My Journey from Uncomfortable to… Getting Comfortable

I grew up in a small, small town in the Midwest. The town was so small that we didn’t even have a stoplight. Just 1 four-way stop in the middle of our town of less than 1,000. And I grew up UNCOMFORTABLE.

While I state that I grew up ‘uncomfortable,’ I want it to be said that I grew up uncomfortable with myself. My parents did everything they could to provide me with the best life they could. I definitely did not grow up wealthy, but I did not grow up “wanting,” which I am extremely thankful for.

My Uncomfortable Mind

As I grew up, I spent my days playing outside and spending time working in the garage with my dad. While I was mostly a happy little girl, I knew that some of my thoughts were unhappy and unsettling. Even though I didn’t talk that much, especially to people outside of my immediate family, I did A LOT of thinking. One thought I remember clearly was when I was in Kindergarden. At the small age of 6, I remember thinking, “I don’t think anyone would miss me if I was gone.”

Looking back on that thought, I can’t remember what I meant by “gone,” but I know that that is not a typical thought of a happy little kindergardener.

As I grew up, I often found myself confused by my thoughts. Why did I worry so much? What is this uneasy feeling in my stomach?

Depression and anxiety have been a part of my life as long as I can remember. Throughout my years, my depression and anxiety, and my lack of understanding of what they were and how to control them, have manifested into more mental illnesses and disorders. Trichotillomania and other various types of body-focused repetitive behaviors, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and body-dysmorphia, to highlight a few.

My Uncomfortable Body

Along with feeling uncomfortable with my mind, I was also feeling very uncomfortable with my body.

I grew up with the uncontrollable need to compare myself to others. I compared my light skin to the darker skin of my best friend. I compared my long hair with my classmates’ short hair. And the list went on.

But while my uncomfortable mind has existed as long as I can remember, my uncomfortable body and my need for comparisons didn’t begin until I was in third grade. I remember it distinctly as the turning point because I had to do something my friends weren’t doing yet.

I had to buy a bra.

Now, before I continue, I must point out that my mom did everything she could, except for tying me to a chair, to talk to me about ‘a growing woman’s body.’ I would not let her. I did not want to hear about boobs, or vaginas, or about sex, or any of it. I was curious, but it was the last thing I wanted to talk or hear about.

My mom took me to Walmart to find my first bra. At no fault of my mom’s, it was that experience that made me start to compare my body to others. And it was that experience that made me realize how I was different from others my age. And it was that experience that began my trouble with body dysmorphia.

I began to get taller than the boys in my class. To me, I was a giant. My chest began to develop. To me, I was a freak. My clown feet. My scaly skin. I always felt fat, and I rarely felt pretty when I looked in the mirror. Even when I had a boyfriend, it didn’t matter. I would never look like the other girls in my class, and knowing that tormented me for years.

Feeling Alone

Just like everyone else in this world, I had good days, and I had bad days. Days that I felt like I was okay and could point out at least one or two positive qualities about myself and days that I felt like I was the biggest freak on the planet.

But I feel that even when I was having a “BAD DAY,” the people around me still had no idea what was going on in my head. Looking back, I admit that I was a great actress. Especially when I talk about all of this now. People who knew me as I was growing up, are shocked.

“I had no idea that you felt that way!”

“You always seemed so put together.”

“You were always so strong. It actually seemed like you had more confidence than everyone else.”

The truth is, while I felt so uncomfortable with myself and who I was as a person, I knew that I was even more uncomfortable with sharing it with everyone else.

My Mom, My Security

I owe a huge thanks to my mom for helping me become comfortable with myself.

1. She gave me a way out: She always gave me permission to blame her for not “being allowed to come over.” So when I was feeling particularly down and I didn’t want to be around everyone else, I could blame her and allow myself a breather.
2. She became my best friend: We hung out so much while I was in school, that I would forget about the girls that bullied me and the girls that I was envious of. I finally felt comfortable telling someone how I felt and she helped me feel less like a freak.

Thanks to my mom, by the time I got to high school, my bad days became further apart. She really helped me start to love who I was.

My Uncomfortable Set Back

Though I found myself feeling better and better about who I was as I progressed through high school and into college, it was when I was no longer a student that I felt myself slipping back into my old ways.

I was having difficulties in relationships, both romantic and platonic, and I had moved to a town 1000 miles from home where I had to make new relationships with strangers.

I felt accepted and loved so quickly by so many people in my new town, but once again I felt the need to bottle up my feelings. I didn’t share my struggles with depression or anxiety, and the bottling up of them caused them to bubble beneath the surface.

Once again, I was uncomfortable.

Finding Comfort in Someone Else

While living 1000 miles from home and feeling like I was alone in this depressed and anxious world, someone surprised me. Another Midwesterner decided to come to the same sports bar that I was at, to watch the same sporting game I was watching.

It didn’t take long before he became my new security blanket.

And although I found myself feeling comfortable around him, it would still take me a long time for me to find comfort within myself. I felt like I could tell him everything.

I told him about my depression. I told him about my anxiety. I told him about all the other issues I dealt with inside. And it was scary. Because for the first time in my life, I felt it was safe for me to share that with someone outside my family.

And he didn’t run away.

He stayed. And he gently pushed me every day to love myself the way he loved me.

And along the way, I fell in love with him unlike I had with anyone else. Unlike I had with myself.

He loved my nerdy side. He loved my sporty side. He loved my creative side. He loved my anxious and depressed side. He loved it all. And so when he asked me to marry him, the answer was easy.

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What wasn’t easy, was trying to find a way to comfort myself with self-love.

Finding Comfort within Myself

Finally, after 31 years of suffering within myself, I finally began to feel comfortable with myself.

I was finally comfortable with my mind. I was finally comfortable with my body.

Now I know that I still have my “bad days,” it’s just that now I know how to handle them so they aren’t as “bad.” I know how to calm myself down from an anxiety attack. I have accepted my crooked nose and crooked teeth.

I am finally living a comfortably beautiful life.

Helping Others Create a Their Comfortable World

So why did I just tell you, a stranger on the internet, all of this? Because I feel that if I felt this way, someone else probably has too.

Maybe that someone is you.

Maybe that someone is someone you know and you want to support them.

Whatever the case is, I have created this brand to help others overcome feeling uncomfortable with who they are by sharing everything I have learned and implemented to find comfort in my life.

If anything you have read here, resonates with you, I would love if you would sign up for my newsletter so I can help you create a life that is comfortably beautiful too!