Comfort Isn’t the Enemy. Escapism Is.
The Guilt Around Comfort
It’s strange how many people feel guilty for wanting comfort.
For taking a day off training.
For saying no to yet another social commitment.
For sitting quietly with a cup of coffee before the noise of the day begins.
We’ve built an odd relationship with ease. Somewhere along the line, “comfort” became a dirty word, something associated with laziness or lack of drive. We glorify the grind, praise exhaustion as proof of commitment, and treat rest as something to be earned rather than something that sustains us. (See You Don’t Have to Earn Your Rest for a deeper look at this mindset.)
Yet most of us are already living in more comfort than any generation before us could have imagined. We have roofs that don’t leak, taps that pour clean water, central heating that clicks on with a thermostat, and food that doesn’t require chasing, plucking, or skinning. Even when life feels stressful, those comforts form the quiet foundation that allows us to function, to dream, and to grow.
The irony is that we often take those very blessings for granted while chasing new distractions to escape from the discomfort of our own minds. We call it relaxing when what we’re really doing is avoiding.
That’s not rest. That’s not comfort. That’s escapism.
And the truth is, escapism doesn’t restore you. It simply delays the moment you’ll have to face whatever you were trying to avoid.
So the real question isn’t whether comfort is good or bad. It’s whether the way we seek it actually helps us live better… or just helps us hide.
What We Forget About Real Comfort
Comfort, in its purest form, is a stabiliser. It’s what allows your body and mind to return to equilibrium after effort or stress. It’s the warmth that follows a cold run, the meal that satisfies without guilt, the quiet walk that lets your thoughts untangle themselves.
Real comfort isn’t indulgence; it’s maintenance. It’s taking care of the system that allows you to show up for life.
When I talk about true comfort with clients, I’m referring to things that nourish or restore you:
Restful, consistent sleep
Movement that feels good rather than punishing
Connection with people who leave you lighter, not drained
Food that feeds you physically and emotionally
Simple rituals like a bath, a stretch session, or sitting in the sun
These are the things that refill the tank. They’re not glamorous, but they’re grounding.
Compare that to what most of us reach for when we say we need to “unwind.” Scrolling endlessly through other people’s highlight reels. Binge-watching shows until we forget what day it is. Pouring one drink that becomes three. Ordering food we don’t even taste. Staying up far too late because we crave “me time” that ends up stealing tomorrow’s energy.
Those things offer immediate relief, but they don’t replenish us. They numb. And what gets numbed doesn’t get healed.
“We often make choices based on immediate outcomes. What can I do to experience a little joy in the next 30 minutes? What can I accomplish in the next hour?
But if you always expect to get a little bit of reward for a little bit of effort, then you often overlook actions that lead to greater payoffs down the road. The relationship between input and output is rarely linear.
The course of action that could provide greater happiness, meaning, or satisfaction in the long run may not make you happy in the next 30 minutes.”
—James Clear, via his 3-2-1 newsletter
It’s worth pausing to ask: Does this make me feel more alive, or more absent?
Because genuine comfort reconnects you with yourself. Escapism disconnects you from everything that matters, including you.
The Real Trap: Avoiding Discomfort
If comfort restores us, why do so many of us end up stuck? Because comfort isn’t what keeps us there. Avoidance of discomfort does.
Modern life has engineered out nearly all the natural discomforts that used to build resilience. We don’t need to hunt, chop wood, or brave the elements. Our physical survival no longer depends on challenge, which means we have to create our own ways to experience it.
That’s part of why I talk so often about recreational hardship, whether that’s training, hiking, cold plunges, races, or simply doing something physically demanding that reminds you what your body is capable of. Physical challenge is a laboratory for developing emotional endurance. It teaches you to stay present when things feel hard.
“The ability to do hard things is perhaps the most useful ability you can foster in yourself or your children. And proof that you are someone who can do them is one of the most useful assets you can have on your life resume.
Our self-image is composed of historical evidence of our abilities. The more hard things you push yourself to do, the more competent you will see yourself to be.
If you can run marathons or throw double your body weight over your head, the sleep deprivation from a newborn is only a mild irritant. If you can excel at organic chemistry or econometrics, onboarding for a new finance job will be a breeze.
But if we avoid hard things, anything mildly challenging will seem insurmountable. We’ll cry into TikTok over an errant period at the end of a text message. We’ll see ourselves as incapable of learning new skills, taking on new careers, and escaping bad situations.
The proof you can do hard things is one of the most powerful gifts you can give yourself.”
—Nat Eliason
Discomfort isn’t always physical. In fact, the most transformative kinds rarely are.
There’s the discomfort of sitting with difficult emotions instead of scrolling them away. The discomfort of an honest conversation you’d rather postpone. The discomfort of silence when you’re used to constant stimulation.
And underneath it all, there’s the discomfort of self-reflection: the moment you realise that the habits keeping you “comfortable” are also keeping you stagnant.
Avoidance is seductive because it feels safe. But growth never happens in safety alone. It happens in the space between comfort and challenge, where you’re slightly stretched but not shattered.
We intentionally practise this same rhythm of effort and recovery inside The Balanced Burn, alternating On-Protocol weeks that challenge discipline with Maintenance weeks that restore it. That structure mirrors real life. We need both strain and stillness to evolve.
The problem is that many people confuse discomfort with danger and avoid it at all costs. So they live perpetually in the shallow end, never building the confidence that comes from surviving deeper waters.
Rest vs. Escape
Rest and escape often look similar on the surface. Both involve stepping away from effort. Both offer temporary relief. The difference is in the outcome.
Rest leaves you re-charged. Escape leaves you restless.
A good night’s sleep, a walk, a slow meal, an afternoon with friends...those things refill the well. They require intention. You plan for them, protect them, and participate fully while you’re in them.
Escapism, on the other hand, sneaks in when you’re too depleted to notice. It’s the “just one episode” that turns into four. The “quick check of messages” that spirals into a 90-minute scroll. The “I deserve this” takeaway that leaves you bloated and irritable.
Escapism thrives in autopilot. Rest demands awareness.
The hard truth is that many of us have lost the skill of genuine rest because we’ve been trained to fill every pause with stimulation. Quiet feels unfamiliar, even threatening, so we drown it out. But silence isn’t empty. It’s space for your mind to exhale.
Learning to rest without escape is a discipline. It’s choosing to sit still for ten minutes instead of reaching for a screen. It’s deciding that recovery isn’t wasted time. It’s noticing when the urge to “zone out” is really the urge to not feel something.
Try this small self-check: when you reach for a comfort behaviour, ask:
Will this help me re-enter life with more energy, or will it pull me further away from it?
If the answer is the latter, it’s not comfort. It’s avoidance dressed up in convenience.
Growth and Genuine Comfort CAN Coexist
There’s a widespread belief that growth requires relentless discomfort, that progress only happens through sacrifice. It’s the “no pain, no gain” mindset dressed in motivational clothing. But it’s a half-truth.
Yes, growth demands discomfort. But it also demands recovery, joy, and gratitude.
You CAN train hard and still savour a slow Sunday breakfast.
You CAN pursue big goals and still take time for stillness.
You CAN push your limits without living at the edge of burnout.
In fact, the people who sustain progress longest are usually the ones who understand this balance intuitively. They know when to push and when to pause. They know that rest isn’t indulgence, it’s strategy.
Think about an athlete. Training stress breaks the body down so it can rebuild stronger, but only if recovery happens. Without that, performance declines. The same principle applies to mindset. Too much strain without restoration leads to mental fatigue, cynicism, and eventually collapse.
This balance between strain and rest is part of what defines real hard work. If that phrase catches your attention, you might also enjoy What Counts as Hard Work, which dives deeper into how to recognise effort that genuinely moves you forward rather than just leaves you exhausted.
So rather than seeing comfort and growth as opposites, see them as dance partners. One gives meaning to the other. Comfort without challenge becomes complacency. Challenge without comfort becomes suffering.
When you learn to take genuine comfort seriously, you’re not softening. You’re strengthening the base that allows you to handle the next wave of challenge.
Comfort, used well, makes you more resilient. It builds capacity rather than eroding it.
The Moment of Choice
Awareness always comes before change. You can’t fix what you don’t see.
When you catch yourself numbing out, don’t pile guilt on top of it. Guilt just deepens the spiral. Instead, pause long enough to ask what you actually need in that moment.
Are you physically exhausted? Then rest properly.
Are you mentally overwhelmed? Step outside, breathe, move.
Are you emotionally drained? Talk to someone who grounds you instead of scrolling through strangers.
Sometimes the right move is to sit with the discomfort instead of smothering it. Discomfort often carries information, something in you asking for attention. Maybe it’s a decision you’ve been avoiding, a truth you haven’t said aloud, or simply the reminder that you’re human and humans get tired.
Other times, the answer is replacement: swap a numbing habit for a nourishing one. Trade the late-night doom scroll for a walk, or swap the takeaway for something you cook yourself with real ingredients. The point isn’t perfection. It’s presence.
Every time you choose awareness over autopilot, you weaken escapism’s hold a little more. You rebuild trust in yourself, the trust that you can feel discomfort without falling apart, that you can rest without guilt, that you can choose what actually serves you.
It doesn’t need to be dramatic. One small conscious decision at a time is enough to turn avoidance into alignment.
The Quiet Discipline of Living Well
We often associate discipline with effort: getting up early, showing up for workouts, tracking nutrition. But there’s another kind of discipline that’s quieter and, in some ways, harder, the discipline of rest, of saying no, of choosing presence over distraction.
It takes discipline to close the laptop when you’ve hit your limit.
It takes discipline to stop scrolling and go to bed.
It takes discipline to take a day off training when your body needs it, not when your ego allows it.
Living well isn’t about constant discomfort OR constant relaxation. It’s about learning to toggle between effort and ease, challenge and recovery, focus and reflection. That balance is what creates sustainability.
“Stop allowing your mind to be a slave, to be jerked about by selfish impulses, to kick against fate and the present, and to mistrust the future.”
—Marcus Aurelius
You’ll know you’re finding it when comfort starts to feel peaceful instead of guilty, when stillness feels like strength instead of stagnation, when rest feels earned simply because you exist, not because you’ve suffered enough to deserve it.
So here’s a thought for the week ahead:
The next time you catch yourself reaching for an escape, stop for five seconds.
Ask what you actually need.
If it’s genuine rest, take it wholeheartedly.
If it’s avoidance, take a breath and face whatever’s calling for your attention.
Because comfort isn’t the enemy of progress. It’s what gives you the strength to keep going when growth gets uncomfortable.
Reflection Prompts
What does genuine comfort look like for you right now?
Which of your “relaxation” habits actually leave you feeling more depleted?
Where could you replace escape with restoration this week?
How might embracing both comfort and discomfort make your progress more sustainable?
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