You Don't Have to Wait Until Life Gets Easy to Enjoy It

Joy is not the reward at the end of the hard. It is what carries you through it.

I want to tell you something I've been sitting with — something that felt like it cracked something open in me when a friend said it recently.

It's the micro moments of joy that get us through the macro moments of grief.

I've been carrying that sentence around ever since. Because I know what it means to be in a macro moment of grief. I've been in one — really, I've been in several — strung together across nearly a decade of my life.

Ten years of hard

I don't say this for sympathy. I say it because I think some of you need to know that the person writing this has been in the thick of it — and is still choosing to look for the light.

Chronic illness. Infertility. Pregnancy losses. A high-risk pregnancy. A birth experience that nearly took my life. A dark postpartum that I had to fight my way out of. A contentious divorce. Rebuilding from nothing — and I mean nothing — with two infants in my arms.

And then, just as I found my footing again: my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer.

That is not a season of hard. That is ten years of it. Back to back. And through all of it, life kept asking me to show up — for my kids, for my business, for myself. Life did not pause to let me grieve. It never does.

The lie we believe about joy

I think a lot of us are waiting. Waiting for the hard to be over. Waiting for things to settle, to feel easier, to make sense before we let ourselves fully exhale. Before we let ourselves feel something good without immediately bracing for what comes next.

We treat joy like a destination — something we'll finally arrive at once the grief has passed, the diagnosis changes, the custody situation resolves, the finances stabilize, the hard chapter ends.

But here is what I know now: the hard doesn't end on a timeline you control. There will always be another chapter of difficult. That is not pessimism — it's the truth about what it means to be alive. And if you are waiting for life to get easy before you enjoy it, you are going to wait a very long time.

What micro joy actually looks like

I'm not talking about toxic positivity. I'm not talking about pretending the hard isn't hard, or performing happiness over grief that is real and valid and deserves to be felt.

I'm talking about the small, intentional decision to also notice what is good. What is still here. What is still beautiful, even in the middle of what is painful.

It might look like:

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Appreciating the sunrise when you have no idea how you're going to get through the day.

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A child laughing — really laughing — at something that has nothing to do with how hard your life is right now.

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A hug that someone didn’t know you desperately needed.

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Crossing paths with another human who restores your faith in humanity a little.

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A moment where you take in the beauty of nature. An experience that makes you feel free. A breath that serves as an anchor.

These moments are not small. They are the thread that runs through the hard and holds it together. They are what you look back on and realize kept you going when you didn't know how you were going to keep going.

Nothing is constant — not even the hard

Here's the other side of that truth: if the hard isn't permanent, neither is the good. Which means both things need your attention while they're here.

Life is not a straight line toward ease. It is seasons — layered, overlapping, sometimes brutal and sometimes breathtaking, often both at the same time. The grief and the gratitude exist together. The fear and the joy exist together. You don't have to choose between feeling your pain and finding your moments of light.

You are allowed to cry in the car and then walk inside and be fully present for dinner with your kids. You are allowed to be terrified about a diagnosis and also laugh at something ridiculous with a friend later that same night. That is not contradiction. That is being human.

Taking your power back

There is something that happens when you stop waiting to feel good and start deciding to create the conditions for it — even imperfectly, even in the middle of something hard.

You take some power back.

In a season where so much feels out of your control — where the diagnosis, the court date, the loss, the circumstance is happening to you — choosing to notice the beautiful thing, to plan the small trip, to light the candle, to call the friend, to sit in the sun for ten minutes — that is an act of agency. That is you saying: this season does not get all of me.

Joy in the middle of hard is not denial. It is resistance. It is the most quietly defiant thing you can do.

What I want for you

If you are in a season of hard right now — if you are grieving something, holding something heavy, waiting for things to shift — I am not going to tell you it gets easier. I don't know your timeline. What I will tell you is this:

Don't put your life on hold until it does.

Notice what is still good. Create the moment. Take the coffee outside. Say yes to the thing that sounds like it might feel like joy even for a minute. Let yourself laugh without guilt. Let yourself feel something light without immediately reaching for something to worry about.

The micro moments are not a distraction from the hard. They are how you survive it. They are how you stay connected to yourself, to your life, to the reasons you're fighting to get through this in the first place.

Your life is happening right now. Not after the hard. Right now. And there is still beauty in it, even here. Especially here.

With love,
E