Feeling uncomfortable. The heat making it difficult for me to settle down to sleep. Anxiety rises. Feeling uncomfortable. Break the cycle, change the temperature. Close up the house and turn on the air conditioner. Feel guilty for needing to do that tonight for a matter of two degrees Celsius. But it’s my comfort threshold. Over 27°C air temperature and my body gets very uncomfortable. There’s that word again. Fan air movement is not enough to compensate for the heat trapped by my body against the bed mattress. I really don’t like feeling uncomfortable.

I remember feeling uncomfortable so often as a child. Unsure of school classrooms, being a quieter child, not speaking up, finding difficulty to make friends, feeling different – feeling uncomfortable. Feeling uncomfortable being teased for being smarter and less socially enabled. Feeling uncomfortable in the classroom with year-round allergies, runny nose, sore eyes, sensitive skin, twitchy muscles. Feeling uncomfortable go to an specialist and being conscious while they scrape an ulcer off my eye. Feeling uncomfortable with a sensitive eye and needing to wear sunglasses in primary school. Feeling uncomfortable with bullies and peers behaving in ways I didn’t understand.

I remember feeling uncomfortable and being self-conscious around most other people. Later, feeling uncomfortable about my mental state, anxiety and depression, unable to calm racing thoughts. Feeling uncomfortable about asking for assistance. Feeling uncomfortable about doing my self-improvement work. Feeling uncomfortable about taking medication. Feeling uncomfortable about the physical side effects.

Feeling uncomfortable in a relationship that wasn’t as supportive as I needed. Feeling uncomfortable talking to a partner who wouldn’t enter emotional territory. Feeling uncomfortable persisting with a relationship that was growing apart. Feeling uncomfortable about ending the relationship. Persisting. Feeling uncomfortable. Finally realising the uncomfortableness of staying was worse than the possible uncomfortableness of leaving.

I’ve always sought comfort. To feel safe, and loved. To distract me from the physical and mental unpleasantness that was being alive. Never receiving the guidance to navigate difficult conditions. Never having someone understand me enough to offer the support I needed. Rarely feeling comfortable in myself.

Until I took control of my life. Went out and made happen what I desired. Found the people I wanted, who turned out to be the friends I needed.

And still at times, I default to seeking comfort. When I’m unsure, worried, not thinking clearly. Do I seek comfort for peace? Is my discomfort a result of self-care lacking? Sometimes you move way past your normal comfort requirements and make new discoveries. Sometimes other needs surpass the desire for comfort.

Is comfort more a state of mind? Is it achievable more often and far more simply than I realise?

There is comfort in writing – in creating something with meaning out of struggle. There is comfort in processing and determining self thoughts.

Tonight as my body cools, as I finish writing and my brain becomes tired from the process, and as music has eased me through this task, I feel the approach of comfort. Feel the quiet, calm, cool rest that is my sleep into comfortable.