Episode 185: Familiar discomfort
10/14/26
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You are listening to the Life Reconstructed podcast with me, Teresa Amaral Beshwate, grief
expert, best-selling author and widow. I’m so glad you’re here because in this and every
episode, I shine a light on the widowed way forward.
Hello and welcome to episode 185. Your brain would rather choose familiar discomfort than
unfamiliar comfort, simply because familiar feels safe. In this episode, we’re exploring the
“caves” we sometimes stay in after loss—and what might be waiting for you if you’re willing to
take one small step outside.
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There’s a part of your brain that has exactly one job.
To keep you alive.
That’s it.
It doesn’t care if you’re happy.
It doesn’t care if you’re fulfilled.
It doesn’t care if you’re living a meaningful life or reaching your potential or creating a
future you actually want to inhabit.
Its job is survival.
And it tries to accomplish that job in three basic ways:
Seek pleasure.
Avoid pain.
And be efficient.
That primitive part of your brain wants to conserve energy whenever possible. It wants things to
be easy and predictable.
And most importantly for what we’re talking about today, it likes what’s familiar.
Because to the primitive brain, familiar means safe.
I like to think of it as the part of your brain that is constantly urging you to stay in the
cave.
Now, the cave is dark. Cold. Damp.
It might not even be particularly comfortable.
But you know the cave.
You know where everything is.
You know what happens there.
You know how to survive there.
Outside the cave?
Who knows?
And so your primitive brain would much rather keep you in a familiar, uncomfortable cave than
have you venture out into something unfamiliar—even if what’s waiting outside might actually be
much better.
Here’s the way I like to say it:
The primitive part of the brain will choose familiar discomfort over unfamiliar comfort.
I’m going to say that again.
The primitive part of the brain will choose familiar discomfort over unfamiliar comfort.
Every single time.
And once you understand that, so much human behavior makes sense.
Think about staying on the couch even though you know you’d probably feel better if you went for
a walk.
Scrolling on your phone for an hour and then feeling terrible about how you spent your time.
Binge watching when you really wanted to get a good night’s sleep.
Overspending and then dealing with the stress of debt.
Overeating and then feeling uncomfortable in your body.
Overdrinking and waking up hungover.
None of those behaviors necessarily create comfort in the long run.
In fact, they often create discomfort.
But they’re familiar.
And your brain knows familiar.
So it keeps offering you more of the same.
And this gets really interesting when we think about grief.
Because sometimes familiar discomfort doesn’t look like overeating or overspending or scrolling
on your phone.
Sometimes familiar discomfort looks like staying isolated.
You’ve gotten used to being alone.
Maybe you don’t particularly like being alone.
Maybe you’re lonely.
Maybe you wish you had more connection in your life.
But staying home is familiar.
Meeting someone for coffee isn’t.
Going to an event by yourself isn’t.
Walking into a room where you don’t know anyone definitely isn’t.
So your brain says:
Stay in the cave.
Maybe familiar discomfort is automatically saying no when someone invites you somewhere.
Maybe it’s avoiding making a decision because indecision feels safer than making a choice you
might regret.
Maybe it’s continuing routines that don’t really work for you anymore because changing them
somehow makes the loss feel more real.
Maybe it’s staying in relationships that drain you because changing those relationships would
require uncomfortable conversations.
Maybe it’s staying in a job, a home, a role, or an identity that no longer fits simply because
you know how to be this version of yourself.
Maybe there’s something you’d really like to do, but you don’t want to do it alone.
So you don’t go.
Maybe you’ve gotten very good at being the person who stays home.
The person who says no.
The person who doesn’t make plans.
The person who doesn’t expect much from the future.
The person whose world became smaller after loss.
You may not even like that life.
But you know it.
And your primitive brain loves what it knows.
It says:
We know how to do this.
We know how to survive here.
Stay in the cave.
And I want to be very clear about something.
The cave isn’t bad.
Sometimes the cave is exactly where you need to be.
Especially after devastating loss.
Sometimes you need to rest.
Sometimes you need to withdraw.
Sometimes you don’t have the capacity for one more thing.
Sometimes watching television all afternoon is exactly what you want to do.
Sometimes you don’t want to go to the party.
Sometimes you don’t want to meet someone for coffee.
Sometimes you want to be alone.
None of that means you’re doing grief wrong.
I don’t want you to take this episode and start using your choices against yourself.
That’s not useful.
The question isn’t:
“Should I be doing more?”
The question is:
Is this still serving me?
Or am I staying here primarily because it’s familiar?
Those are two very different things.
Because there may come a point when you look around the cave and realize:
I don’t actually want to live here anymore.
And that’s when your brain is probably going to have some opinions.
Because outside the cave is unfamiliar.
And unfamiliarity feels like danger to a brain whose only job is keeping you alive.
But unfamiliar doesn’t necessarily mean dangerous.
Sometimes unfamiliar is where the comfort is.
Think about what unfamiliar comfort might look like for you.
Maybe it’s waking up and having something on the calendar that you’re actually looking forward
to.
Maybe it’s having people in your life you enjoy spending time with.
Maybe it’s feeling strong in your body again.
Maybe it’s traveling somewhere you’ve always wanted to go.
Maybe it’s changing your home so it works better for the person you are now.
Maybe it’s discovering that you actually enjoy your own company.
Maybe it’s making a new friend.
Maybe it’s laughing—a lot—and not immediately feeling guilty about it.
Maybe it’s having plans.
Maybe it’s feeling capable again.
Confident again.
Curious again.
Maybe it’s discovering a hobby you love.
Maybe it’s finding meaningful work.
Maybe it’s falling in love again, if that’s something you want.
Maybe it’s simply waking up one morning and realizing:
I like my life.
Imagine how unfamiliar that might feel after devastating loss.
Not bad.
Not wrong.
Just unfamiliar.
And that distinction matters.
Because sometimes we interpret the discomfort of doing something new as evidence that we
shouldn’t be doing it.
I don’t feel comfortable going by myself.
I don’t feel comfortable meeting new people.
I don’t feel comfortable traveling without my person.
I don’t feel comfortable making this change.
Of course you don’t.
You haven’t practiced it yet.
It’s unfamiliar.
That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re on the wrong path.
It might simply mean you’ve stepped outside the cave.
And you don’t have to know that you’re going to like what’s outside the cave before you leave
it.
You can experiment.
You can take one step outside and look around.
You can try something and decide you don’t like it.
You can go somewhere once and never go again.
You can meet someone for coffee and decide you’d rather stay home next time.
You can take the trip and discover that traveling alone isn’t for you.
You can gather information.
You can learn.
You can change your mind.
Stepping outside the cave doesn’t obligate you to keep walking in that direction.
It simply gives you information you cannot get while you’re sitting inside.
So here’s what I want you to consider this week.
Where in your life might you be choosing familiar discomfort simply because you know it?
Not because it’s what you want.
Not because it’s serving you.
Not because you’ve intentionally chosen it.
But because it’s familiar.
And then ask yourself:
What am I imagining would be uncomfortable about doing something different?
And finally:
What unfamiliar comfort might be waiting for me on the other side?
You don’t have to overhaul your life.
You don’t have to sprint out of the cave.
You don’t even have to know where you’re going.
Just notice where your brain keeps telling you:
Stay here. We know this place.
And then maybe—if you’re ready—you take one step outside.
Just one.
And see what’s there. If this topic resonates, get the free downloadable journal prompts using
the link in the show notes.
If this episode was helpful, please share it with a widowed friend. And remember that I believe
in you, and I’m here for you. Take care.
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If you’re in or approaching the 2nd year after the loss of your person, join me next week, Thursday, October 22nd for The Truth About Year 2 What really happens after the first year of loss—and how to navigate it with less pain and more purpose. It’s free and the link to sign up is in the show notes.
https://www.thesuddenwidowcoach.com/year-2-webinar-1
https://www.thesuddenwidowcoach.com/podcast-download-episode-185
