It always starts the same way. A tiny whisper in the back of my head, saying, This is harder than I thought. Then a second voice chimes in: You’re fine. Keep moving. And just like that, I’m caught between two forces—one begging me to stop, the other daring me to keep going.
I used to think success was about talent or preparation. Turns out, it’s mostly about how well you tolerate discomfort.
Most people quit the moment things get hard. Not because they can’t push through, but because discomfort feels like a stop sign when it’s really just a toll booth. The price for growth isn’t pain-free. It demands exhaustion, frustration, and the occasional moment of What was I thinking?
I’ve learned that the mind plays tricks when things get tough. It zooms in on the struggle and magnifies it, convincing you that this—this exact moment—is the worst you’ve ever felt. It isn’t. But the brain is dramatic like that.
So I started experimenting. What if I didn’t react? What if I noticed the discomfort and just… kept going?
At first, my body protested. Loudly. My legs felt like they’d turned into cement, my breathing got heavier, and for a brief moment, I considered lying down and waiting for a rescue team to drag me away. But I knew something important: the first wave of discomfort is just an opening act. It’s the mind testing your resolve. If you ignore it long enough, it gets bored and moves on.
The trick isn’t avoiding suffering—it’s knowing which suffering is worth it. There’s a kind that breaks you down and another that builds you up. The difference? One is pointless, the other is progress.
I used to let discomfort control me. Now, I treat it like background noise. It’s there, but it doesn’t get a say in my decisions. And funny enough, the moment I stopped fighting it, it lost its power.
Most people don’t push through because they think struggle means something is wrong. It doesn’t. It just means you’re getting somewhere.
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