How Feeling Discomfort Can Be the Beginning of Meaningful Change
on Sovereignty, Fear, and the Changemaker Part Within
There are moments in life when something begins to stir quietly. A sense of restlessness. A tension we can’t quite explain. A feeling that something in us is asking for attention.
Often, this shows up as discomfort. Not always dramatic, but steady enough to be felt. Many people try to push it away, assuming it means something is wrong or that they are failing in some way.
In this piece, I want to explore why this kind of discomfort is often meaningful and how learning to listen to it can become the beginning of real change
When a part of us returns
In my work with women over the past few years, I’ve noticed a recurring pattern. A part of themselves begins to surface, one that has often been ignored, silenced, or set aside for a long time. This happens for many understandable reasons. A distressing event. Expectations inherited from family or community. Ideas absorbed from the world about who they are allowed to be.
When this part begins to call for attention, it often does so through a growing sense of unease. It may feel like something no longer fits, or like a quiet tension that keeps returning. This can come with feelings of shame, anger, sadness, or confusion. What is striking is that no matter how long this part has been pushed aside, it does not disappear. It keeps returning. And when women begin to listen more closely, staying with the discomfort rather than moving away from it, they often reconnect with something essential they have been missing.
This moment of listening, difficult as it can be, is often the first step in a longer journey of realignment. A return toward who they are, and the life they are longing to live.
The changemaker part
Over time, I have come to think of this part as the changemaker part of us. It is the part that notices when something is not right and feels a pull toward truth, fairness, and alignment. It holds our desire for sovereignty, for living a life that feels honest and chosen rather than shaped only by expectation.
This part is not always loud or outward-facing. For some, it shows up as a quiet refusal, a question that will not go away, or a sense that there must be another way. It is a part we are born with, and it exists in relation to others. It does not seek change in isolation, but through connection, care, and shared life.
Why do we turn away?
When this changemaker part begins to surface, many people move through a similar early process.
At first, the instinct is often to cope by turning away. We distract ourselves. We stay busy. We suppress or push down the feelings, especially when they feel unfamiliar or uncomfortable. This is not a weakness. For many, it is how they learned to survive.
What are we Often Afraid of?
Beneath this coping, there is often a deeper fear. A fear that if we listen too closely, everything might change. Speaking from this part could cost us relationships, safety, or community. Many worry that letting this part in will burn bridges or lead to a life that feels unfamiliar.
Name to Tame?
The first step in the work I do is not about changing what we feel. It is about learning how to stay with our emotions long enough to name them. When feelings are named, they often become less overwhelming and less isolating. This means gently reconnecting with emotions that may have been avoided for a long time, and learning how to name them without judgment.
Once feelings are named, we can begin to explore what they are pointing to. This is where the questions start to change. Not “What is wrong with me?” but “What am I responding to?” and “What might this feeling be connected to?”
As we stay with these questions, it often becomes clear that our feelings did not emerge in isolation. They are shaped by the lives we have lived, the roles we have held, and the expectations we have learned to carry.
From here, the work begins to widen. We start to notice how family dynamics, cultural messages, and broader social realities have influenced what felt possible, acceptable, or out of reach. What once felt like a personal struggle makes more sense when we see its roots.
A question to carry
If you’d like to sit with this a little, you might reflect on this question:
What story have I been telling myself about the part of me that wants change, and where did that story come from?
I explore these ideas more deeply in my monthly newsletter, where I write about change as a slow, relational process shaped by culture, community, and context. Each letter offers a reflection, a question, or a way of making sense of what we carry.
If this piece resonated with you, you’re very welcome to join me there.
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