There is a gondola that goes up toward the Matterhorn, and I rode the entire thing with my eyes closed.
I am terrified of heights. My husband was right next to me, and I kept my hand on the rail and my eyes shut while the car swung a little and climbed higher over the valley. I did not open them once until we were close to the top.
When it was over, I felt something I did not expect. I felt like I had just done a cold plunge.
I have never fully understood the appeal of jumping into freezing water on purpose, but I looked into it, and it turns out the real reason people do it isn’t about the cold at all. It is about proving to your nervous system, over and over, that you can move through something uncomfortable and come out fine on the other side. Your body learns it can handle hard things. And that lesson does not stay in the water. It follows you into the rest of your life.
That is exactly what the gondola did for me. My body did not want to be on that ride. My brain kept telling me something was wrong. And I stayed on anyway, eyes closed, breathing through it, and got to the top. A few days later on that same trip, we did some long hikes at high altitude, farther than I expected to push myself, higher than felt easy. Nothing reckless. Just enough to ask more of myself than I was fully comfortable giving. And I did it.
Neither of those things was dramatic. Nobody filmed them. But I came home with proof, real proof, that I can do more than I think I can. That is what I mean by ordinary courage. Not the big leap. The small, repeated evidence that you are capable of expanding.
One of the reasons these moments matter so much is because our brains are designed to keep us safe, not necessarily to help us grow. They love what is familiar. Familiar feels predictable, and predictable feels safe.
The challenge is that our brains do not distinguish very well between true danger and simple discomfort. Walking into a room where you do not know anyone can trigger the same racing heart as standing on the edge of a mountain. Starting a new business can feel as threatening as physical risk. Having an honest conversation with someone you love can make your body react as though something terrible is about to happen.
Most of the time, nothing terrible happens at all. What changes is not the situation. What changes is our willingness to stay in it long enough to discover that we are capable. Every time we do, our world gets a little bigger.
I have been thinking a lot lately about why some people continue to grow through life’s challenges while others feel stuck. I do not think it is because they are naturally braver. I think they have created enough space to make a different choice.
Space to pause instead of react. Space to question the story fear is telling them. Space to notice that uncomfortable does not always mean unsafe. Space to choose who they want to become instead of letting old habits decide for them.
That kind of space does not happen by accident. We create it one intentional decision at a time. Creating space is not just about what we let go of. It is about what finally has room to grow.
I have seen this happen over and over with women I coach. Many of them think they are struggling because they need more motivation or more confidence. In reality, they are waiting to feel comfortable before they take the next step. Comfort rarely comes first. Growth almost always asks us to be uncomfortable before it rewards us with confidence.
Every time you choose courage over comfort, you create a little more space between the person you have been and the person you are becoming.
We have evidence of this all the time if we are willing to notice it. Getting up early to exercise when the bed is warm, and the excuse is right there. Introducing yourself first. Asking for help instead of white knuckling it alone. Cleaning out one drawer you have been avoiding. Saying no when yes would be easier in the moment and worse for you later. Leaving five minutes earlier than you want to. Making the phone call you have been putting off. Letting yourself actually feel an uncomfortable emotion instead of numbing it or rushing past it.
None of these make a good highlight reel. But every single one is your nervous system being trained the same way mine was on that gondola. You do the hard small thing. You survive it. Some part of you updates its understanding of what you are capable of.
I do not think confidence comes before we act. I think it is what shows up after, built one uncomfortable thing at a time. I did not feel brave on that gondola. I felt brave once I was standing at the top, having done it.
So here is what I am asking myself this week, and I would invite you to ask yourself the same question. What is the one ordinary uncomfortable thing you have been avoiding? Not because it is dangerous, but because it is hard. What might it make possible if you did it anyway?
Sometimes creating space is not about removing something from your life. Sometimes it is about making room for a version of yourself you have never given the chance to emerge.
I help women create space for who they are becoming.
