Finding Joy Again

A reflection on grief, safety, and the gentle ways joy returns

Can I really do this?
What if I walk away and my life falls apart?

I sat up and looked into my boys’ eyes after writing those words.

After compromising my values, pleading for crumbs, and realizing that nothing changes unless we do, I knew I had to make a choice.

2025 didn’t start in January.
It started in February,
when I left everything I knew
and moved into a new place with my kids.

It didn’t feel brave.
It felt scary.
It felt overwhelming.

And I kept wondering:
What if I fail?

As I grieved the life I wanted and didn’t have,
I also grieved the younger version of me,

the one who searched so hard for love
and stayed in places that stripped her of who she was.

Months passed, and I began quietly healing the part of me that believed
a “full life” meant staying with someone who wasn’t willing to fight for us.

I started releasing the shame and guilt others put on me,
and I finally named the hurt and abuse for what it was.

Little by little, I found safety inside myself.
The part of me who had lived in survival mode for years
finally started to lower her guard.

But it didn’t come easy.

Hair loss.
Weight loss.
PTSD wake-ups at 3 in the morning.

And still, I let myself break.
I let things fall apart.
And I learned to leave some pieces on the floor
without trying to glue them back together.

But then soft mornings came,
quiet evenings, dancing in the mirror,
singing into a remote as if it were a microphone,
and I realized something:

I was still scared about the future…
but I was safe.

And that changed everything.

This year, I started over with almost nothing:

Two kids.
My clothes.
An anxious heart.

And then something beautiful happened:

As I began sharing the pieces of my story I once kept quiet,
community showed up.

People, even strangers, filled our home with care
before I had time to fill it with things.

Our space became a real home.

Not a home built on walking on eggshells
or rehearsing words to avoid arguments,

but a home where shoes come off,
shoulders drop,
and peace lingers in every room.

There are still nights I ask myself:

What if my life really does fall apart?

But this year taught me something I didn’t expect:

Sometimes things fall apart, so better things can grow.

I let myself cry.
I let myself feel.

I told the truth about what hurt.
I owned the parts of me I’m still learning from.
And I cried some more.

And I learned that,

My tears didn’t ruin me.
They are healing me.

Like rain helps the ground.

My tears watered the soil.

Slowly, quietly, gently, new things began to grow:

Peace.
Clarity.
Real joy.

Everything I prayed silently for in 2024 began to bloom.

Not the way I imagined.
But exactly the way I needed.

I am not where I thought I would be this year.

But I am calmer.
I am steadier.

My home feels safe.
My kids are at ease.

I breathe easier.
Peace lives here.

I didn’t get a perfect year but, I got a healing one.

And somehow…I’m finding joy again.

As we step into a new year, I’m carrying:

softness
boundaries
gratitude
self-trust
community
and joy, true joy.

Not the kind of joy that performs.
Not the joy that pretends.
Not the joy that ignores pain.

But real joy that can sit next to sadness and still choose love.

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A Prayer for Us

May this next season be gentle.
May we remember we don’t have to rush our healing.

May we let our tears fall and trust,
that they’re watering something new.

May our homes feel safe again
places where our shoulders drop and our hearts can rest.

May we feel God close on the hard days,
and know that starting over isn’t failure, it’s bravery.

May peace come back slowly,
And when fear says,
“What if everything falls apart?”

May we remember:

sometimes things fall apart
so better things can grow.

May we learn to find joy again, right where we are.

What helped you feel safe again this year?

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Community Gathering: Finding Joy Again

This past year asked a lot of us.
Some of it stretched us. Some of it hurt.
Some of it reminded us how strong and tender we really are.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that… joy didn’t disappear.

It just got quieter.
This gathering is a gentle place to come back to it.

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Thank you for taking the time to explore cuídate, my sacred online space where I share writings filled with hope, truth, and healing. My life’s work is to inspire others to live with intention, love others, and lay our burdens down. If my work resonates with you or offers help, I would be grateful if you could share it with a friend or loved one in need.