Radiant Redemption

For a long time, joy felt like something reserved for other people.
People who hadn’t made a mess of their lives.
People who didn’t carry around shame like a weighted blanket.
People who didn’t wake up every day wondering how they were going to survive themselves.

Addiction stole a lot from me — time, relationships, trust, integrity — but one of the deepest losses was joy.

I don’t just mean happiness.
I mean the kind of joy that bubbles up without warning.
The kind that makes you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.
The kind that makes you dance in your kitchen or cry at a sunset or feel excitement in your chest just because you’re alive.

At the height of my addiction, I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed—not the manufactured kind, not the “let me pretend I’m okay” kind, but the real kind. Shame had wrapped itself around me so tightly that joy felt like a luxury I no longer deserved.

But recovery does something miraculous: it opens the door.
Slowly, gently, almost quietly at first—you begin to feel again.

Maybe it starts with a small smile that catches you off guard.
Maybe it’s noticing how beautiful the sky looks on your morning walk.
Maybe it’s hearing your child laugh and realizing you want to remember that moment forever.

And little by little, you start rediscovering pieces of yourself you thought were lost:
Your creativity.
Your playfulness.
Your sense of adventure.
Your ability to have fun without needing to escape.

Let me tell you, the first time you genuinely laugh in recovery — I mean really laugh — it feels like resurrection. Like something you buried long ago has finally stepped back into the light.

Joy isn’t just a feeling; it’s medicine.
It’s proof that healing is happening.
It’s evidence that shame doesn’t get to have the final word.

And here’s the best part:
Joy doesn’t require perfection.
It doesn’t wait until you’ve “earned” it.
It sneaks in simply because you’re finally present enough to receive it.

Recovery teaches us that life is not meant to be endured — it’s meant to be lived.
Fully.
Honestly.
With moments of delight stitched between the hard work and the growing pains.

And every time you allow yourself to laugh, to create, to play, to enjoy something purely because it feels good, you’re reclaiming a part of your soul that addiction tried to steal.

Joy is your birthright.
And you are allowed to take it back.

This week, choose one small thing that brings you joy — something playful, creative, or delightfully simple. Do it on purpose.
Paint. Dance. Bake. Walk. Watch something funny. Sit in the sun. Listen to music that makes you smile.

Then write down how it made you feel.
Let yourself notice the shift.
Let yourself receive joy without guilt.

And if you feel brave, share that moment with someone else — because joy multiplies when it’s shared.

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