Joy? When Will I Ever Feel That Again?

If joy makes you uneasy, you’re not doing life wrong—and you’re not alone.

For many who’ve grown up in unpredictable, emotionally unsafe, or high-stress environments, the nervous system has adapted to survive by staying alert. Calm may have felt dangerous. Happiness may have been followed by pain. Safety may have come at a cost.

And the same is often true after loss and grief. When your world has ruptured—when someone or something you love is suddenly gone—your nervous system learns that joy doesn’t last, that peace is fleeting, and that good moments can vanish without warning. Even years later, joy can feel like a setup. Your body remembers the fall that came after the rise… and it braces.

So even now—when life starts to feel a little lighter, when something good happens, when joy flickers in the heart—the body might still sound the alarm.

This is what we call neuroception—the unconscious scanning your nervous system does to detect safety or threat. You don’t even have to think about it—your body remembers. And for many survivors of trauma, grief, or deep emotional loss, joy gets misread as a threat… simply because it’s unfamiliar or associated with pain.

I remember the first time I said, “I’m good.”
It was about seven months after my son died. One of my clients asked the everyday, automatic question: “How are you?”

I almost spun around to see who answered—because it sure as hell couldn’t have been me.
But it was me.
And in that moment… I did feel good.

Immediately, I wanted to take it back. I shouldn’t be good. I shouldn’t be okay, or anything besides a total wreck. As the seconds ticked by, me frozen in place, waiting for judgment from her that mirrored the judgment I was already throwing at myself… she smiled.

She simply said, “I’m happy that you have a moment of feeling good.”

That crack inside of me—the one that let the ‘good’ in—it grew.
And over time, as the months and now several years have passed, that crack has become a pathway. I’ve learned how to let joy in. How to allow love and purpose to return, not because I’m betraying my grief—but because I’ve made space for both.

That’s what healing can look like. Not all at once. Not perfectly. But moment by moment, one nervous-system-safe breath at a time.

Here’s what helps:

✨ Start small.
Joy doesn’t have to be big or overwhelming. You can begin with tiny moments of calm or contentment—those soft exhale moments that feel… okay. Let yourself stay with them for a few extra seconds. This helps your nervous system build tolerance for good feelings without sending up red flags.

✨ Don’t confuse discomfort with danger.
If joy feels shaky, uneasy, or even scary at first—that’s not a sign that it’s wrong. It’s a sign that your body is still learning how to hold safe elevated feelings.

✨ Use your body to guide your healing.
Grounding into the room, feeling your feet on the floor, splashing your face with cold water, or slowly extending your exhale—these are small ways to remind your body, “It’s okay now. We’re safe.” You don’t have to override the alarm. You just have to lovingly retrain it.

More somatic practices that gently rewire safety into your body:

💫 Butterfly hug.
Cross your arms over your chest, placing your hands on opposite upper arms or shoulders. Gently tap left, right, left, right. Close your eyes if that feels safe. This bilateral stimulation calms the nervous system and can help you settle into the moment.

💫 Orienting with your senses.
Look around the room and name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. This grounds you in the here-and-now and reminds your body you are no longer in the past.

💫 Weighted grounding.
Place a warm blanket, a small weighted object, or even your own hands on your chest or belly. Feel the support. Feel the weight. Feel your body held. Let yourself settle into the sensation of being supported.

Joy isn’t just a mindset. It’s a somatic experience.
For trauma survivors and for those experiencing loss and grief, it’s not something we think our way into—it’s something we re-learn through the body.

Not forced.
Not rushed.
Practiced.

And if no one told you:
The moment you start to feel joy, it’s normal for your body to panic.
That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It means you’re healing.