The Great Exit: How I Got (Mostly) Out of My Comfort Zone

preface: Y’all, buckle in. I’m about to go “me, me, me!” until my little fingers are tired of it. I sincerely hope that this is the most I use the word “I” in the history of this blog. (I’m going to predict the future and say it probably won’t be.) Grab a snack. 

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It is the most annoying truth of all time. You know it, I know it, the moon knows it.

the comfort zone is where courage holes up and hibernates. 

Honestly, I can’t blame it. I am a frequent flier in the comfort zone lounge. It has the best snacks, comfy places to nap, fuzzy clothes, pleasant daydreams, no mirrors, and zero acknowledgment of limiting beliefs! In fact, I believe you immediately get a hand slapped over your mouth if you even think about mentioning fears and anxieties. 

The problem with this comfy little lounge is the fact that absolutely zero progress can be made here, and, the cherry on top, time moves even faster on the outside than you realize, and you’re so deep in your hundredth bubble bath that you can’t even tell. 

Until you finally need air, like clean, fresh air, and you stick your head out a window to feel the sun on your face, and you realize the trees are taller than you remember. And they’re not only tall, but the leaves have changed. The air itself has changed. That is the robbery of the comfort zone. 

But, here’s the real kicker. Let me get this part out of the way first.

i don’t have any advice for you on how to leave the lounge.

I’m still not convinced that I’ve even left the building yet! I think I’m still going through the required obstacle course on the way out. (That they hide upon entry, obviously.)

My journey to The Great Exit began in the first couple of months of this year. 

Actually, it began in late 2019, when I wrote a poem about ringing in the new year. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was so ready to stop looking forward to new beginnings. Relying on new beginnings too much feels similar to living in the past in a real paradoxical way. After all, how can I say that I’m happy if I’m always begging for a new start? However, I remember being really confident that this new year was going to be it. I get the vibe that a lot of people felt that way about 2020 in the beginning.

Then a worldwide pandemic, personal utter heartbreak, and creeping grief took over that year. 

I coped by ignoring it, which means I didn’t cope at all. I survived. By the time 2021 came around I felt like I was in a dense fog. There was hope on the horizon as far as the pandemic went, but when I tried to think about anything to do with my own future, I came up blank. It really was like the worst case of blank paper syndrome ever. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t have dreams, I just didn’t have much hope in them. I didn’t have the mental gusto within me to choose, then to think, write it out, decide on a plan, and then actually proceed to do the plan. Well, that’s not totally true. I made plenty of plans, it was really just the execution part that was lacking. (Which is obviously like… the most important part.)

The fog lifted for some parts of the year and it thickened for others. It lasted until early this year when I decided to, quite frankly, get my head out of my own ass and actually do the work. After all, I only have one more year on my parents’ health insurance. To say the clock was TICKING?! 

pause. confession time.

A large, large part of the wrecking ball that came in and knocked some perspective into me was a night of intense terror that World War III was going to start, and nukes were about to rain down on America, and humanity would perish. I had a sleepless night, convinced that this was going to happen. I didn’t know what a genuinely racing mind was before that night. It wasn’t fun, and I don’t recommend doom scrolling! And though it wasn’t fun, it made me understand the saying, “There’s always bigger fish.”

Days after this panic-filled, sleepless night, there was quite a severe weather threat in my area. I’ve had a lifelong fear of tornadoes, so this would usually send me into a state. However, the day of the significant weather event? I put on headphones, locked myself away, and played Stardew Valley for hours in ignorant bliss. It’s not that I wasn’t allowing myself to be scared. It was just that in light of having such a deep, paralyzing fear days before, tornadoes had become small fish. Itty bitty fish. 

What I’m saying is that the seed of perspective had been planted.

(Albeit a touch traumatically, but it was in the fertilizer, baby.)

Anyways. March comes. I start seeing a psychiatrist. I start taking Prozac. As it turns out, therapy was a good idea. 

And, y’all, this is why I don’t have advice! “Oh yeah, just get your head out of your ass and get you some antidepressants!” This is not solid advice. I was very fortunate to not only have this option, but that I found a window of clarity big enough to have the idea and then follow through with it and make appointments! I wish I had advice. However, “Get so depressed that you cannot fathom seeing further than one week at a time and live in a constant state of anxiety and self doubt for so long that you can’t stand it anymore.” (AKA, my situation) is also not solid advice. This is just my experience.

Okay, back to The Great Exit. 

You know that really overused thing in romance books where they say something like, “My body was moving before I even knew what I was doing!” That’s kind of how I felt. Like I didn’t realize that I was meandering my way towards a door until I was right in front of it. 

The door happened to be disguised as a pair of shorts. Now, let me just say, I have not flaunted these legs of mine in a few good years. One day, I was having an oddly lucky day out and decided to grab a pair of shorts to try on at Target. 

I put them on. I looked at myself. I put my shoes on with them to really take it all in. They were the comfiest and cutest pair of denim shorts I had found in a long time, so what was my hang-up? The fact that my legs would be out? (dramatic gasp)

That’s when the hibernating, courageous Ellie woke up from a slumber for a brief moment to say,

“God, who cares? You’re only this young once. Get over it.” 

I bought them and a tank top that day.

Luckily, it wasn’t as hard to wake her up after that first time. Whenever I was about to let nonexistent voices bully me into not wearing shorts or hiding any part of my body for that matter, she got up from bed and said, “NOT TODAY, BITCH. Put it ON.” 

Slowly that extended to the other parts of my body I kept hidden for two years. 

I love you, legs. I love you, arms. I love you, stomach. I love you, titties. 

After I started being able to see past the problem I had with my body (not moving past it, but simply it having the potential to get smaller and smaller), other potentials became clear. Why not try driving on the highway? Why not send this email and insist I get what I’m worth? Why not buy an itty bitty bikini and wear it to the pool? The public pool? It was a total domino effect, one that is slowly but surely changing my life. 

I crave the warmth of the zone, though. I miss the bliss of ignorance, the path of least resistance. It’s exhausting to do the work, then process it, and sometimes just start all over again. Exhausting. 

But pride, ladies, and gentlepeople, does indeed get you somewhere. It got me onto the highway, at least. However, I can only speak from my experience. And my experience is me getting so bored with my life, and feeling so utterly stuck by cement to the ground that I couldn’t take it anymore.

The clarity that came from an ongoing pandemic and multiple worldwide tragedies was the same one that I’m sure many others came to. This life that I’m living not only happens once, but each moment only happens once. How cruelly beautiful is it that it’s impossible to relive moments? Life is always (like literally every single second) giving us new things to experience, forget, or hold onto and try so desperately to remember. 

In 2018, I attended the Promoting Passion tour hosted by Brooke Shaden. One part I remember vividly is her saying in order to push yourself further out of your comfort zone, you must let yourself die and let it hurt. Mourn who you were. Mourn the comfort that you lived in, but never let yourself live in that mourning. (Or try not to. We all have days. That’s okay.)

And as if one quote isn’t enough, there’s another quote that I adore from the movie Rocketman.

“You gotta kill the person you were born to be to become the person you want to be.” 

It’s easy to believe that who we were born as, what we were born as, is who we are forever. I’ve spent many years saying that it’s hard for me to trust myself, and it’s because once I let that part of me go, the part that held onto the beliefs about my body and what I was capable of, it wasn’t an easy thing. Liberating at first, sure, but killing the person who you were for so long comes with a whole lot of questions about who the hell to be now. 

Trust is a big part of the process, and sometimes it feels a lot like letting go of the steering wheel, covering your eyes, and forcing yourself to go “weeeeeeeeee!” Sometimes, the smiles and the joy are genuine. Other times, you’re grimacing and fighting back tears. 

All of this to say: I don’t have a pretty bow to wrap this post up in. Shoutout to Prozac and Wellbutrin.

Jokes aside, even though I am not yet fully out of my comfort zone, I’m pretty sure I’m past the obstacle course, walking down the hallway on my way to check out. My feet are moving. And, bonus, the weights that were holding them down don’t feel so heavy anymore. 

(But can someone please tell me… how long is this damn hallway?)