Shrinking to fit
Is there room to grow in your comfort zone, or do things feel a bit tight?
I’m old enough to remember the glory days of shrink-to-fit jeans. Sitting in tepid bathwater wearing bag-fresh Levis, waiting for the rigid denim to yield to our contours…
What we, the youth of the ‘60s, were doing in our bathrooms would make no sense in any other cultural context. It rarely made sense to our parents. And while our sartorial behaviour marked us out to some people as subversive, frivolous or just plain odd, to us it was essential to fitting in.
Clothes are the second skin we wear to face the world - one we get to choose. They are our most trusted materials, concealing and revealing just the right amount of who we are and readying us for what we intend to do. Clothes can be allies: body armour or killer heels, a knock-out suit or lucky pants; or they can be enemies: revealing too much in the rain, colour-blocking our sweat in the heat or failing devastatingly to align with the social situation.
In the past year, two new fashion terms have emerged: hatewear, for those threadbare or unappealing clothes we wear when no one will see; and sadwear: comforting clothes that offer the semblance of a hug. But while our clothes have softened and loosened, our comfort zones have been shrinking, and just like those 501s, things might feel too snug.
How comfort zones shrink
As we’ve negotiated our boundaries in relation to the physical and mental restrictions of coronavirus our comfort zone shrinkage has been both enforced and intense. We have had to accept that whole geographic, social and economic zones and situations are off-limits. For many people, this has been frustrating, resulting in a mismatch between what we feel comfortable doing (however risky), and what we are actually allowed to do. For just as many, the virus’s invisible presence has led to a rapid comfort zone contraction, resulting in a lonely retreat, perhaps even further and deeper than legally or medically necessary.
Often over the past year, we’ve found our comfort zones align imperfectly with those of others. Perhaps a friend considers something to be “safe” and we don’t, or vice versa. Such conflicts might arise at any moment, within our “bubble” or without and our responses vary considerably. We might experience the slightest holding of breath, a tucking in of oneself and one’s loved ones, a shrinkage. Alternatively, we might hold our line and fight for the borders of our personal territory and self. We might argue and insist, entirely without basis: “It’ll be fine!” Or, on another day: “It’s not safe!”
Comfort zones are invisible, so discerning thresholds is difficult, making trespass a constant possibility. Most people err on the side of caution and give people more space than they are likely to need. But not all people. Some people will walk quickly through your comfort zone before you have a chance to react as if speed offers immunity. Others will stand brazenly inside your zone and have whole conversations on their phone, while you make the flight or fight decision: shrink or stretch? cease to breathe or ask them to give you some space? Clearly, that would be the adult thing to do, but in these moments we don’t always feel like adults, we feel small and vulnerable.
Expanding your comfort zone
Comfort zone adjustment isn’t new; it’s part of being human. It’s intuitive and even beneficial to shrink in unfamiliar or threatening contexts and to grow and expand in enabling, comfortable ones. It’s just that the events of the past year have made this natural behaviour more intense and visible.
Being in lockdown has been a bit like wearing tight jeans for too long. Not painful. Just uncomfortable. Chronic discomfort like this manifests itself in all sorts of ways. Some of us might feel drained, anxious or depressed and shrink from the world like Alice in Wonderland drowned by her dress. Others might feel agitated and frustrated and rage against enforced restrictions more like the Incredible Hulk.
Choosing to grow is often a choice between chronic and acute discomfort and this is particularly true when it comes to expanding our comfort zones. We can choose to survive in a space that is too small for us, or we can welcome the acute discomfort that will enable us to thrive in a more spacious environment.
In counselling, as in education, we work within the zone of proximal development (ZPD) just beyond your comfort zone to foster gentle and sustainable growth until things feel less tight.
Now I’m in my 60s, my jeans are a more generous fit. It has taken time to develop the self-compassion required to find congruence between myself and my comfort zone, but it is time well spent.
Here are some things to try:
Take a different route
Pick a TED talk at random
Ask someone about something they enjoy doing
Try a new food
Talk to the next person in the queue
Buy the other newspaper and read it
Challenge an assumption
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