When Comfort Becomes a Cage
When Comfort Becomes a Cage
People are whispering now.
The word is out that I’m different.
They’re not wrong.
Growth changes your posture.
Clarity changes your tone.
Peace changes your tolerance.
So let’s talk about it.
I am living one second at a time. No, for real. I can’t even waiting for the next hour. I have no idea what will be thrown at me next.
And I literally cannot see it coming.
Literally.
Studies show that visual difficulty is not only a physical change but it also significantly alters everyday independence. Researchers have found that individuals with the highest levels of visual difficulty experience greater limitations in mobility, self-care, and household activities, with evidence that this effect can be more pronounced among Black adults
When you lose your sight, unpredictability is no longer theoretical. It is physical. It is environmental. It is constant.
Every doorway requires awareness.
Every unfamiliar space requires calculation.
Every decision carries layers I never had to consider before.
When I was fully sighted, I moved through the world with effortless independence. I drove wherever I wanted. Walked into rooms without calculating obstacles. Read body language. Made eye contact. Navigated buildings without hesitation. My confidence lived in my stride.
Now everything requires intention.
Maneuvering is slower.
Navigation is strategic.
Entering unfamiliar spaces requires planning.
Energy is spent before I even sit down.
There are moments when I miss the version of me who could simply move.
That independence was not just convenience. It was identity.
Rebuilding identity in the absence of sight is not graceful every day.
There is humility in asking for assistance.
There is vulnerability in misjudging space.
There is frustration in relearning tasks that once felt automatic.
And then something else happened.
I sat across from a vocational rehabilitation counselor who is totally blind.
And she was teaching me.
Not in theory.
Not in sympathy.
In mastery.
She moved through accessibility tools with confidence. Screen readers. Keyboard shortcuts. Navigation systems. Structured workflows. She was efficient. Precise. Independent.
There was no apology in her presence.
She was not surviving blindness. She was living fully inside of it.
And it humbled me.
Not in a way that diminished me.
In a way that expanded me.
Somewhere inside of myself, I thought I had already adjusted as much as I could. I thought I was managing well enough.
But watching her operate revealed something deeper…. I still have room to grow.
Growth is not only about leaving spaces that feel tight. It is about allowing yourself to become bigger inside. It is about accepting that you can still be a beginner.
Still be taught.
Still evolve.
Because when you are navigating life without vision, you cannot afford unnecessary weight.
Not emotionally.
Not mentally.
Not spiritually.
Which brings me to something else I’ve been learning.
There is a difference between safety and familiarity.
Sometimes what feels secure is simply something we’ve survived long enough to understand. We know the rhythms. The expectations. The unspoken rules. We know how to move inside of it.
But knowing how to function somewhere is not the same thing as thriving there.
Comfort can quietly turn into confinement.
Not because something is exploding.
Not because every day is chaos.
But because your spirit has outgrown the container.
Familiarity whispers,
Stay. You know this place. You’ve built here. You’ve mastered this.
But growth whispers something else:
You are different now.
Dry March has amplified all of this. My inner circle of friends and I have decided to fast from drinking any alcoholic beverages this month. When you remove the thing that softens stress, you feel everything clearly.
The tension.
The fear.
The uncertainty about the future.
The quiet courage rising underneath it all.
Some evenings, like right now, I would love a glass of wine. Not out of celebration. Out of exhaustion. Out of decision fatigue. Out of the weight of chapters shifting.
But clarity, though uncomfortable, is honest.
I do not want comfort if it costs clarity.
I do not want familiarity if it steals my peace.
I do not want a cage, even if it is padded and predictable.
Growth is uncomfortable.
Rebuilding identity is uncomfortable.
Releasing what once defined you is uncomfortable.
But staying somewhere your spirit is shrinking is its own quiet cost.
Expansion requires room.
Humility requires room.
Healing requires room.
God, if I am holding onto anything out of fear or comfort, loosen my grip gently. Give me courage for the room You are preparing. Help me trust You in the unfamiliar spaces.
Because maybe comfort becomes a cage when You are preparing us for something larger.
Scriptures for the Journey
Isaiah 43:19
See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up. Do you not perceive it?
Proverbs 3:5–6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.
2 Corinthians 12:9
My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.
James 1:4
Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.
Clarity is not always comfortable.
But it is always honest.
And I am choosing honest.
~ Leslie A. Council
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