M. Suzanne Terry

From Wednesday, Season 2: “I don’t evolve; I cocoon.” 

I feel this.

Cozy seems like a fluffy word to have as a theme for the year. But it’s essential for me, and that’s becoming more apparent the older I get. 

People say you have to get out of your comfort zone to learn. And I see the merit in this reasoning.

One question, though – what’s a comfort zone? That sounds nice. Mythical. Soothing. I bet it’s just delightful.

Do neurotypical people have places and situations in which they actually feel at ease? What’s that like?!

When I think back to the last place I felt truly comfortable – no social anxiety, no worry, no counting down all the things in my head that I had to do before it was over or I could leave – I landed on the trip I took to Cape Cod with Hope and her friend Alison. 

Easy mornings where I would drink coffee and write, read, or journal. Then we’d have brunch together and do something fun for the afternoon. Then we’d all meet up again for a long, decadent dinner – sometimes just us, sometimes with guests. 

It’s the coziest week I’ve ever spent away from my own home. It left space for spontaneity in ways that I rarely experience. And it was absolute magic for my creative process.

I don’t form habits; I have rituals, and even for my favorite ones, I sometimes need some kind of reminder. For example, on Sunday, I woke up, got a few things accomplished, and then got ready for church. On the drive there, I noticed I was feeling super scattered and grumpy. And then it hit me – I had forgotten to have coffee. Yes, you read that right. Not a typo. I – the coffee snob/addict – simply did not remember to brew a cup. I knew my executive function was wonky lately but jeez. This is why I keep a to-do list posted of how to get ready in the morning. Because on days like that, when I am extra steeped in discomfort, I don’t always remember all the steps. 

[Shout-out to coworkers who always remind me to take a break and go upstairs to get coffee at work. Y’all are the best.]

I don’t necessarily even follow ambitions, although I do have a lot of them. My most lasting successes all started in a space I felt free to think and experiment – where I felt relaxed enough to be my full creative self.

I say all of this to demonstrate that learning should follow the spirit of the “out of your comfort zone” rule rather than the literal directive. Essentially, learning requires doing something different. Neurotypical people live in a world that tends to work the way their brains do and in ways they are comfortable operating. In order for their brains to form new pathways (i.e., learn), they have to jolt themselves out of that (i.e., stepping out of that comfort). For many neurodivergent people, it’s the opposite. The world does not work the way our brains do. We are already – perpetually – out of our comfort zone. Pushing ourselves further out of it is more likely to result in burnout and shutdown rather than discovery. My learning process (and I suspect this is more often true than not for most ND folk) needs a soft space to land where my overactive brain can rest well enough to focus on the new thing I’m trying to do.

I need cozy.

And it starts at home.

Making my home cozy for myself inevitably means dampening the assault on my senses. My home right now? Chaos, which reflects my state of mind in this, the yearly Wild West Week that straddles the transition between the old and new year. The chaos in my home not only reflects but also contributes to my mental chaos, though, and I’d like to work on that this year. I can’t control most of what happens outside my home, and there are many elements of rental living that are likewise beyond my grasp. I can, however:

• Declutter and adjust lighting and decor to make my space more visibly soothing
• Cook amazing food and clean with non-smelly products so that my first reaction to walking in isn’t a shaking of the head and an exclaimed, “Oh! What is that smell!”
• Marie-Kondo the textures of items in my home. Even if something is useful, if my first reaction to touching it is, “Nooooo, thank you,” I will not use (or wear) it very often, which means it’s not actually helpful to me.
• Make playlists to mask/offset the 14,351 buzzing sounds and background noises that routinely plague apartment living. Green noise is my go-to for this purpose, but I’d like to mix it up a little this year. Maybe even compose something myself.

One thing I really like about cozy as a theme is that it has an element of preparedness to it. Yes, it’s nice to make physical and psychological spaces warm and comfortable for myself and others. That alone is valuable. But the practice of doing so also prepares the space for stressful situations. For example, making my home a cozy place was useful for times when I had to stay there longer than planned (ahem, pandemic and cancer diagnosis). Paying attention to and taking care of my body not only helps me feel more at home in it but also strengthens it for dealing with health issues and other physical challenges that arise. Working so hard on my financial stability this year really came in handy when it was suddenly time to qualify for a car loan in September. Effective therapy doesn’t just help me feel better; it helps me be better.

So this year, I am cultivating coziness in my life. And I am going to cozy up to the things that matter to me. 

Cocoons may seem unimportant on the outside (and may just seem like a big blob of mindless goo on the inside). But these cozy little spaces are what help their inhabitants turn into exactly who they need to be to fly.

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