Learning to Find Joy Again

Since losing my husband, I have learned that grief and joy are not opposites. They can exist in the same moment, sometimes so closely together that it feels confusing.

In the beginning, happiness could bring guilt with it. How could I laugh when such a huge part of my life was turned upside down? How could I plan a trip, enjoy dinner with friends, or feel excited about something new when he would never get that chance again?

But I am slowly learning that feeling joy does not mean I have healed and moved on and it certainly does not erase the life we shared. It simply means I am still living—and I think he would want that for me. I hope.

Finding joy again has not come through one giant, life-changing moment. It has shown up in small ways.

It is laughing with Little Monkey until neither of us can breathe. It is taking a walk outside, signing up for a race, planning a trip, finding someone to spend time with, or buying a ridiculous product that makes everyday life a little more fun.

Sometimes joy is spending time with friends who let me be exactly where I am. They do not expect me to be cheerful, try to fix my grief, or become uncomfortable when I talk about my husband or the trauma it caused me as his caretaker for years. They simply show up. Those friendships have carried me through some of my hardest days.

Running continues to be part of this journey too. It gives me somewhere to put the stress, sadness, anger, and endless thoughts that come with grief. To be honest though, finding that motivation can be rough. Some runs feel strong and freeing. Others feel heavy and hard. But every time I lace up my shoes, I am reminded that I can keep moving forward—even when the pace is much slower than I would like.

Travel has also taken on a different meaning. It once represented family memories and carefully planned adventures. Now it is also helping me learn how to experience the world in this new version of my life. There is sadness in that, but there is excitement too. Both feelings are allowed to come along.

I am also learning that joy does not always look big or exciting. Some days, joy is simply making it through the day and realizing there was one moment that made me smile. It might be a good cup of coffee, a funny message, sunshine through the window, or a conversation that made me feel less alone.

Grief is still messy. It can appear without warning, even in the middle of a happy moment. A song, a memory, or something I wish I could tell him can change the entire day. I am beginning to understand that this does not mean I am going backward. Grief is not a straight line, and neither is healing.

I do not have this figured out. I am still learning who I am now—as a widow, a single mom, and a woman beginning a future she never planned for. Some days I feel hopeful and strong. Other days, I feel completely lost.

But I am relishing the good moments when they come. I am letting myself laugh and I am due for it. I am saying yes to new experiences. I am leaning on the people who continue to show up. I am making plans, even when the future still feels uncertain.

Most importantly, I am learning that moving forward is not the same as moving on. I can morn the life I use to have and the life we shared, while continuing to build a meaningful life for Lily and me.

There is room for the memories, the sadness, the laughter, the adventures, the healing from trauma and the joy that is slowly returning.

This may not be the chapter I expected, but I am learning how to live it—one honest, messy, hopeful day at a time.