Leave Comfort Behind to Discover New Possibilities!
My Story
A comfortable place, for me, has always been an ideal—a space that offers safety, freedom, and room for my soul to breathe and soar. Since childhood, that vision has been my quiet hope. Without realizing it, I made “comfort” my ultimate goal: a personal rhythm where I could heal, freely express my emotions, and simply exist as I am.
Yet, I’ve always known I am different. Living in a world not designed for someone like me, I had no choice but to operate far beyond anything that felt like a comfort zone. Over time, I grew weary of the outside world—its self-righteous judgments, its endless misunderstandings, its moments of outright cruelty. I deeply resented that world. But I remained in it, knowing that what others took for granted—a place of ease and belonging—was never truly within my reach.
As a deaf person with a cochlear implant, I’ve always heard the world through a digital lens. Organic sound is a foreign concept; my reality is built on signals and code. People often forget that my hearing comes with limitations—it’s mediated by technology, and that shapes how I interpret and connect with everything around me.
As a neurodivergent person, the way I perceive, process, and participate in life has always felt out of sync. Society’s rules often feel confusing, while my own need for order and symmetry feels natural. This divergence frequently led to me being labeled a troublemaker. For years, I carried a deep sense of isolation and pain. True belonging felt like a door forever closed.
Then came the day I decided to break through what felt like the “spells” holding me back. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic moment—just a quiet, certain realization that I could no longer carry the weight of pretending. When simply breathing became difficult, I knew I had to release my grip on a comfort I never truly had. I was done building walls that only continued to crumble. It was time to walk away from the ruin and begin anew.
Leaving the idea of comfort behind wasn’t an act of courage—it was an act of survival. I chose to no longer see my deafness or neurodivergence as obstacles. Instead, I began viewing them as lenses—unique ways of experiencing and redesigning the world.
I started to reframe my entire existence. The electronic sounds from my implant became my unique frequency—a different, but valuable, way of listening. My focused, pattern-seeking mind wasn’t a flaw; it became a strength that helped me deconstruct complexity and imagine new systems.
I made a promise to myself: I would relearn how to listen. To embrace the raw, unfamiliar signals entering my awareness—not with fear, but with curiosity. Just as I lose myself in electronic music, I am learning to find beauty in digital sound. I am choosing to coexist with noises that once felt intrusive.
The greater challenge lies in rewiring my neurodivergent mindset. Life-long patterns and repetitive behaviors are deeply ingrained. Now I am teaching myself that there isn’t only one straight path—there can be branches, detours, and alternative routes. I am learning to adapt.
This process is often torturous. There are days the weight is almost too much. But I remind myself to look toward the unseen vistas along those new paths. However difficult it is now, I know there is beauty ahead that exists beyond the world I’ve always known.
The breakthrough I seek isn’t about erasing who I am. It’s about expanding it. I’m not losing myself—I’m rediscovering and reuniting with who I can become. True comfort, I now believe, isn’t a static place. It can be found inside new possibilities.
My journey continues. I don’t yet know if the change I’m striving for will fully come to pass. But I am moving forward.
What matters most is this: I have found the courage to begin. I am embracing my own incompleteness. Within my limits, I am facing the discomfort of change—to grow stronger, to rebuild, to flourish.
That first step—that decision to begin—is itself a new world, a new possibility.
And that is where my story truly unfolds.
