Comfortable is making us weak

What my Grandmother — and the goddesses — reminded me.

Comfort.
It’s something so many of us crave — a soft place to land, a sense of ease.

For a long time, it sat right at the top of my values list.
It was part of the reason I dreamt of financial freedom. I wanted life to feel cushy, cozy — warm and safe.

And comfort can come in so many forms:
Having money in the bank.
A partner who takes care of everything.
A long-term home.
Supportive friends and family.
Even the kind of physical comfort where you’re wrapped in a blanket on the couch all day, doing absolutely nothing.

Heck — even the freedom not to work hard, and just float through your days like a “feminine goddess.”

Let’s be honest:
The Instagram girlboss burnout paved the way for a whole new wave of content.
Suddenly, we were being sold something else — the “feminine” soft life.

Work less. Earn more. Rest deeply.
Be magnetic. Be still. Be in your receiving era.

And I won’t lie — it sounded absolutely delicious.
Why wouldn’t we want the soft life?

I embraced it.
The soft, feminine life. I slowed down. Rested more. Let myself receive.

But somewhere along the way, something inside me went dormant.
Not gone — just quiet.

My drive, my spark, my zest for life… it all dampened.
That part of me that used to leap into action — to do things for myself, to support others — began to fade into the background.

It was like a flame still flickering, but barely giving off heat.

I realised all of this while living with my Nana for a month.
Watching her move through her days was like witnessing a quiet ritual — consistent, tender, grounded.

She’d wake up.
Do her hair.
Make a pot of tea.
Eat her breakfast.
Then she’d potter around the house with this gentle hum, like a busy little bumblebee.

She didn’t rush, but she didn’t resist the rhythm of her day either.
She just… showed up. Fully. Humbly. Repeatedly.

And it made me think.

Our generation loves to criticise the ones who came before us:

“They suppress their emotions.”
“They distract themselves from discomfort.”
“They’re addicted to productivity and allergic to rest.”
“They avoid therapy.”
“They stay in toxic marriages.”
“They work themselves into the ground and call it pride.”
“They shame us for being ‘too sensitive’ or ‘too entitled.’”

And honestly? There’s some truth in all of it.
I used to stand firmly in that camp — self-righteous and deeply opinionated.

But living with Nana softened that certainty.
Because while we’ve been busy swinging the pendulum to the opposite extreme — prioritising rest, ease, softness — maybe we’ve also forgotten something vital:

The hum.
The discipline.
The deep strength in simply showing up, over and over again.

And it’s not just Nana.
It’s all of them — the ones who came before us.

Our ancestors survived things many of us can barely comprehend:
World wars.
The Great Depression.
Famine.
Pandemics without education.
Religious persecution.
Genocide.

They endured hard physical labour from childhood.
Lost children, siblings, entire communities.
Lived without emotional education or therapy.
Watched the world shift from typewriters to iPhones, from rations to takeout apps.

And the way they were raised?
Many were brought up in homes where fear was mistaken for discipline.
Where children were seen, not heard.
Where punishment came in the form of belts, canes — or, in my Nana’s case, her sister being whacked over the head with pots and pans.

That wasn’t “gentle parenting.”
It was survival — passed down, generation after generation.

Still, somehow… they carried on.
They built families, homes, entire lives — with quiet strength and little praise.

They built a kind of resilience that is rare now.
Forged not in curated self-care routines, but in the raw fire of survival.

The kind of strength this world may never know again.

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Witnessing my Nana in this way —
seeing how she hums through life,
knowing all that she’s experienced —
it gave me a kick in the bum to get my act together.

Because here’s the thing:
We’ve been hearing this narrative for a while now —
that to be soft, to be feminine, to be in our “flow” — is a kind of rebellion.
A correction to the girlboss burnout.
A spiritual awakening.
A lifestyle upgrade.

Somewhere along the way,
we’ve started to believe that just being is enough.
That doing less is somehow sacred in itself.

But if we’re really honest…
Sometimes, it’s just making us weaker.
Less vital.
Less capable.
Less engaged with the pulse of life.

Women are freaking badass —
and we have been, time and time again throughout history.

Look to the goddesses — they weren’t just sitting around on thrones eating grapes...
They were out there doing some hard-ass, world-shifting work.

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Isis resurrected her murdered husband Osiris piece by piece.
She literally reassembled his body (missing phallus and all),
conceived a divine child (Horus), and protected him from every threat imaginable.
She was the OG single mother, magician, healer, and queen.

Kali tore through the battlefield with her tongue out,
destroying evil, patriarchy, and ego.
Not your average “good vibes only” girl.

Durga rode into battle on a lion and slayed a demon king
with ten arms wielding weapons.
She was literally created to restore cosmic balance
when the gods couldn’t do it themselves.

Inanna descended into the Underworld — naked and alone —
to face her sister, die, and resurrect.
She showed us that transformation is born through descent and death.

Brigid was a goddess of fire, healing, creativity, and fertility.
She midwifed babies and birthed poetry, flames, and inspiration.

Artemis refused marriage, ran wild with her girls,
protected women and children,
and could take down anyone with a single arrow.
She was a protector of boundaries before it was trendy.

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These women weren’t passive archetypes.
They were warriors. Creators. Destroyers. Protectors.
Witches. Mothers. Queens. Rebels. Seers.

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We’ve forgotten our strength and courage —
to the point that we’ve unknowingly patted our inner flame with a damp cloth,
all in the name of a comfortable life.

Honestly?
It isn’t good enough.
And deep down, we know it.

Yes — life is hard.
And yes, we do need rest.
We do need softness.
We do need to honour our cycles.

But we weren’t made to stop there.

We weren’t made to stay on the couch forever,
to silence our calling for the sake of comfort,
to hand over our power in exchange for ease.

Because comfort without purpose becomes stagnancy.
Softness without structure becomes mush.
Rest without responsibility becomes avoidance.

We weren’t born to live lives that are just palatable.
We were born to live lives that are potent.

So yes — wear the robe.
Light the candle.
Be in your softness.

But also — sharpen the blade.
Stoke the fire.
Take the reins.

Let your softness be laced with steel.
Let your rest be what fuels your rise.
Let your comfort come after your courage.

Because this world doesn’t need more passive goddesses
lounging on metaphorical thrones.

It needs more women who remember who the f**k they are.
Women who hum through the day with devotion,
who know how to both weep and lead,
who rise like Durga,
speak like Brigid,
love like Isis,
and move through life with the kind of grounded power that leaves a legacy.

And if you're in a season of healing, recovery, or deep rest — know that there's no shame in that.
We need those seasons.
We need to regulate our nervous systems. We need to restore.
But at some point, when the soil is ready, something inside us stirs.
Not because we’re broken.
But because we remember — we were never meant to stay dormant forever.

Let’s be those women.
Let’s bring back the hum.
Let’s rise — not just for ourselves,
but for all those who came before us,
and all who will come after.