Why Joy Feels Impossible During Grief, and Why That's Normal

When your heart is ready, joy often returns as a whisper, not a shout.

A few nights ago, I was watching Gilmore Girls, and there was a scene that stopped me.

Emily Gilmore had recently lost her husband. In an effort to move forward, she began clearing out her home, inspired by the idea of keeping only the things that "spark joy." Lorelai gently looked at her mother and said something that felt incredibly true.

"Nothing is bringing you joy right now."

It wasn't criticism. It was compassion.

It was an acknowledgment that grief changes the way we experience the world.

I think about how often people who are grieving, walking through divorce, navigating anxiety, or carrying the weight of life's hardest seasons hear well-meaning advice.

"Choose joy."

"Focus on the positive."

"Practice gratitude."

As if joy is simply waiting for us on a shelf and all we have to do is reach for it.

But what if you can't?

What if all you can see is the pain that's sitting right in front of you?

After Derek died, joy didn't disappear because I wasn't trying hard enough. It disappeared because every part of me was focused on surviving. My heart was carrying more than it had ever carried before, and my mind wasn't looking for moments of happiness. It was simply trying to make it through the day.

There was nothing wrong with me.

There may be nothing wrong with you, either.

We often think of joy as something we're supposed to create. But I've come to believe that joy isn't something we force. It's something we notice.

And when we're hurting, our hearts aren't wired to notice it.

Over time, I developed a personal practice. Not a practice of chasing joy, but of making space for it.

Some days that meant sitting quietly with a cup of coffee before the world asked anything of me.

Some days it meant standing outside for a few minutes and feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.

Some days it meant laughing unexpectedly at a television show and realizing I hadn't laughed in weeks.

None of those moments erased my grief.

They simply reminded me that grief wasn't the only thing still alive inside of me.

Healing didn't arrive as one grand, life-changing moment.

It returned in whispers.

A deep breath.

A song.

A conversation.

A sunset.

A moment when my shoulders relaxed without me even noticing.

If you're in a season where joy feels impossible, I want you to hear this.

You don't have to go looking for it today.

You don't have to pretend you're okay.

You don't have to feel guilty because everyone else seems to be moving forward while you're still trying to find solid ground.

Joy isn't a test you're failing.

It isn't proof that you're healing correctly.

Sometimes your heart is simply doing what it was designed to do, protecting you while you carry something incredibly heavy.

And when it's ready, joy has a quiet way of finding you again.

Not because you forced it.

Not because you earned it.

But because even after loss, your heart still remembers how to open.

Maybe not all at once.

Maybe only for a moment.

Sometimes, that's enough.