Unless you know me really well, you’ve probably never heard about Dipper.
In the fourth grade, my class had what now feels like an absurdly intense choice for classroom pets: a tank full of crayfish. Miniature lobsters aren’t as cute as gerbils or guinea pigs, but their life cycle teaches far more than anything you can cuddle. I don’t remember how many we started with — only that most didn’t make it through the year. But at the end of school, there was a raffle for the survivors. Much to my parents’ feigned delight, I “won,” and Dipper came home with me.
Somehow, Dipper lived until I was in the sixth grade; long after every other crayfish from that tank was gone. I distinctly remember its molts: shedding its shell, retreating for days, soft and slow until the new one hardened. It always looked a bit sad during those times, weakened and fragile. But my teacher had told us a truth I didn’t appreciate then: that vulnerability was the price of growth. The only way Dipper could get bigger was to outgrow what once protected him.
It took me years to realize what Dipper was teaching me: growth always costs something, and it always demands discomfort.
Which brings us to the fourth principle of mental health:
There is no stage of growth characterized by comfort.
We love imagining growth as a smooth, upward line — more peace, more clarity, more maturity. But growth always requires a letting go. You can’t strengthen a muscle without first tearing it. You can’t learn something new without loosening your grip on what you already know. Nature refuses to let us romanticize it: a crayfish molts its shell; a snake sheds its skin; the ground freezes before it blooms.
Every version of growth carries an element of ache. And when we cling to comfort, we often end up resisting the very process that could transform us.
The Science of Discomfort
Modern psychology backs up what ancient wisdom has always suggested: discomfort isn’t a sign something’s wrong; it’s often the sign something new is being built. When we experience challenge or uncertainty, the brain enters a state of neuroplasticity — its ability to form new connections, reorganize old ones, and essentially rewire itself. In simple terms, neuroplasticity is how the brain learns. And it increases most when we’re stretched slightly beyond what feels easy or familiar.
Behavioral psychology adds another layer: when we avoid discomfort, we get temporary relief, but we inadvertently reinforce the brain’s association between discomfort and danger. Over time, avoidance strengthens fear and weakens our capacity to cope. But when we stay present — even briefly — with what challenges us, the opposite occurs. Through gentle, repeated exposure, the brain learns that the discomfort is survivable, and our emotional response shifts.
In other words: every time you resist the urge to escape discomfort and instead move through it, your brain is literally rewiring itself for greater strength and resilience.
Emotional Molting
In therapy, I often use the image of molting. A crab, lobster, or crayfish grows too big for its shell, slips out of it, and becomes completely exposed until a new one forms. For a while, it’s unprotected, awkward, and slow — but there is no shortcut. Growth requires that period of softness.
We go through our own emotional molting: leaving a toxic relationship, setting a boundary you’ve avoided, beginning something new, grieving something old, or saying something true for the first time. These moments peel away the defenses that once kept you safe. You feel raw, disoriented, unfamiliar even to yourself.
That rawness is not evidence that you’re breaking.
It’s evidence that you’re becoming.
Faith traditions echo this constantly: transformation requires surrender. In physiology, psychology, spirituality — growth and comfort simply do not coexist.
Why We Resist
Discomfort threatens the ego — the part of us that craves safety in who we already are, not the growing pains of who we’re becoming. When life feels uncertain, we interpret it as danger.
But discomfort is often more like the burn of a muscle under strain: unpleasant, but purposeful.
Psychologists call our urge to escape difficult internal experiences experiential avoidance. Research shows that chronic avoidance is linked to higher anxiety, depression, and reduced psychological flexibility. Those who engage with discomfort — not all at once, but gradually and consistently — tend to fare better emotionally.
The difference isn’t who suffers.
The difference is what we do with the suffering.
(In future blogs, I’ll explore the nature of suffering more deeply — both psychologically and spiritually.)
Tools for Growing Through Discomfort
1. Reframe the Sensation
When discomfort shows up, try labeling it: This is what growth feels like.
Not because it feels good, but because it’s true.
2. Name, Don’t Numb
Before reaching for a distraction, pause and name the feeling. MRI research shows that labeling emotions calms the brain regions involved in threat and increases our sense of control.
3. Set Micro-Challenges
You don’t need heroism. You need repetition.
One small step outside your comfort zone beats a giant leap you never take.
4. Reflect on the Past
You’ve done hard things before. Name them. Write them down.
That’s evidence, not sentimentality.
5. Faith and Perspective
For those anchored in faith: stretching seasons often precede strengthening seasons.
Paul wrote in Romans 5:3–4, “Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
The Challenge
This week, notice where resistance is showing up — the conversation you’re dodging, the project you’re postponing, the feeling you’re numbing.
Ask yourself:
What if this discomfort isn’t a warning sign, but a growth sign?
You don’t need a life overhaul. Just one step in the direction you’ve been avoiding — make the call, say the thing, show up anyway.
Because in the end, the truth is simple:
You cannot grow and stay comfortable at the same time.
Be well.