Familiarity Feels Safe - Letter #4

For twenty+ years, I had something to say and I didn't say it.

It came out anyway, but only on paper, and only in drawers. Lyrics scribbled on whatever was close. Melodies in my head. Words nobody else ever saw.

And the noisy roommate that lived rent free in my head had a full script for why none of it could come out.

"They'll talk about you behind your back."

"Who are you to say you write music? You've had no training."

"If you share these words, they'll think you've lost it. Think you're depressed. Think you crazy. Are you sure you want to open yourself up like that?"

And the cruelest one that still knocks the wind out of me: "Your voice, omg, you can't sing. They will laugh at you." I've intentionally worked on rewriting that story but sometimes I still shrink...but do it anyway.

The drawer was familiar. The silence was familiar. After twenty+ years I had stopped noticing she was the one talking. Mostly, because she believed she was keeping me safe, but in keeping me safe, she was actually setting me up for a lifetime of torture and "somedays."

My husband, Trent, would rave about what he saw as talent, and would ask me to play in front of best friends or our closest family members. And I want you to hear what happened in my body, because this is the part most people miss. I would tense up. My chest would tighten and my voice would silence. Even my fingers would lock up. I physically could not perform for others. And then I would be angry at him for even suggesting it.

That is what familiar pain looks like from the inside. Including, getting angry at the person who saw clearly enough to invite you out, when it felt safer to stay unseen.

Your version looks different than mine but really, we're not different. Are you relating to a common thread behind the desire to be unseen, yet the urge to be seen, "someday," at the same time?

The nervous system often confuses predictability with alignment. If something is known, rehearsed, and recognizable, your mind can interpret it as safer than the unknown, even if the familiar thing, situation, or person is exhausting you.

People stay in relationships that no longer fit them because they know the rhythm of disappointment. They stay in jobs that drain them because uncertainty feels scarier than burnout. They repeat the same behaviors, routines, and emotional loops because at least they know who they are inside them. …and change is hard and it is usually easier to do nothing.

Isn't it perplexing to think about how familiar pain can feel safer than unfamiliar possibility?

Sometimes you don't even realize you are living on autopilot because the loop has become so familiar. Wake up, scroll, work, stress, numb out, scroll, repeat. Or keep the peace, avoid the conversation, suppress the feeling, ignore the resentment, convince yourself it's "fine," and repeat again.

The longer a pattern exists, the more your mind tries to protect it because your identity has become attached to its predictability. That's why growth can feel so uncomfortable at first. You are not only disrupting a behavior; you are disrupting familiarity itself.

…and that's the beauty of self-awareness. You cannot change a pattern you refuse to observe.

There comes a moment where you have to ask yourself a difficult question: Is it actually aligned, or is it simply familiar? Sometimes the life waiting on the other side of discomfort is the very thing you've been asking for all along.

And I know, even reading this, something in you may already be tensing. The rationalizations are starting to form. A low hum of resistance is beginning to rise. That feeling has a name, and a very specific reason it shows up right at the edge of change.

But before we can go there, sit with this.

• What discomfort have you mistaken for safety simply because you've lived with it for so long?

• What are you not doing that your inner desires are soothing you by saying "someday"?

• What are you using to numb, distract, delay, or avoid the thing your body already knows?

Ponder. Reflect. Another building block will find you next week.

'Til next time,

Your Fellow Traveler, Patty

PS: Fasten your seatbelt and turn it up. My song Sacred Traveler is the soundtrack to The Override Letters, and inside The Listening Room, you'll find playlists for each part of the journey.

Keep on walking with me and subscribe...no noise, no overwhelm, just occasional reflections for the road. I'll ping you when the next letter is published.

A gentle note for the road: The Override Letters are created for reflection, self-awareness, clarity, and reconnecting with yourself. This space is not meant to replace therapy, medical care, crisis support, or professional guidance, and is not intended as a resource for addiction, abuse, crisis intervention, or big "T" trauma work. Please honor your nervous system and seek the right support when deeper care is needed.