The Joy I Almost Forgot I Could Feel
From The Healing Series
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Reclaiming delight, wonder, and the right to feel good again
Grief can be so loud that joy forgets how to speak.
When you’ve spent years surviving,
even the idea of joy can feel foreign—like a language you used to know but haven’t spoken in ages.
You catch a glimpse of it—a laugh, a beautiful sky, the way sunlight touches your coffee—and then it’s gone.
Like your body doesn’t know how to hold it anymore.
But then, slowly, you remember.
And the remembering changes everything.
Joy After Trauma Feels Strange at First
You question it.
You look over your shoulder.
You wonder if it’s a setup—if something bad is coming to balance the scale.
But it isn’t a trick.
It’s returning.
And your body is learning how to hold it again.
Little by little, joy becomes less suspicious.
And more… yours.
What Joy Looks Like Now
Laughing so hard you forget to self-monitor
Noticing how good the breeze feels on your face
Letting yourself get excited without dialing it down
Dancing without needing a reason
Not apologizing for being happy
Joy now feels like the quiet arrival of a friend you thought you’d lost.
It doesn’t knock. It lets itself in.
THX Frameworks That Support the Return of Joy
This is when healing becomes expansive.
When your body is no longer braced—and your heart gets curious again.
12 Utilities:
Emotion Evoked: I allow delight to register
Ease of Use: I don’t complicate joy—I let it flow
Access: I reach for joy, and it reaches back
Value: I don’t have to justify feeling good
Resource: Joy becomes a source of energy—not a drain
PERMAH:
Positive Emotion: I create space for lightness, not just processing
Engagement: I lose myself in the moment—in the best way
Health & Wellbeing: Joy is medicine for my nervous system
Admiration Equation:
I admire the part of me that is still capable of wonder
I admire others who protect their joy like it’s sacred
I feel awe at how much beauty I almost forgot to see
A Blessing for This Stage
May I trust the joy that returns.
May I stop rehearsing loss every time something good arrives.May I remember that joy doesn’t make me foolish.
It makes me whole.May I laugh louder, stay lighter, and celebrate smaller things—
Because I’m still here.
And I finally feel that.
Reflection Prompts
What was the last small joy I almost missed—and why?
How do I talk myself out of feeling good?
What does safe, sustained joy feel like in my body?
How can I protect my joy like something sacred?
NEXT - The Grief That Dressed Itself as Strength
What looked like anger was actually mourning. What looked like strength was survival
