The Vulnerability of Joy

How we process life and loss profoundly impacts how we move through grief.

I was never was one to get over a break-up easily or quickly. It often took me years to slowly get to a place where I felt like I wasn’t dragging it all into the next relationship. So of course I would be one to slowly and intentionally move through my experience of becoming a widow.

And joy? It has never came easily to me. I was born serious - just ask my parents.

Play and joy have always been the most vulnerable places for me to exist. Where I feel wobbly and exposed. Even as a kid, I decided “to play later”.

As an adult, my mission was to lighten up. Shrug off the weight of the world that I carried. Learn how to love frivolous conversations, with no point, other than the joy of meandering through the mundane with another. It felt so foreign to frolic. Like Bambi on ice.

Then I met Daniel. Master of play.

He knew how to squeeze deep joy out of any moment. Even cancer. Even dying.

He was also deep and sensitive. Where we could be astronauts together exploring our metaphysical universe. Someone I could be unguarded and vulnerable enough to learn how to play.

My joy was hard-earned. And I was so proud of how much I had lightened up. Turns out, I was pretty good at being playful.

Our years together before his diagnosis were what I refer now to as “the years of lightheartedness.” When we would twirl our tutus together through the forest with our friends. Chase each other on our motorcycles. Turning coffee shop lines into dance parties.

But the diagnosis hijacked my joy. But strangely, not Daniel’s. To my surprise, joy does not rest on outside circumstances. We can own it and say fuck you world, I’m going to dance anyway. Because I’m still here. And because I can.

As widows, we grapple with leaning into joy and life itself. Loving our life can now come with guilt. Afraid that allowing deep happiness might betray the connection to our mate. It is also an act of deep vulnerability after life-altering loss.

And because grief is complicated, we also grapple with guilt that we aren’t living life fully enough, whatever the heck that means. Or finding love again if we desire to.

I still have grief and regret that I’m missing out on this precious life. That I should be squeezing more out of it. As @forcedjoyproject says “fuck fine”. But also “screw should”.

I hope lightheartedness will feel easier again. That I will find people I can frolic like a dork with again.

Joy was the hardest place for me to exist “before”. So no surprise it is taking intention and courage to sink into the vulnerability of it again.

I sure miss Daniel’s yee-haw spirit. He made everything soooooooo fun.

He also taught me that we can all be conduits for joy.

No matter what.

Even still.

xo