Discomfort—
An Opportunity for Growth
I was fascinated from a very early age by the ability to use the mind to influence the body. At thirteen years old I received a reel-to-reel tape recorder, and it was then that I had an opportunity to hear my singing voice. Like many kids of my generation, I was inspired by the Beatles and began playing guitar and singing around ten or eleven. But when I heard my singing voice on the tape recorder, I was astonished how off key it was.
I then came across a book on self-hypnosis that my mother had in her personal library. I read it with the hope I could use hypnosis to train myself to sing in tune, and then spent a long time using the techniques to improve my singing voice. Although I had some success, my early experience with hypnosis became the start of my passionate interest in using this tool to influence the mind and the body. Soon I began experimenting with it in the sports I was playing. By age sixteen, I was hypnotizing kids on the block who had learned of my interest in hypnosis, and by eighteen, I was hypnotizing kids going through final exams in college. It wasn’t until I began my graduate studies that I initiated my formal training in hypnosis. My first foray into this technique as a graduate student in the seventies was to test it out on patients undergoing surgery, and I found that it worked wonders on their ability to recover quickly after an operation.
Of course, being a product of the sixties and seventies had me curious about exploring altered states of consciousness, and how these might influence experiences such as intuition, spiritualism, and other less tangible states. Working with several classmates in the biofeedback lab in graduate school, I experimented with altering brain rhythms with EEG feedback—creating alpha states, for example. Although it did have an interesting physical impact, mainly changing levels of relaxation and alertness, it didn’t create a profound shift in consciousness. I ultimately found that hypnosis was far more powerful in creating mind-altering results—and it had the ability to alter physical states. Through hypnosis, it was possible to alter the interpretation and experience of the body’s sensory input, inducing powerful physical sensations. I could make myself feel like I was floating, alter my visual perceptions, and create sweeping mood changes like those achieved by opiate drugs. I also could use hypnosis to induce a spiritual connection or a broader affinity with nature.
These experiences weren’t confined to graduate school. As you likely figured out by now, I have spent much of my adult life exploring these higher levels of consciousness in myself and in those patients who seek me out for this purpose. I know how these various mental states can foster intuitiveness and a greater connection with one’s higher self, whether that be a greater attunement or access to your inner resources or a universal connection with nature, God, or another large life force.
My whole point in sharing a few more details from my own life and experiences with mind-body work is to convey once more just how powerful the brain can be. It can be retrained to uproot unhealthy instincts. It can be rewired so that the body embraces new physical and emotional patterns that are productive and supportive of your best health. By developing new pathways we can open new doors to health and happiness. If you’re still skeptical of any of this, then I hope that by implementing the strategies in this book starting today, you’ll be able to appreciate the power of your own mind soon. So much is possible.
Pain with No Gain
It’s important to distinguish between managed and unmanaged discomfort, a theme that I’ve been describing since the beginning of the book. Earlier I referred to the old adage “no pain, no gain,” which could be interpreted to mean “that which doesn’t kill me will strengthen me.” In actuality, extensive adversity can be just as bad as none at all. In a 2011 study of the impact and value of adversity, researchers demonstrated that some lifetime hardship—but not extreme—is predictive of greater resilience. In other words, discomfort for the sake of discomfort is not what builds resilience or hardiness; rather, it’s the ability to manage discomfort and grow from it that’s critical. When suffering is doled out endlessly, it offers little chance to grow and develop, but instead ultimately leads to a conditioned powerlessness—regression and paralysis as opposed to progression. However, managed adversity and discomfort leads to growth and change. It’s just like that old saying: Pain is inevitable, but suffering is not.
I’m a firm believer that the path of discomfort offers us so much more than comfort ever has. Discomfort may very well be the most powerful change agent we have in our arsenal for becoming all that we can be—and achieving the kind of success in life that we all want. As I mentioned earlier, this book was conceived and written while I was in the throes of some serious personal upheaval. Although I have worked for years assisting others besieged by discomfort, it was my own that provided the inspiration for this book. For more than thirty years I have crafted and used all the techniques for managing discomfort described here with clients who have allowed me to serve them in their time of need. Only more recently did science finally catch up and demonstrate how and why these strategies work and that they can truly change our experience of discomfort at the cellular and biochemical level. And little did I know that my experience in managing the discomfort of others would ultimately be of great service to me in my darkest hour.
I had no idea, until I found myself in this place, how spiraling discomfort could steal my life force and imprison my soul. I was so thankful that when I felt buried and seemingly overwhelmed by discomfort these approaches provided a ticket out of the darkness, a beam of light and a ray of hope when I needed it the most.
But these techniques were much more than a life preserver in choppy seas for me. What I’ve come to realize is that they are emblematic of a paradigm shift for experiencing and understanding discomfort. They open a door into a new galaxy of higher levels of consciousness. Once discomfort becomes more manageable—a safe place to be—it becomes possible to learn what it truly has to offer. Perhaps it requires a certain rite of passage, for I can’t say I really grasped the value of vulnerability until I was faced with such seizing discomfort. Through the years I have assisted so many of my patients in their lowest points, and I had experienced the wounds of weakness before. But it wasn’t until I made more and more peace with my own discomfort that I could create the sweeping changes in my life that I had put off for years, as well as find the strength to move forward.
Vulnerability for the sake of vulnerability isn’t enough. It can be paralyzing, endless, a one-way street, and an escape. And at first for me, it felt like quicksand, entrapping and immobilizing. But as I made my way through learning to manage my discomfort and feel a greater sense of safety within it, I found myself increasingly able to benefit from my own discomfort. So it was not the presence but rather the management of discomfort that made change and growth possible. And although it may seem counterintuitive, the pursuit of comfort can be destructive and deadly—we need some level of discomfort in our lives to grow, adapt, and change for the better. It can wake us up to life issues we need to address, behaviors we should alter, and resolutions or goals we would do well to make and achieve. When we try to live in a world where we demand and seek comfort, we inadvertently set ourselves up for stagnation, atrophy, and deterioration.
Yet discomfort is just that—uncomfortable, and as a result is strongly related to vulnerability. In The Healing Power of Emotion, psychiatrist and neuroscientist Daniel Siegel describes how vulnerability is something that our survival depends upon and discusses how it actually leads to wisdom, and ultimately to a better integration of the brain’s various compartments and all of its resources. As with discomfort, there are many different degrees of vulnerability, some of which lead to only moderate levels of discomfort, while others spark overwhelming discomfort. But it’s during all of these times that change can actually become more possible. Discomfort is arguably the most powerful change agent we have to expand our lives in unimaginable ways.
OUR TOLERANCE LEVELS FOR DISCOMFORT ARE MUCH GREATER THAN WE BELIEVE
I have consistently observed how our inherent capabilities are often far more expansive than we give ourselves credit for—particularly with respect to how well we can cope with discomfort. Paul Slovic, of the University of Oregon, is a leading theorist and researcher in the field of risk perception, which basically means he studies how we judge the characteristics and severity of each risk we face. In one particular study, Slovic noticed that the more benefits we attribute to a technology, the lower the amount of risk we perceive in that technology. This is particularly true today with respect to the popularity of risky medical procedures such as cosmetic surgery and gastric bypass operations. These are high-tech procedures that bear a lot of risks, but people perceive the benefits as outweighing those risks. The pros of the promised results (a thinner, more beautiful you) weigh heavier than the cons of going under the knife (side effects, the risk of a botched surgery). Slovic’s observation has everything to do with the subject of discomfort. Simply stated, the more benefit we attach to discomfort, the more we can come to perceive it with less fear, as less risky, and as being an asset to protect. We can, in essence, embrace discomfort as a necessary evil in our journey to live better, more enriching lives. One of the important goals of this book has been to present the discomfort experience in a brand new light.
Clearly, this book has also addressed our shrinking comfort zone. But in reality, we have a far greater ability to tolerate discomfort than we think. As I’ve been emphasizing, the human species has persevered through millennia by tolerating trials and tribulations, and thriving no matter what. In fact, studies of willpower by Veronika Job and her team at Stanford have determined that willpower is limited only if you believe it is. If, however, you believe willpower is “self-renewing,” then your tolerance for resisting temptation and dealing with discomfort becomes much greater. This has huge applications for our ability to manage discomfort, because in most cases, we are much more capable of dealing with discomfort than we’ve been taught to believe in our present culture.
As you can imagine, most of the people who come to see me are at a crisis point in their lives, be it physical or emotional. Obviously, I don’t want you to reach the proverbial rock bottom before you begin to manage your agitance better and tolerate more discomfort so you can turn your life around. It’s not necessary for someone to undergo significant emotional travail in order to reap all the benefits that I’ve covered. Perhaps a broader question that needs to be asked about our culture, however, relates to our drive to continually add greater creature comforts to our lives.
Does our urge to create more comforts undermine our long-term interests in evolving into a society that is far more hardy and resilient? I suspect you may know the answer to this question by now. And we in fact see this revealing itself with our children, many of whom appear to be growing up not only with greater comforts than previous generations ever had, but also with higher levels of agitance. Kids today are constantly being shuffled from one activity to another—rushing to soccer practice after school, then home in time for piano lessons followed by their math tutor, ending the day in a mad dash to complete their homework assignments before bedtime, which can be delayed as a result. Where’s the downtime for this younger generation? Is it any surprise that they struggle with idleness or lack of structure, and grow up craving high levels of stimulation? Is it any wonder attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is at an all-time high? From a clinical standpoint, I am witnessing in my practice a growing number of children developing symptoms and conditions related to soaring levels of unmanaged agitance and a survival instinct on alert like a crouching tiger. I know that my colleagues are seeing this as well.
Indeed, the problem has strong implications for parenthood. Parents have an innate desire to protect their children from harm or the same traumas we experienced in childhood. A personal case in point: When my daughter was just three or four, while on a picnic with her twin brother and a boy who went to the same preschool, the boy came up to my son and daughter and said, “Let’s go check out that hill over there.” Both my son and daughter stood up to join him. But the boy turned to my daughter and said, “Girls can’t come; this is only for boys.” My daughter froze, and I knew exactly what had happened: For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of rejection. I felt helpless to stop it and I could see she was shattered inside, as tears rolled down her face. I tried to comfort her, but it didn’t erase the pain of her first rejection. I instantly felt sad and upset, but I also felt that I’d let my child down by not being able to protect her from the disappointments and coldness of the outside world. And of course this was my instinctual parental response.
Others have written extensively on the topic of “over-parenting”—of taking too much responsibility for our children and being far more protective of them than we should. I tend to agree that we over-parent today, because it’s not just about teaching our kids to fend for themselves and succeed on their own—more than anything it’s about training them to manage their own discomfort. We can help our children learn to confront their discomfort rather than embracing futility or looking for short-term solutions, and to accept that it is something they can learn to skillfully control and parlay into future life successes. Simply stated, teaching children how to experience discomfort while feeling safe at the same time may very well be the greatest gift we can give them as parents.
A Safe Passage Awaits You
Recently, while attending a family function, I met a cute seven-year-old boy with a nice smile. He was the son of a young mother whom I hadn’t seen for a number of years. When the boy gave me a quick smile, I picked him up and lifted him in the air as a gesture of kindness and good-spirited fun. He quickly said, “I don’t like this,” so I immediately returned him to the ground. But once he was grounded he then said, “That was really fun!” And then added, “But I don’t want to do it again right now.”
To me, this was an excellent example of how early our fears take hold of our lives. Without retraining the brain and body, we can inadvertently become enslaved by those fears for the rest of our lives. In this particular case, the boy’s reaction is a perfect example of what typically happens when we are confronted with being uncomfortable. Our gut reaction is to say, “Stop.” But then we might notice that there was something redeeming about it. Yet, we find ourselves resisting it in the future. How often does this happen when people lose a great deal of weight or get themselves in better physical shape? It so frequently doesn’t hold, and people revert to a previous level of comfort.
And this is exactly what happens to so many of us when confronted with discomfort. The survival instinct kicks in and we choose to pull back and unconsciously stop ourselves from being able to explore and embrace new ways of being, whether it relates to intimacy with a partner, advancement in our career, taking action to boost our health, or exploring the higher levels of our potential. Put simply, we choose to let our survival instinct run our lives—and in some cases, run over our lives.
Native Americans and other early tribal cultures were half-right in believing that it was necessary to endure significant physical pain as a rite of passage—learning that they could endure pain and still manage to survive. And no doubt physical pain does challenge our inner fears. But I’ve learned in my years of practice and in my own personal experience that emotional pain can be far more challenging than physical pain. Physical pain is usually limited to a specific part of the body, while emotional pain feels all encompassing, with no way to quarantine it. It’s no surprise, then, that the survival instinct is so quick to act to protect us when it perceives potential emotional harm and danger. And as long as our survival instinct rushes to stand up and shield us from anticipated emotional pain, we find ourselves entrapped by our instinctual primitive responses, such as anger, paralysis, overeating, illness, aggression, and withdrawal.
But by tolerating greater emotional distress without turning to the survival instinct for protection, we find that this does indeed become a doorway into exploring and developing our true potential, as well as higher evolved states of consciousness in which our intuition, connection, and spiritualism thrive. These higher evolved states really don’t happen without us learning that we can walk through emotional rings of fire without being burned. And maybe that’s just it—to really develop these higher levels of experience, the brain, body, and even the soul (if you believe in a soul or spirit) must know that whatever information and experience is received, no matter how uncomfortable, can be handled and managed in a safe manner. And if you don’t feel this safety, then there is little chance of being able to receive or embrace these evolved states of consciousness with greater consistency.
And so I come to the crux of the matter: Discomfort or vulnerability in our present day actually has more survival value than being comfortable once had in prehistoric times. Seeking and settling for comfort and familiarity now leads to rigidity and a constriction of brain resources. Although our ancient wiring strives for familiarity and comfort because it allowed us to survive in the past, today it actually impedes our ability to function and age more successfully. After all, aging is nothing more than a reflection of our behaviors and habits, as well as how we choose to preside over what we confront in life.
Which brings me to where I began this book. The management of discomfort is the single most important skill for the twenty-first century. Whether your goal is improvement in work performance, health, or relationships, or higher levels of being, they are all ultimately contingent on developing a higher threshold of discomfort while relying less on the survival instinct to keep you safe. In this next century, our overly engaged survival instinct will be our biggest obstacle to finding health and happiness, and it will hold us back from exploring other areas that make life worth living.
The survival instinct is truly our inner gatekeeper, separating us from our animalistic past and from our potentially more highly evolved selves. So becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable and vulnerable really is the most important tool in the twenty-first century. Once you form this new relationship and partnership with discomfort, the survival instinct will be relegated to where it is truly needed. Any remaining obstacles will be far less formidable and much more manageable.
All of this is within our reach, and with discomfort as our partner, we can go far.