The Problem Was Never Change

I have been fascinated by change for as long as I can remember. Not because I particularly enjoy it in the moment and not because I have some natural talent for navigating it. In fact If I'm honest, I have often found change uncomfortable, painful at times, usually more than a little scary, and frequently a downright fucking inconvenience.

For much of my life, I have preferred certainty. The familiar. The known. Like many people, I carried around a deeply rooted belief that staying in my lane, sticking to the status quo, and not rocking the boat was somehow safer than whatever might be waiting on the other side of change.

The strange thing is that my relationship with change has itself changed over time. Don’t worry, the irony of this isn’t lost on me - and the more I reflect the more I wonder if change was ever the problem in the first place.

The first thing I think of when I hear the word "change" is very different now to what it used to be. I used to hear the word and cringe a little. It felt like one of those words that sounds exciting in theory but far less appealing when it is your life being turned upside down. 

Like so many people I have spoken to, I labelled myself a creature of habit, whilst simultaneously considering myself adventurous. Opposing stances perhaps, but somehow both felt true. I think what I really meant was that I enjoyed adventure when it felt safe enough. When it was a holiday, a new hobby, or an interesting idea. The bigger changes - the ones that challenged my identity, security, or sense of certainty - were a different story altogether. 

When I think about it, it isn't just the big changes that have made me feel this way. Sometimes it is the smallest, seemingly insignificant changes that have taken me weeks, months, or even years to make.

A new haircut. Painting a room a different colour. Moving the furniture around. Taking a different route home. Ordering something different from a restaurant I have been going to for years. Clicking "buy" on something I had already decided I wanted. Even changing my phone wallpaper after looking at the same one for months.

Logically, none of these things matter all that much. If the paint colour is wrong, I will show pictures of it to my friends and we will laugh, and then I can repaint it. If the haircut is terrible, I’ll make it work, laugh about it or buy a hat, and it will grow back. Yet there is often a strange resistance that shows up anyway.

A haircut isn't frightening. A different paint colour isn't frightening. What they represent, however briefly, is uncertainty. The possibility that I might choose something different and not like the outcome. 

We Are Wired to Prefer Certainty

As human beings, we are wired with a preference for certainty.

And the strange thing? We don't just seek certainty when things are good. We very often cling to it when things are painful too. People stay in jobs they dread, relationships that no longer fit, habits that hurt them, and versions of themselves they have long outgrown.

I mean, at least we know what we're dealing with right? At least we know the rules. Where the potholes are. We know which bits hurt and which bits don’t. We know what tomorrow will probably look like and we know how to survive the conversations, routines, frustrations, disappointment. We know where we stand even if where we stand is not actually where we want to be.  

You aren’t stupid or broken if this sounds like you, and you are not, hang on… absolutely fucking not, on your own. Countless people that I have spoken to and coached feel exactly the same.

There are good reasons for this. Evidence can be found throughout evolution, biology, and psychology. Our ancestors survived by recognising patterns, identifying threats, and sticking with what was known to be safe. The familiar signalled security. The unknown carried risk. Thousands of years ago, "embracing change" could quite literally have resulted in being eaten by something. A new cave, a new path through the forest, a strange rustling noise in the bushes. Personal growth wasn't always the outcome. 

As a result our fantastic brains have spent thousands of years learning what keeps us alive and what gets us eaten. The result is a remarkably sophisticated survival system that favours the familiar, treats uncertainty with suspicion, and generally prefers not becoming lunch.

Thankfully, most modern decisions carry considerably less risk. Choosing a different career, moving house, starting a business, or getting a new haircut is unlikely to result in being mauled by wildlife. Yet our brains often react as though the stakes are remarkably similar. 

The blueprint may be ancient, but it is still running quietly in the background today. It likes predictability. It likes certainty. It likes knowing what comes next. And whenever we start thinking about changing something meaningful, it often pipes up with a gentle but persistent, "Careful now..."

Is it any wonder, then, that change can feel uncomfortable? Even when it is positive. Even when it is something we have chosen. Even when it might ultimately improve our lives. There is often a part of us that resists. 

We cling to old routines, old identities, old stories and old ways of doing things because there is a strange comfort in knowing what to expect. Even when what we expect is no longer what we want, frequently, the certainty of pain feels easier to manage than the uncertainty of possibility.

I have seen it countless times in people I have worked with, and I have observed it very clearly in myself too. We become incredibly skilled at explaining why staying where we are is the sensible option. We tell ourselves stories. We rationalise. We negotiate. We lower the volume on the part of us that is asking difficult questions.

Who do you think you are? Be grateful for what you have. Plenty of people would love your life. Don't be selfish. Don't be unrealistic. Don't rock the boat.

And beneath all of that, I think there is often something else.

A quiet hope that maybe we can make the feeling go away without having to change anything. A wish that somehow the life we have will suddenly start to feel like enough. That we will wake up one morning feeling aligned, fulfilled, and certain again.

Because if we're honest, questioning our lives can be uncomfortable. It forces us to consider possibilities we may not feel ready for. It asks us to examine whether we are living intentionally or simply following a path that was shaped by habit, circumstance, expectation, or obligation.

And sometimes the hardest question of all is not, "What if I change?"

It's, "What if I already know something needs to change?"

The Two Types of Change

Broadly speaking, there are two types of change: the changes we choose and the changes that choose us.

The second type is often easier to recognise. The death of a loved one. The end of a relationship. Losing a job. A health scare. These moments arrive without invitation and demand our attention. They interrupt the plans we had, challenge our sense of control, and often leave us scrambling to find our footing again.

We expect these changes to feel difficult because they weren't our idea.

The changes we choose for ourselves can be more confusing. Surely if we are choosing them, they should feel easier?

Yet some of the hardest changes we ever make are the ones we consciously decide to pursue. Leaving a career. Starting a business. Moving somewhere new. Ending a relationship. Beginning one. Changing habits. Choosing a different path.

The decision may be ours, but the uncertainty still comes along for the ride.

There is something uniquely unsettling about choosing change when, on paper at least, life looks perfectly fine. No dramatic crisis. No obvious catastrophe. Just a growing sense that something no longer fits.

Sometimes it begins as a whisper. A feeling that there may be something more available to us. Not necessarily more success, money, or achievement, but more alignment. More authenticity. More life.

And eventually there comes a point when the discomfort of staying the same becomes louder than the fear of what comes next.

That was certainly true for me.

The "fuck this, let's see what happens" wasn't the absence of fear. It was simply the moment when remaining where I was felt more uncomfortable than stepping into the unknown.

Maybe We Don't Hate Change At All

For years I thought I disliked change. I have changed my mind about that. In fact, I wonder whether many of us have misdiagnosed the problem entirely. 

Let's take New Year's resolutions as an example. Every year, millions of people decide they want to change something. Lose weight. Exercise more. Stop smoking. Drink less. Start that project. Leave that job. Finally do the thing they have been talking about for years. Or perhaps it isn't as dramatic as a New Year's resolution. Perhaps we're waiting for the first of the month. Next Monday. After the summer. Once the kids are older. Once work calms down. Whenever it is, we seem to be endlessly finding start lines for the changes we want to make. 

And then there is the familiar pattern. The one that precedes these moments with one final burst of indulgence. Our brains seem to switch into "last supper mode” as we enjoy one last takeaway. One last packet of cigarettes. One last weekend of doing absolutely nothing productive. I can think of countless Sunday evenings, New Year's Eves, and even the occasional full moon where I have fully embraced this phenomenon. Melting into the sofa with pizza, Pringles, and enough nicotine to suggest I was preparing for a particularly harsh winter rather than simply attempting to make a healthier choice on Monday morning. 

It's as though we are preparing ourselves for a loss. And perhaps in some ways we are. But it again makes me wonder whether we actually dislike change itself. Because if we did, why would we keep trying to create it? 

Perhaps it isn’t change, perhaps it is the uncertainty that accompanies it. The gap between where we are and where we want to be. The part where we don't know how things will turn out. The part where there are no guarantees. 

The Certainty Trap

Sometimes the familiar becomes so comfortable that we stop questioning it. Not because it makes us happy. Not because it is helping us grow. Simply because we know it.

The familiar can feel safer than possibility. Safer than potential. Safer than growth.

The trouble with certainty is that it rarely announces itself as a trap. It doesn't arrive wearing a villain's cape or waving a red flag. More often, it sounds sensible. Responsible. Practical, even.

Maybe things will improve on their own.

Maybe I just need to try harder.

Maybe this is as good as it gets.

Maybe everyone feels like this.

And sometimes those thoughts are valid. Sometimes patience is wise. Sometimes perseverance matters.

But sometimes certainty is simply fear wearing a very convincing disguise.

Fear has a remarkable ability to make staying put feel rational. It encourages us to gather a little more information, wait a little longer, think things through one more time. It promises that clarity is just around the corner, if only we don't move too quickly.

Meanwhile, weeks become months. Months become years.

The problem is that certainty can become a trap. Not an obvious one. A comfortable one. The kind that quietly convinces us to settle for a life that no longer fits.

Not because we don't want something different.

But because the uncertainty required to get there still feels harder than staying where we are.

Why Do We Only Call Bad Things Change?

This is the part I find most fascinating.

We are very quick to recognise change when it hurts. A breakup is a change. A redundancy is a change. An illness is a change. A loss is a change.

These experiences immediately register as change because they interrupt our lives and demand our attention. They create a clear dividing line between before and after.

But what about the changes we welcome?

Learning to trust yourself. 

Building confidence.

Recovering from something difficult.

Meeting someone who changes your life.

Creating healthier habits.

Starting a business.

Finding work that feels meaningful.

Falling in love.

Do we describe these experiences as change in the same way? Or do we call them something else?

Growth.

Healing.

Success.

Good luck.

A blessing.

Things finally falling into place.

Yet if we're being honest, these are changes too. In fact, many of the things we value most in our lives exist only because something changed.

Every meaningful relationship began as a change.

Every skill we have learned required change.

Every habit we have developed required change.

Every version of ourselves that we have outgrown required change.

Even the qualities we admire most in ourselves often arrived through change. Confidence. Resilience. Wisdom. Self-trust. None of these appear overnight. They emerge gradually as we navigate experiences that shape us.

Which makes me wonder whether we have accidentally developed a slightly unfair relationship with the word itself.

Somewhere along the way, many of us seem to have started using change as shorthand for disruption, loss, uncertainty, or things going wrong.

When life gets worse, we call it change. When life gets better, we often call it luck.

But perhaps that isn't entirely accurate. Perhaps change deserves more credit than it gets.

Because when I look back at the moments that have shaped my life most profoundly, both the beautiful ones and the painful ones, they all have one thing in common.

Something changed.

The people I have loved, the places I have lived, the opportunities I have taken, the lessons I have learned, and the parts of myself I have discovered all have one thing in common: none of them existed before something changed.

Perhaps we don't actually dislike change nearly as much as we think we do.

Perhaps we simply dislike not knowing what the outcome will be.

And once we've safely arrived on the other side, we stop calling it change altogether.

Final Thoughts

Over time my relationship with change has changed. Not because change became easy. Not because uncertainty became comfortable. But because I have started to recognise that almost everything I value in my life arrived through change.

Perhaps the question isn't whether we like change.

Perhaps the question is whether we can learn to trust ourselves enough to face the uncertainty that comes with it.

Because the life we want, the person we want to become, and the experiences we hope for all live on the other side of something changing.

And maybe good change isn't luck at all.

Maybe it's simply change that we have learned to appreciate once we've safely arrived on the other side.

Exploring Change Together

Change can be exciting, liberating, uncomfortable, messy, and occasionally all four at once.

Sometimes we know exactly what needs to change and struggle to take the first step. Sometimes we simply know that something feels out of alignment and can't yet put our finger on why.

Coaching provides a space to explore those questions without judgement, pressure, or having all the answers figured out in advance.

If you're navigating change, considering a new direction, or feeling stuck between where you are and where you'd like to be, I'd be happy to explore it with you. 

Complete the form in the contact section and I will be in touch.