My brain was never designed for happiness.
It was designed for survival.
That’s why I still scan rooms.
Why I choose corners when I can.
Why I sit with my back to the wall.
It’s why I still park my car facing down the driveway, angled away from the house — ready for a quick escape.
Those instincts didn’t come from nowhere.
They were learned.
They were necessary.
They kept me safe.
Survival Patterns Don’t Switch Off Just Because Life Changes
When you live in prolonged stress or trauma, your nervous system adapts.
It learns to anticipate danger.
To stay alert.
To plan exits before you even sit down.
As Bessel van der Kolk says:
“The body keeps the score.”
Our bodies remember what our minds would rather forget.
That doesn’t make us weak — it makes us human.
The Comfort Zone Is Familiar — Not Comfortable
We call it a comfort zone, but comfort isn’t the right word.
It’s familiarity.
Predictability.
Control.
It’s choosing what we already know we can survive.
And sometimes, that means staying small — not because we want to, but because our nervous system hasn’t yet learned that more is possible.
Over time, the comfort zone stops protecting us and starts limiting us.
It keeps us vigilant when we no longer need to be.
It keeps our lives contained inside old boundaries.
Expanding Without Forcing
Healing doesn’t mean dismantling the comfort zone.
It means expanding around it.
At home, I still park my car ready to leave.
That’s my nervous system doing what it does best.
But at work, I deliberately park facing the building.
Not because the instinct is gone.
Not because I suddenly feel safe everywhere.
But because I’m teaching my brain something new — in a place where I actually am safe.
That’s what growth looks like.
Not reckless exposure.
Not pretending fear doesn’t exist.
But intentional contrast.
Recalculating Instead of Judging
I saw a post today that stopped me in my tracks.
The GPS never says you’ve made a mistake.
It just says: recalculating route.
No shame.
No judgment.
Just forward motion.
That idea echoes something Maya Angelou once said:
“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
I don’t need to punish myself for past choices.
I don’t need to replay every wrong turn.
I need to decide where I want to go now.
Recalculating doesn’t erase the past.
It acknowledges it — and moves forward anyway.
This year I will be doing a lot of Recalculating Route.
Happiness Is Trained, Not Found
Happiness doesn’t arrive once life becomes calm.
It doesn’t automatically appear when circumstances change.
Happiness is something the nervous system has to learn.
It’s trained through small, repeatable experiences that teach the body:
this moment is safe enough.
That training looks like:
- slowing down long enough to notice one good thing
- letting joy last a few seconds longer than usual
- choosing experiences that feel meaningful, not impressive
- moving the body in ways that feel expressive, not punishing
- allowing pleasure without immediately scanning for the cost
Happiness isn’t constant.
It’s cumulative.
Each small moment builds evidence that life can hold more than vigilance.
A Note on Feeling Ready
Waiting to feel ready keeps survival patterns in control.
Readiness rarely arrives as calm or confidence.
More often, it arrives as a decision to move anyway.
You don’t need to feel ready.
You need to feel safe enough.
You just need to step outside that comfort zone.
This Year, I’m Choosing to Expand — Even When My Body Hesitates
This year isn’t about becoming fearless.
It’s about becoming willing.
Willing to feel uncomfortable.
Willing to try.
Willing to expand my world without abandoning my safety.
This year, I want to go to the movies.
Dark rooms. People behind me. No clear exit.
It asks my nervous system to trust.
So I’ll go anyway — thoughtfully, deliberately, and on my terms.
I want to go to the farmers’ market.
Too many people. Too much movement. Too much noise.
But it is a safe space.
I want to browse the stalls.
I want to enjoy it instead of avoiding it.
I want to publish my poetry book.
Even though I don’t feel ready.
Even though I worry it isn’t good enough.
Even though my inner critic still tells me to wait.
Waiting hasn’t brought happiness.
Action has.
I want to move house.
Join a gym.
Go dancing.
Sing karaoke.
Play pool.
I want to take my son to a splash pad.
I want to take the girls shopping in a big mall.
Crowded.
Busy.
Overstimulating.
And still — safe.
I will still listen to my instincts.
I will still leave when something doesn’t feel right.
I will still choose safety — every single time.
But I am no longer confusing containment with care.
Expansion, Not Erasure
The comfort zone once kept me alive.
That matters.
But it doesn’t get to be the boundary of my life anymore.
I can still scan rooms.
Still choose safety.
Still honour my instincts.
And I can also recalculate.
Choose a new direction.
Take a different route.
Not because I’m fearless —
but because I’m building a life that includes happiness.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
On my own terms.
Because happiness isn’t something you stumble into.
It’s something you practice —
one brave, recalculated step at a time.
