Stress Test
Can You Take a Cold Shower?
Several years ago, my family and I watched Limitless on Disney+ with Chris Hemsworth. It’s one of those shows where you sit on the couch thinking, “Wow, that’s fascinating,” while also quietly hoping no one expects you actually to do any of it.
In Season 1, Episode 2 - titled Shock - Hemsworth dives into extreme cold exposure, eventually plunging into the Arctic Ocean (which feels like a pretty bold life choice, if you ask me.)
At the end of the episode, the ongoing challenge is simple. Hemsworth commits to finishing each shower with 30 seconds of cold water.
Thirty seconds. How bad could it be?
My friend, I had concerns.
But it got me thinking about something deeper - namely, how hard our brains work to keep us comfortable. And by “comfortable,” I mean “safe,” “efficient,” and preferably “wrapped in a cozy blanket on the sofa doing absolutely nothing strenuous.”
This is ancient wiring. Our brains are still running a program designed for survival in a much harsher world. Way back when, conserving energy mattered. Today, that same program tries to talk us out of workouts, hard conversations, and yes… cold showers.
The brain hasn’t quite gotten the memo that it’s the 21st century - with cars, central heating, and food that arrives at our door.
Here’s the ironic part. While my brain was trying to stop me from doing something uncomfortable, my brain was also the very thing I had to use to override its own message!
So I started talking to it.
“Thank you so much for trying to protect me, brain. You can relax now because I’ve got this.”
(Yes, I was negotiating with my own brain in the shower. Personal growth at its finest.)
It was still cold in the spring when I started this ritual. I remember lingering under the hot water for a few extra, very luxurious seconds, repeating my little mantra, preparing myself like I was about to enter battle.
Then - full turn to cold.
Instant chaos.
My breath went sharp and shallow. Every alarm bell in my body sounded. I counted slowly - no cheating - and at exactly 30 seconds, I turned off the water and stood there, feeling like a victorious (and surprisingly not frozen) champion.
And then something surprising happened.
I felt incredible.
My heart rate was up, my circulation buzzing - invigorating and calming at the same time. Like my whole body was saying, “Okay… fine. That was actually kind of amazing.”
I’ve done this for three years now, at the end of every shower.
What once felt like a 7/10 on the difficulty scale is now… no big deal. My breathing stays steady. The shock isn’t so shocking anymore. I even find myself more at ease in cold ocean water - something the past me would never have believed possible.
I used to be the person who would sit poolside tanning instead of getting in the water nine times out of ten.
Now? I can be calm and cold at the same time.
I did not see that coming.
And it didn’t stop at the shower.
One of my least favorite places on earth used to be the refrigerated section of the supermarket (you know the one - where even choosing yogurt feels like a high-stakes decision because it’s so cold). Now I use the same self-talk there, and somehow… I’m fine.
Not thrilled. But fine. Which is a big upgrade.
All of this brought me back to that familiar phrase: mind over matter.
I always knew it. But this was different. I had experienced it. Practiced it. Proven it to myself in a small but tangible way.
And it made something very clear:
In its attempt to keep us “safe,” the brain can also keep us stuck.
This doesn’t just apply to cold showers. It shows up in much more tender places - like trauma.
When something painful happens, the brain does what it’s designed to do. It holds onto the memory, the fear, the grief. It creates internal warning signs.
“Do NOT go there again.”
And that makes sense.
But healing asks something different of us.
It asks us to go there… just a little.
Not to relive everything. Not to overwhelm ourselves. But gently to approach the pain and say:
“I see you.”
“I feel you.”
“Thank you for trying to protect me.”
“I’ve got this.”
That’s the work.
A stress test builds muscle - but only if you approach it properly. Too much, too fast, and you risk injury. But done with care and intention, you grow stronger. Wiser. More resilient.
Healing works the same way.
A big part of it is learning how to get comfortable with feeling uncomfortable.
Because when you can do that - when you can stay with discomfort instead of fighting it - you take your power back.
So maybe the question isn’t really about cold showers.
Maybe it’s this:
Where in your life is your brain trying to keep you “safe”… but actually holding you back?
And what might happen if you gently, kindly told it—
“Thank you. I’ve got this.”