.”
But what do movie characters do? They go toward the sound. Toward the danger. Toward their certain doom. Are they okay? Have they… never seen a scary movie?
Anyway. Enough horror foreplay (although, let’s be honest, it’s never really enough 😉).
Here’s the point: we, as viewers, know how to survive because we’ve been through the scary movie experience. We’ve watched the mistakes unfold. Experience is what helps us say, “Yeah, no thanks,” when something sketchy slinks up our metaphorical staircase. If those poor horror characters had lived a little – maybe dated a narcissist or gone through a breakup during a heatwave – they might’ve made better choices.
Same goes for life. Even if you’ve got a childhood full of more sad tears than happy ones or your idea of comfort smells like disappointment and shame – there’s still room to grow something good from it. Growth isn’t always pretty. It’s usually sweaty and uncomfortable and full of “are we seriously doing this again?” moments. But it is possible.
Change is good. It’s also messy, inconvenient and hated by your nervous system. But still good.
Your brain craves routine. Familiar = safe. Even when familiarity is terrible. Familiar is crying on the bathroom floor and thinking, at least I know this floor. But listen – just because it’s familiar doesn’t mean it’s good. For an alcoholic, vodka at breakfast is familiar. For someone raised around emotional negligence, love might feel like too much. Safety might feel… suspicious.
So when something healthy comes along? A kind partner. A job that doesn’t destroy your soul. A morning without a hangover. Your brain might short-circuit. It’ll try to sabotage. Because it doesn’t recognize it yet.
You have to teach it.
Start small. If you smoke, try cutting out 2-4 cigarettes a day. If you want to move your body, don’t sign up for a triathlon – walk for 30 minutes twice a week. Let your brain make new little highways. New routes. Let it re-learn what “normal” is. Neuroplasticity is real and you’re cooler than you think for even trying.
And finally – find what works for you. Not for Pinterest. Not for the girl from high school who now sells healing crystals and moon water. You.
Trial and error, Sugar. Maybe it’s journaling. Maybe it’s walking your bedroom runway in your pajamas at 7AM. Maybe it’s writing down the life you want and pretending it’s already yours.
Whatever it is – start. Keep starting. Change isn’t a single decision. It’s a series of really brave, really annoying daily ones.
But I promise: the scariest part is the beginning. And you’ve survived much fucking worse.