You are not betraying your grief
when you allow yourself to feel moments of happiness or moments of peace.
Joy and grief can always coexist.
The longer I live,
the more I believe we are always carrying both—
joy and grief, in tandem.
Sometimes the scales tip toward grief.
Sometimes toward joy.
But we always carry both in our hearts.
The wildly beautiful thing, is that the more we lean into one, the more we open ourselves to the other.
Deep sorrow makes way for deep joy.
Deep gladness makes way for healing despair.
I know—
when everything feels burned to the ground,
it’s hard to let a moment of sunshine
touch your heart without guilt.
It can feel like betrayal to smile,
to inhale and exhale,
to feel okay for a moment.
But if you can pause,
and not run,
you actually open the door for true healing.
When we allow ourselves these small moments—
unforced, unhurried—
of gladness, warmth, and peace,
our souls are nourished.
Our bodies remember safety.
To be clear—
I’m not talking about the cringey platitudes that get so easily offered up:
“Everything happens for a reason”
“He’s in a better place”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”
“Just let it go and move on”
any form of toxic positivity,
Or forcing gratitude because “that’s what good Christians do”
I utterly reject every bit of that.
What I am saying
is that joy is not the enemy of your grief.
You don’t have to push it away
just because you’re still hurting.
You don’t have to prove how heavy your heart is every time someone asks how you’re doing.
You can let the peace stay a minute longer.
So let the moments minister to you.
Let God show His love to you
in a breath,
a breeze,
a beam of light,
A friend who sits with you in the silence.
In the language of nervous system healing,
this is called resourcing—
allowing moments of peace and safety
to anchor us amongst the screams, sobs, and sorrow.
This actually helps our bodies process the grief instead of staying trapped in it.
We remember that pain is not the only story.
And for us, as Christians,
we know it never will be.
So let yourself sing.
Dance.
Say yes to the invitation.
Sip your morning coffee
and watch the sunlight pour through the trees.
Feel your feet on the floor.
Loosen your jaw.
Exhale, deeply.
You’re okay in this moment.
You’re cueing safety—
body, mind, and spirit,
And showing your battered heart that peace can still be found
Even
Here.