After years of playing it safe in well-established roles, I embraced visibility and vulnerability. Here’s how stepping into discomfort changed my life—and how it can transform yours, too.

by Edilsa Bueno, Founder at Bueno & Co.

Before I ever considered stepping into discomfort, my life was built on a foundation of stability. I had worked in stable, well-known companies, never taking more than two weeks off between jobs. I lived under the mantra my mother instilled in me: never leave a job without another one lined up. Discomfort wasn’t something I welcomed—it was something I avoided.

It was early March, and my brother and I sat down to review how the first 60 days of solopreneurship had gone. I was sending direct messages, having catch-up calls, and posting here and there on LinkedIn. Yet, something was missing. I had clients, yes, but it felt like potential clients didn’t even know I existed. I wasn’t visible.

Over a quarterly sync a close mentor & retail vet Ron Thurston offhandedly mentioned: 

“Edilsa, you know they’re not buying what you sell. They’re buying you.”

It was a simple yet jarring reality check. My business wouldn’t grow if no one knew who I was. I knew then that visibility was key. I decided I’d become a creator.

As I think back to where this seed was planted, I’m brought back to my first post on LinkedIn a year earlier. I remember staring at the screen, scrolling back and forth over my draft. I couldn’t shake the nerves—what if no one saw it? Or worse, what if they did, and they didn’t like it? It took 10 minutes to get a first like, and those 10 minutes felt like forever.

Among others I’d hear from an old colleague I had lost touch with—someone I still keep up with today. They had been following all along.

“Such a bold, but earned, leap,” they said. 

It seemed by leaning into discomfort, I had stepped into myself.

Even then, the first time I received an invite to be on a podcast, I brushed it off. Over the next hour, an ex-vendor and I would talk of their new role, how we could help each other, and connections they recommended as I got off the ground. The podcast invitation became an afterthought. But my brother and closest confidante, who always seems to cut through the noise, pushed, “You should take that.” 

I’d remember what had continued to nag at me: they’re not buying what you sell, they’re buying you.

It was late one afternoon in July when I saw Rick Ferguson’s message land in my inbox.  

"Hi Edilsa, it's been some time since we connected; I trust this message finds you well.  As you’re a trusted expert in customer loyalty, I wanted to extend an invitation to you to appear on an upcoming segment of our Loyalty Newscast."  

I read it over twice.  

I scrolled back up. Trusted expert in customer loyalty. I could feel the nerves creeping in already. My brother didn’t even glance up from his laptop when I shared the news.  

"You’re doing it," he said.  

Later that evening, I replied.  

What started as a single podcast appearance became a catalyst. A panel to moderate. Clients from industries I’d never worked in. A growing audience that wanted to hear me. Discomfort had become less of an obstacle and more of a compass pointing toward growth.

This past October, I went to Oaxaca. Known for its vibrant culture, Oaxaca transforms during Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead. The air buzzes with life and reverence as the city honors loved ones who have passed. Altars, or ofrendas, are adorned with marigolds, candles, food, and photographs, creating a vivid tapestry of remembrance and celebration.

At the center of a friend's airbnb was an altar, filled with offerings for the departed: photographs, mementos, and the favorite drinks of loved ones no longer here. My friends spoke with a vulnerability I rarely see—a comfort in their discomfort that left me both awed and introspective.

I realized then that this wasn’t about grief alone. It was about connection—between the living and the dead, between pain and joy. That openness, the willingness to be uncomfortable in order to honor something greater, changed how I approached everything that came after. Discomfort wasn’t a barrier. It was a bridge—to connection, to meaning, to growth.

Late this year, a client emailed me out of the blue.

"How’s your week going?! How has kickoff with the TT team been so far? I have a question."

They were at a crossroads. They were frustrated, pushing hard to make their marketing strategy work, even though the results weren’t there. It reminded me of my own early days—pouring effort into something that didn’t feel quite right, hoping sheer determination would tip the scales.

During one session, I asked a question that changed the direction of their strategy: “What if we stopped?” It wasn’t what they expected to hear, and I could sense the discomfort in their silence. But pausing gave them room to step back and rethink. Instead of doubling down on what wasn’t working, they reallocated their energy into channels where they could make a real impact. The results would set them on a path to grow revenue in ways they hadn’t before.

Leaning into that discomfort—pausing, letting go, and rethinking—was their breakthrough.

So when Evolve founder & podcast host Carlos Monteiro recently asked, “Would you like to co-host a webinar with me? This coming Wednesday. One of the creators of social media,” my answer was easy: 

Yes.  

Because I’ve learned that discomfort doesn’t define the limits—it defines the path forward.