A comfort zone looks different for everyone. And most of the time, you don’t realize you’re living in one—because a comfort zone is an invisible box.
The first time mine was shattered was when my father got sick. Up until then, life felt predictable. Like a game of snakes and ladders: some progress, a few slips, but nothing devastating enough to change the trajectory. Then we fell—hard. The breadwinner could no longer provide. Our mighty baobab tree had fallen.
My mother leaned into faith. I stepped out of the game entirely. For a long time, I sat in my pain, asking, what did I do to deserve this? The answer came later: nothing. It wasn’t punishment. It was training. Life was building in me, resilience and inner fortitude I didn’t realize I would one day need.
As the years passed, something subtle happened. Every time I reached a place that felt familiar, predictable, or “safe,” I clung to it. Avoiding discomfort became a strategy—and eventually an identity.
I stayed in friendships longer than I should have.
I lived in shared homes longer than I should have.
I trained myself to survive on as little as possible, sacrificing comfort, peace, and dignity in the name of being “responsible.”
Even my job became a comfort zone. I told myself I was lucky—working visas are hard to get, stability is rare. But stability is an illusion. In that same job, people were laid off when they least expected it. Others resigned—and they are thriving.
This week, my comfort zone cracked again. My landlord announced yet another rent increase. Out of curiosity, I checked the market. Rents in the same area were lower. Year after year, I had agreed to increases because the idea of spending money to move felt unbearable. Yet not once had I felt peace dealing with her.
This time, my body spoke before my mind could negotiate. The anxiety was intense; my inner world felt turned inside out. I was tempted, once again, to compromise. But I knew that if I abandoned myself now, I would be choosing this pattern for life—living at the mercy of others. So, I anchored back to the decision I had already made while journaling on my word for 2026: SOVEREIGN.
A sovereign woman does not endure. She navigates. She decides. I reminded myself that I have tools.
To be a sovereign woman means this:
I no longer endure anything from anyone.
I reminded myself that this is just a moment in my life—and I must use every tool in my toolbox to navigate it.
I asked myself:
- Would a woman who owns a castle fear problems?
- Would an investor afraid of complex deal closings ever build wealth?
No.
You cannot claim power while avoiding challenges.
Looking back, the evidence was undeniable: every time I compromised myself, I lost anyway. I still had money—but I lost time. And time never returns.
And I remembered another rule I live by: God is my only source of abundance.
There are always options. Always doors. Always solutions—once you stop negotiating against yourself.
I’ll leave you with words that now shape my life:
“You have the life you are willing to put up with.” — Gary John Bishop
And I am no longer willing to put up with that lady.
✍🏽 Journaling Prompts for You
- Where in your life are you staying simply because it feels familiar, not because it feels aligned?
- What discomfort are you avoiding right now—and what is it costing you?
- When did “enduring” quietly become part of your identity?
- What would change if you trusted that abundance is not tied to one person, job, or place?
Salima
Just me thinking out loud over here