Learning to Sit with Discomfort

One of the biggest lessons on this journey is learning to stay present with the discomfort that the mind creates.

The discomfort of the mental stories,the chatter that rises like a storm—telling me what I should be doing,why I must act,and what terrible thing will happen if I don’t.

It’s urgent. It’s convincing.It feels like if I don’t do something now, everything will fall apart.

But what if I don’t obey?

What if, instead of reacting, I pause and ask:

• What do I feel?

• Where do I feel it in my body?

• How does it actually feel—tight, hot, tense, heavy?

  
  

This is a moment of choice.

Not a choice to act. A choice to witness.

Because the moment I rush into “How do I fix this?” or “Who can tell me what to do?” ,I leave myself. I hand my authority over to fear, to pressure, to mind.

I try to escape the feeling instead of understanding what it’s showing me.

And every time I act from that place—from urgency, pressure, discomfort—I lose clarity. The action might look productive on the outside, but inside, it creates more chaos. It disconnects me from truth. From timing. From alignment.

I’ve learned this the hard way.

When I act just to feel better, I don’t actually feel better. I feel confused. Drained.Disoriented. And often, ashamed for abandoning myself again.

So instead…

I come back to the breath. I soften. I sit with it.

There is nothing to fix. Nothing to figure out. Just a moment to be with what is. To watch the pressure of discomfort rise, crest, and eventually pass.

Because the discomfort isn’t the enemy. It’s a teacher.

A signal that something in me is asking to be seen, not solved.

And when the time for aligned action comes—it doesn’t come from the mind. It comes from the body. From that quiet, unmistakable knowing that says, “Now.”

Clear. Calm. Natural.

You don’t have to force it. You simply find yourself doing what is correct—with no resistance.

As Tao Te Ching said:“Do without doing, and everything gets done.”

This is the art of surrender.The practice of presence. The invitation to trust—not because we understand everything, but because we finally stop interfering with the flow of life.

We let the wave move through us, without needing to control where it’s going.

That’s where clarity lives. Not in the mind’s urgency. But in the stillness that waits beneath it.