We are creatures of comfort, aren’t we?

Especially when we’re tasked with doing something that stretches us. If we’re going to run a marathon, we need sneakers that fit perfectly and shorts that don’t rub in all the wrong places. When we’re going on a long road trip, we get the car cleaned, the playlist sorted, and we stack up on snacks for the road. Anything we can do to make the trip comfortable.

These are good, proper, forward thinking things to do. They show dedication to the task and a desire to be prepared. Ensuring you have the tools necessary and the time set aside to accomplish a feat is wise.

That said, our desire for comfort can handicap us if we’re not careful.

A couple years back I had my gallbladder removed. The surgery was a quick, outpatient procedure, but it left me achy and awkward for several weeks afterward. To alleviate the pain, the surgeon recommended a heating pad across my shoulders. And boy, did I take him up on that. I found a heating pad that was more blanket than anything. Snuggled up in my recliner, I hardly moved.

I was so comfortable.

And even when my body had done enough healing to allow me some movement, it was hard work to get going. Out from under that heating pad, the house was cold and walking around hurt. It wasn’t long before I crawled back under the blanket and gave up entirely.

For a few days, I allowed myself to wallow in my need for comfort. I had just had major surgery after all. But eventually—after watching every episode of Secrets of Great British Castles—I had to acknowledge that comfort was keeping me from improvement.

Ouch, right?

It’s an icky confession.

But once I packed away the heating pad and forced myself to put on pants, I was glad I did. I wasn’t nearly as comfortable, but I was much more productive.

The same is true in my professional life. I have patterns I prefer, schedules that allow me to thrive, dependable relationships, and a cozy home office I prefer to write in.

But I’ve found that while these things make my writing experience comfortable, they do not necessarily make me better.

There are all sorts of qualifications I could make. I could talk about the benefits of a safe work environment—and there are many—and I could talk about how writers take so many risks with their words that it’s only natural to create a writing cave full of comforts. Yes, true. There’s nothing wrong with any of this.

But if comfort becomes a necessity before any work can be done, you’ve developed an Achilles heel that life is sure to exploit.

You may be able to carve out months of creativity in your comfortable cave, but when you least expect it, your schedule will shift, your obligations will increase, you’ll deal with a life trauma or event, and suddenly you’ll realize: I don’t have the necessary tools to thrive in an uncomfortable environment.

And by tools I’m not talking about a lap top you can tote to coffee shops. I’m talking about the ability to see your way through disagreements with an editor or an agent so that you can continue working on a project; the discipline to carve out writing time when life fills up; the guts to cut massive chunks of a manuscript that just aren’t working; and the internal fortitude to push through a bad review or negative feedback and continue forward.

For us comfort seekers, difficult times will make or break us. We’ll either climb out of our cozy caves and get to work, or we’ll curl up beneath our heated blankets and start another show on Netflix.

Ouch, yeah? Sorry.

SO! How can we develop the necessary tools to keep us writing when the world turns cold and uncomfortable?

There are many ways to do this, and I have three ideas to get you started. First:

Consider why a task is uncomfortable for you.

Discomfort isn’t always a bad sign. Sometimes discomfort is teaching you that an activity or technique is unwise or unsafe for you to engage in. Give serious thought to that. Are you moving forward in an unsafe way? Could there be an unseen danger in doing what you’re doing? Both very good questions to ask yourself.

Sometimes, though, discomfort indicates you that you are too comfortable to grow. Like stretching after a long period of inactivity. It hurts, but it hurts so good! The ache of the stretch is a sign that you are doing something profitable for your body. But it’s important to differentiate the good pains from the bad pains.

And comfort isn’t always bad. There’s nothing wrong with snuggling up under a warm blanket at bedtime–I don’t need to be productive then–but seeking comfort is not a good work practice for me. Being too familiar with my words or my schedule makes me tired, unproductive, and stale. Any way you look at it, that’s not going to produce a good story.

Step out of your comfort zone.

All the introverts cringe, I know. I’m not asking you to change who you are, but we should all be committed to growth–the kind of growth that will prepare us for the unexpected and uncomfortable things to come.

Some simple ways to stretch yourself: read something outside your typical genre, write something outside your typical genre, attend a book event, introduce yourself to someone new, ditch the laptop and try writing by hand or vice versa (because you never know when technology will fail you!), look for a writing group, actively seek out feedback on your stories, or consider switching up your schedule to see how productive you can be at different times and in different locations.

None of these things are the answer in it’s entirety, but it is so beneficial to know you can pivot when necessary. If life requires you to bend a little–and it will–it is wise to stretch yourself beforehand. That way the bending doesn’t break you.

And finally . . .

Utilize writing practice.

If you’re in a good place with your writing right now–your schedule is working for you and you’re trucking along–I’m not advocating you mess with a good thing. The whole point of this post is that we should find ways to be productive in as many seasons as possible. So instead of spoiling what works, consider utilizing sessions of writing practice to strengthen your ability to write when uncomfortable.

The suggestions I made up there in regards to stretching yourself? All of those can be done outside your typical writing time. It’s okay to continue on with your regular routine, so long as you carve out moments to stretch your writing skills. I go through seasons where I start every writing session with a bit of writing practice. Something I learned by reading Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones. Every day, it costs me fifteen minutes of work on my novel, but it grows me and I consider that a profitable and worthy sacrifice.

Use word prompts and writing sprints to get you trying something new. Look up writing exercises online and do one a week. The next time you’re out and about with time to kill, pull out a notebook and pen instead of a book. See if you can do a little writing without all the comforts of your traditional writing environment.

It is possible to grow your skill set while continuing to work in the comfortable situation you’re in right now. In fact, there’s no better time to prepare for the inevitable moments of discomfort.

And now it’s your turn! Tell me, have you found comfort to be friend or foe in your writing life? Has a desire for comfort interfered with your growth? What have you done to combat that?