Can I tell you something that surprised me about healing?
Joy can be terrifying.
That sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.
For years, I thought happiness was what I was trying to get to.
Peace.
Safety.
Connection.
A family that felt whole.
A life I actually wanted to participate in.
So you would think that when those things started showing up, I would have simply enjoyed them.
Instead, sometimes I found myself waiting.
Waiting for something to go wrong.
Waiting for the mood to shift.
Waiting for the phone call.
Waiting for the conflict.
Waiting for someone to leave.
Waiting for the bottom to fall out.
There have been moments when life felt genuinely good and instead of sinking into them, my mind immediately whispered:
“Don’t get too comfortable.”
Maybe you know that feeling too.
When you’ve lived through enough chaos, sometimes joy doesn’t initially feel safe.
It feels like something you’re about to lose.
I Learned How to Brace Before I Learned How to Rest
There was a time when being on alert served me.
I learned to read rooms.
Watch people’s expressions.
Notice changes in tone.
Anticipate problems.
Prepare for the worst.
And during active addiction, there often was another crisis coming.
Sometimes because of circumstances.
Sometimes because of my choices.
Sometimes because chaos had become so normal that I didn’t know how to live without it.
My body learned the rhythm.
Something is wrong.
Fix it.
Something might go wrong.
Prepare for it.
Nothing is wrong.
…find it.
That last one is the tricky part.
Because eventually life became safer.
But parts of me were still standing guard.
Sometimes Peace Felt More Dangerous Than Chaos
Chaos was exhausting.
But it was familiar.
Peace was unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar doesn’t always register as safe.
There were times when everything was fine and I would start searching for a problem.
I’d replay conversations.
Worry about something months away.
Notice a tiny issue and mentally turn it into a catastrophe.
Wonder if someone was upset with me.
Think about everything that could possibly go wrong.
Anything to explain the strange feeling in my body.
It took me a while to realize:
Nothing was wrong.
I just wasn’t accustomed to nothing being wrong.
That realization broke my heart a little.
How long had I lived believing I needed to brace myself?
And how many good moments had I missed because I was busy preparing for bad ones?
Joy Requires Vulnerability
This is something I never understood before.
Joy is vulnerable.
Because the moment I admit:
I love this…
I also acknowledge:
I could lose this.
I love my family.
Which means loving them exposes me to grief.
I love my marriage.
Which means there is something precious enough to hurt if it were lost.
I love the life we’re building.
Which means there are no guarantees it will always look exactly this way.
Sometimes we think we can protect ourselves by holding good things loosely.
Don’t enjoy it too much.
Don’t hope too much.
Don’t celebrate too soon.
Don’t get attached.
Don’t let yourself believe this might actually be good.
As if worrying now will somehow make future pain hurt less.
But it doesn’t.
It just makes us experience pain twice.
Once in our imagination.
And again if it ever actually comes.
And sometimes the terrible thing never comes at all.
We simply sacrificed today’s joy trying to prepare ourselves for tomorrow’s grief.
I Don’t Want Fear to Get the Good Days Too
Fear has already taken enough from me.
Shame has taken enough.
Addiction took enough.
I don’t want them to get the good days too.
I don’t want to sit at the dinner table surrounded by people I love while mentally rehearsing everything that could go wrong.
I don’t want to experience something beautiful and immediately diminish it because I’m afraid of wanting it too much.
I don’t want to receive good news and respond with:
“Yeah, but…”
I don’t want every blessing to come with an asterisk.
Sometimes something good happens.
And I’m learning that I am allowed to say:
This is good.
Period.
No disclaimer.
No prediction.
No guarantee about tomorrow.
Just gratitude for today.
Joy Doesn’t Require a Guarantee
Maybe this is the part I’ve had to learn most.
I don’t need to know something will last forever in order to love it today.
My children won’t always live under my roof.
That doesn’t make tonight’s dinner less precious.
Life will change.
People will change.
I will change.
There will be difficult seasons again.
There will be loss.
There will be disappointment.
Recovery never promised otherwise.
But impermanence doesn’t make joy foolish.
It makes presence important.
I cannot guarantee tomorrow.
But I can be here today.
And today, if something is good…
I want to let it be good.
This Isn’t About Choosing Happiness
I want to be careful here.
There will be days when joy feels far away.
There will be grief.
Depression.
Disappointment.
Anger.
Fear.
Exhaustion.
There are seasons when the most honest thing we can say is:
“This hurts.”
We don’t need to manufacture gratitude to avoid pain.
We don’t need to slap a Bible verse over something that needs to be grieved.
Being fully alive means making room for all of it.
We’ve talked before about holding grief and gratitude together.
This is the other side of that lesson.
If we’re allowed to fully experience pain when it comes…
we also have to give ourselves permission to fully experience joy.
No apology required.
Practicing Joy
I’m learning that joy sometimes requires practice.
Not forced positivity.
Presence.
When something beautiful happens, I’m trying to stay there a little longer.
To notice.
To resist immediately reaching for my phone.
To resist turning the moment into content.
To resist mentally jumping ahead to what needs to happen next.
To simply think:
I’m here.
This is happening.
This is good.
Maybe it’s my children laughing.
Maybe it’s sitting beside my husband.
Maybe it’s making something with my hands.
Maybe it’s a conversation with someone I love.
Maybe it’s hearing good news.
Maybe it’s sitting outside on a beautiful day.
Maybe it’s one of those completely unremarkable moments that would mean nothing to anyone else.
I don’t need to capture it.
I just want to inhabit it.
An Invitation
So this week, notice what happens inside you when something feels good.
Do you immediately minimize it?
Predict how it could go wrong?
Look for the catch?
Feel guilty because someone else is struggling?
Distract yourself?
Rush into the next thing?
If you notice yourself doing that, don’t criticize yourself.
Just come back.
And try saying:
This is good, and I am allowed to enjoy it.
That’s it.
You don’t have to guarantee it will last.
You don’t have to deserve it.
You don’t have to turn it into gratitude homework.
You don’t have to explain it.
Let something good be good.
A Final Thought
There was a version of me who lived waiting for disaster.
Sometimes disaster came.
Sometimes I created it myself.
Sometimes nothing happened at all.
But I remained braced anyway.
I understand that woman now.
She thought vigilance would keep her safe.
She didn’t know another way.
I don’t resent her for that.
But she doesn’t have to run my life anymore.
Today, when joy shows up, I’m trying something different.
I’m opening the door.
I’m letting it stay.
I’m allowing myself to laugh without wondering how long the happiness will last.
I’m loving people even though loving them means they can hurt me.
I’m dreaming even though dreams can disappoint me.
I’m letting ordinary moments matter even though they’ll eventually become memories.
Because I finally understand:
The possibility of grief is not a reason to refuse joy.
It’s a reason to pay attention.
There will be hard days again.
I know that.
But when they come, I don’t want to look back and realize I spent the good days worrying about them.
I want to be able to say:
When joy came, I was there for it.
Maybe receiving is part of faith too.
Not grabbing.
Not controlling.
Not demanding that something last forever.
Just opening our hands when something beautiful is placed inside them and saying:
Thank You.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
I don’t need to.
Today there is goodness here.
And after spending so many years learning how to survive pain…
I’m finally learning something that feels just as brave:
how to stop bracing long enough to experience joy.
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