I’m not going to lie. I admit that I forgot what joy felt like for a little bit. And not in the ways you might think — because I definitely still give and get love, I laugh every day, I have fun. But I’m talking about a different kind of joy. The kind that’s settled, the kind you don’t have to chase. The kind that simply lives in you.
It wasn’t depression, it was more like forgetting a taste. Like eating every day but missing that one really good meal. Burnout and exhaustion had blurred life so much that I couldn’t tell what I was actually happy about and what I wasn’t.
But in the stillness, I started to notice again.
When I was in the hospital this past week, life slowed down in a way I couldn’t ignore. A friend walked into my room, and instantly I felt safe, held, and happy. She stayed with me, and we laughed. Other friends showed up too, each in their own way. Two brought me *gardening* things. My parents brought flowers. Another friend gave me a care package. Gavin checked in every single day. Laura made sure I felt supported. Sage sent her love & others showed up too. And all of those small acts reminded me: life can still be soft and good.
It was ironic, because only days earlier I had been convinced no one truly cared. That if my world came crashing down, nobody would notice. But then I was reminded — not only of the ones who do show up, but also of the ones who don’t. And both reminders mattered.
Because joy and love and support aren’t always loud. They aren’t always instant. Sometimes they look like a quiet “you okay?” Sometimes it’s the look in someone’s eyes that says, “I see you.” Sometimes it’s realizing who didn’t answer, and learning to stop waiting on them.
Joy isn’t always fireworks. Sometimes it’s the softest whisper, the longest road, the scariest wait. But even then, it always finds its way back.
Journaling Prompt:
✨ When was the last time joy surprised you? Write about the smallest moment that reminded you life can still be good.
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