If Growth Hurts, Call Me Sore and Fabulous

Uncomfortable, But Growing Anyway

I’ve never liked being uncomfortable. Who does? But lately, I’ve started wondering: if comfort zones are supposed to be so comfortable, why do they feel so suffocating once you’ve been in them too long? Maybe they’re not cozy little nests at all. Maybe they’re glass boxes, you can see the world outside, but you stay put because it feels safer not to break the glass.

And sometimes, the only way forward is to risk the cracks.

On paper, going back to work part-time at the fitness studio I’d already worked at might look like a step backward. Didn’t she already do that? Some might whisper. But here’s what they’re missing: this time, it feels different. I’m working with people I like, in a job that doesn’t make me want to fake a sick day just to escape it. I get to show up without dread chewing on my insides. In today’s working world, isn’t that practically a Blessing?

Sure, it’s part-time. Sure, it doesn’t pay all the bills. But it buys me something priceless: time. Time to take care of my health. Time to breathe. Time to stop confusing burnout with ambition. And for once, instead of feeling like I’m falling behind, I feel like I’ve hit pause, and maybe that pause is exactly what I needed.

Because at this studio, I feel valued. I feel capable. I feel… enough. Three little words my last employer couldn’t have spelled out with a dictionary in hand. At my old job, being the youngest meant being sliced into ten thousand convenient little pieces so everyone else could coast. The second I couldn’t immediately carry someone else’s load, I was labeled a “bad team player.”

And then, the irony: after I left, actually, after being let go while on sick leave, navigating fatigue, doctor’s appointments, and a shiny new chronic illness diagnosis, my ex-boss texted me. He told me that things at work had gotten hard without me. That he needed a break. That he needed time for himself. Imagine that. My exhaustion? Unfathomable. My recovery? Inconvenient. But two months without me, and suddenly he’s collapsing into his own vacation? And venting about it… to me? ( you’ve gotta be kidding me!)

I could’ve replied with the snark of the century. My friends begged me to. But honestly? Giving him more of my time would’ve been the real loss. I’m done running myself ragged for people who don’t even see me.

New job, new routine. With my new part-time job comes a rhythm I didn’t realize I’d been craving. I work weekends, which means I have weekdays off. And there’s something delicious about strolling through a quiet Tuesday afternoon while everyone else is shackled to their Outlook calendars. It feels indulgent, like time I stole back. I had this once when I worked retail at 20, but back then, I didn’t know how good it was. Now? I sip it like champagne.

And working in a fitness studio? Honestly, it fits. I wouldn’t call myself sporty these last few years, but with a chronic illness, movement isn’t optional; it’s medicine. Even when it hurts, my body craves it. And here, I get to move naturally, walk all day, and jump into classes whenever I want. Free workouts, no guilt, no membership nagging me to “get my money’s worth.” Just me, my pace, and my body reminding me it works better when I actually use it.

So yes, this chapter is uncomfortable. It’s not easy. But instead of a setback, it feels like the kind of discomfort that signals growth. Like I’ve finally stepped out of the glass box. And while I don’t know exactly where it’s leading, I know this: sometimes discomfort isn’t the villain. Sometimes it’s the nudge we need to remember we’re still going.

And I couldn’t help but wonder, when was the last time you pushed yourself through something uncomfortable?