Joy.

I haven’t felt joy for a long time. I’ve talked to counselors, acupuncturists, and naturopaths and hear myself saying, “I just don’t know where my joy went, I can’t find my joy.” I talk about it like it’s a lost chapstick and I’ve misplaced it in a bag or coat pocket, something that would be easy enough to replace if I went to the market and looked at the little displays next to the register. They ask probing questions, prescribe supplements to boost endorphins, or give me just the right vitamins to help. They haven’t been making it all better. There’s no quick fix.

It’s true, I’ve been going through a lot of changes. Life changes. I’ve left a four-year relationship, moved to a new apartment, and moved into just the beginning stages of peri-menopause. Logically, I know that when someone goes through that many transitions, it will take time to have their tail catch up to them. I tell myself that all the time, mostly when I’m curled up in the covers of my bed with just my nose peeking out as I try to calm my breathing and tell myself “I am safe”. I even believe it when I say it. It’s still hard to accept it. Judgment is my new housemate. And it’s not as cozy as the two cats that are back with my ex in our ex home. (I do miss their furry cuddles and warm purrs.)

There was a lot of crying. Sobs would bubble up out of me all on their own, unbidden and not at all understood. I had no alternative other than to just let it happen. I surrendered to this moment in my life with all that I had. I laid down, curled up, and let all of the new emotions I was experiencing just wash over me. And I told myself I would keep doing this until it was done and I wouldn’t judge myself. That part was easiest in the end, I had no energy left to do any judging anyway. So I simply…let go.

It wasn’t immediate, but I began to transform. I would feel a contentment in my chest rise up when I made the choice to curl up with a book instead of going outside. I could take a deep breath when I made myself a cup of decaf coffee and oat milk, cupping it in my hands as I sat in my chair looking out the window at the expanse of sky. I smiled to myself and felt good when I slipped into an epsom salt bath and watched a movie from the Chromebook set up on a kitchen chair in the bathroom. I marveled at this new feeling of peace that I was finding. It was warm and gave off a steady hum that made me feel calm and swaddled. It was altogether different than what I remembered joy to be. Joy in my memory was an elation that vibrated strongly in my chest and made me physically energized. Joy had me dancing and made me feel a little hyper. I remembered that I fought to hold on to that joy. I didn’t want to lose that buzz and would search for what to do with it, how to harness it and how to use it. I would go out walking around, maybe do some shopping, think about doing some art, writing, or cooking. I wouldn’t always be able to work with that powerful energy and would more often than not fizzle out, depleted by my ineffectual activity.

But this new feeling I was now experiencing was altogether different. From the place of peace I naturally moved into the creative activity I fought to yoke before. There would be a spark, a thought, “why don’t I paint that hummingbird?”, and I would get in the car, get the wooden panel, and come home and sit down at the table and paint. Another spark and I would be getting the ingredients to make the soup I’ve been thinking about. The sparks would become sustainable little campfires in my soul and I wrote the first draft of a book—my very first first draft. A milestone I’ve been chasing for all of my adult life. At night, I would lie in bed and start crying. Happy tears that welled up and slid out slowly one by one with gratitude. I was feeling a hope-filled lightness that took my breath away. I was alive with a contentment I hadn’t known before. I was…wait…I was feeling…joy?

I’m just now seeing how I misunderstood what joy was. I made it into something it was never supposed to be—the all-encompassing, vibrant bounce in your step that turns you into the movie character that is well-dressed, beautifully coiffed, and walks around with an upbeat soundtrack punctuating their wins. How exhausting that is! I much prefer this calm, slow burn that fuels me and sustains me and makes me feel whole.

I am not out of the healing cave I’ve been living in as a result of all these changes in my life. And I’m not rushing it. It isn’t all gumdrops and roses all the time, those emotions I’m working through are huge and real and demand my attention. But I lean into what I’ve learned. Everytime I curl up in my bed, pulling my comforter over my head and tucking it around my face so only my nose is free to breathe the crisp air, I smile in my dark cocoon and let myself exhale a long, relieved sigh and open my heart to welcome in all the emotions that are welling up. I let them wash up and over me and through me, cleansing me. I now know that this is my way to the contentment I’ve tasted. I am safe. This is my way to lasting joy.