Excuse Me While I Slip Into Something A Little More Uncomfortable

She called him on the way home. She wasn’t even sure if she believed what her doctor had just said. Her life had been picture-perfect.

“I’ve been diagnosed with clinical depression,” she told him.

There was a sigh. Then, after a moment of silence, her husband asked -

“How do you think that makes me feel?”

She felt a flash of anger that was both uncomfortable and fleeting. Instinctively, she shook it off, slipping back into her well-worn skin. She thought,

“Well, of course, that hurts his feelings.”

I found my comfort in the comfort of others. I learned early that my safety - and everyone else’s sanity - depended on my ability to change the mood of a room. A nod instead of a no. A joke instead of a need. It felt powerful. It felt kind. But it wasn’t honest.

My older brother was the one who set the mood in our family. He shouted, slammed doors, and made sure the house never forgot its fault lines. Something was wrong—he was yelling, acting out—but no one looked any closer. From what I could tell, he was the problem. He was the something wrong.

He made my mother cry; so I made her proud.

Look at me, I said without words. You must be doing something right.

They needed proof they were good parents. I was happy to oblige.

That kind of emotional diplomacy only sharpened with age. The ability to make someone feel better about themselves was my drug of choice - intoxicating and highly effective. No matter the situation, no matter how much it cost me, I always knew just the right words to patch a bruised ego – giving me the rush I needed over and over.

But like any drug, it stopped working. What once felt like a superpower became a compulsion. I couldn’t bear anyone’s discomfort - especially the people whose moods I’d come to depend on for my own sense of calm. A marriage can’t thrive in a world where there is peace without knowing each other’s needs and fears. My ex and I were adults who hadn’t yet learned that no one is responsible for regulating another person’s emotions. So, we lived in “blissful” co-dependency for years.

Then there were our children. The thought of them in emotional pain was intolerable. I wanted to spare them heartache - and I did my best - but in doing so, I robbed them of important life lessons. Fortunately for them, I couldn’t shield them from everything - so they still managed to get enough friction in their lives to build up some grit. Now, as young adults, I watch them face what comes, hold steady, and somehow come out the other side intact. Who knew?

Learning to be comfortable with discomfort has been one of my greatest challenges. I still slip into old habits – taking the path of least resistance at times or stepping in to referee my children’s arguments. But the grace of growing older is realizing that what once protected you doesn’t have to define you. I’ve had to let this sister know she doesn’t need to jump in at the first sign of distress – I can sit with it. I can handle it.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go slip into something a little more uncomfortable.