Finding Joy When You’re Still Healing

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Because healing doesn’t mean you stop hurting—it means you’re still moving.

This one’s close to the heart.

I’ve gone through a lot. I’ve struggled a lot. And honestly, I never thought I’d get to this point—not just physically or financially, but emotionally. There are still days when I hate how my life has turned out. Days I sit and stew in frustration and shame. I hate how hard I tried, how many times I picked myself up just to end up... here.

I thought getting a degree meant I’d be set.

Get a degree, land a good job, stay five years, upgrade my skills, and then boom—locked into a stable career, maybe even start that cozy Midwest life with a tiny bakery on the corner.

Instead? I dropped culinary arts (it just wasn’t sustainable back then), switched to business, and thought I’d ease into office life. But life didn’t go that way. I spent years in food service and retail. And even now, I’m just starting to see seasonal and contract office work open up more regularly. I can’t help but wonder what if.

But I can’t let myself sit in those thoughts too long.

I’m not happy every day.

But I am healing.

And these days, I’m learning to find joy in the smallest things.

Joy Isn’t Always Loud

Joy doesn’t always come with a soundtrack or a smile you can’t hide. Sometimes it whispers instead of shouts. It sneaks in during the quiet moments—the in-between spaces where you're not actively searching for it. For me, it shows up when I step outside and let the sunlight hit my face. That warmth doesn’t just soak into my skin—it cuts through the fog in my mind, even just a little.

There’s something grounding about listening to the birds sing from the treetops around the property. Their songs feel like reminders that life is still happening, even when mine feels paused. And then there’s the deer, quiet and gentle, creeping across the yard like they know they’re being watched. I’ve caught raccoons waddling off with some random object they’ve claimed as treasure, and the squirrels? Don’t even get me started. They’re chaotic little drama queens, and I love them for it. And the chipmunks—tiny, quick, always busy—somehow remind me to keep going. Even when I’m not doing much, watching them reminds me that I’m still part of something alive, something beautiful.

When I’m stuck indoors, I still find those small blessings. Like air conditioning. That might sound silly to some people, but for me? It’s everything. I’ve passed out in the heat before—when the air feels thick like molasses and every breath feels like a fight. So when the AC kicks on and cools the space, it feels like safety. It’s one less battle to fight. That’s joy too.

Joy Can Be Shared

There’s a unique kind of joy that happens when someone you love meets you exactly where you are. For me, that looks like weekends curled up on the couch, controller in hand, playing video games with my boyfriend. It’s not just about the game—it’s about syncing up, laughing at our ridiculous in-game deaths, tag-teaming bad guys, and letting go of whatever heaviness the week left behind. Lately we’ve been diving into Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League, and even though the characters are chaotic, there’s something therapeutic about how the game lets me melt away my stress and just play.

Other times, joy comes in the form of a cat video from my girlfriend. You know the kind—some dramatic fail-jump that ends with the cat landing awkwardly but still strutting off like they meant to do it. It gets me every time. There’s something about those little moments—those quick bursts of laughter—that break through the mental haze. They don’t solve everything. They don’t take the pain away. But they remind me that I’m still capable of joy. That I can still laugh, still connect, still be part of a moment that feels light.

Joy Looks Different on Hard Days

Not every day allows for sunshine and giggles. Some days I can barely move without wincing. There are mornings when just getting out of bed feels like trying to climb a mountain barefoot. On those days, I don’t beat myself up for not going outside or not being productive. Instead, I find joy in what I can do. Like asking—okay, sometimes whining in a cutesy voice—for someone to bring me an iced coffee. Not because I need the caffeine, but because that sweet cold drink reminds me that small comforts still matter.

Joy doesn’t have to look like progress. It doesn’t need a checklist. It can look like surviving. Like remembering to eat. Like brushing your hair after a three-day slump. Or cracking a joke in your group chat and seeing someone type “lol.” It can be feeling a little less pain than yesterday. It can be one moment of stillness where you feel—if only for a second—okay.

Those moments count. They are joy, even if they’re quiet. Even if they don’t last. Even if they come wrapped in grief or exhaustion.

I Didn’t Expect to Be Pollyanna… but Here We Are

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Growing up, I watched Pollyanna. Both versions, actually—but the BBC one had my heart. Back then, I didn’t think much of her “glad game.” Honestly, it sounded kind of impossible to imagine. Like how can you be glad about everything? But now? Now I get it. Life has thrown me more curveballs than I can count. I’ve been knocked down, built back up, and knocked down again. And while I haven’t always landed on my feet, I have always landed.

I don’t look at the hard things and pretend they don’t suck. I just do my best to find something—anything—that doesn’t. Maybe I’m in too much pain to stand up for long, but I have the energy to write or create. Maybe I had to cancel plans, but I got to watch a movie I’ve been meaning to see for months. I’m learning to hold space for both—the frustration and the gratitude. The disappointment and the beauty. That’s not toxic positivity. That’s survival. That’s how I keep my head above water.

Because if I only look at what’s wrong, I’ll drown in it. But if I let myself notice what’s right—even just a sliver—I give myself room to breathe.

You’re Allowed to Smile Before You’re “Fixed”

You don’t have to wait until everything is better to let yourself enjoy life. You don’t need to be fully healed to laugh at something ridiculous or to let a moment of peace sink in. Joy isn’t something you have to earn. It’s not a prize you unlock at the end of a long, painful journey—it’s something you’re allowed to feel right now, even if your heart still aches or your body still hurts.

There’s this idea that we have to be completely put together before we can enjoy anything. Like if we’re still crying some days or struggling to get out of bed, then we shouldn’t be allowed to smile. But that’s not true. Feeling deeply doesn’t make you broken. Crying doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human. It means you care. And that’s okay. You’re not behind. You’re not doing life wrong. You’re just in process—growing, healing, surviving, becoming.

So if you’ve made it this far in the post, I want to invite you to do something really simple. Gentle. Kind. Take a moment and think about three things that made you smile this week. They don’t have to be big or profound—maybe it was a meme that made you snort-laugh, or a quiet moment of sun on your skin, or your favorite song coming on at just the right time.

Write them down. In the comments, your journal, the notes app on your phone—anywhere. Let them live somewhere outside your head. Let joy take up space, even if it's just a little. Let it grow.

You’re healing. Even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re doing better than you think. And even if no one else says it today—I will.

I’m proud of you.