It’s odd how we spend so much of life chasing joy from building towards it, praying for it, to saying we’ll finally rest when things get better. Then, when they do get better, we can’t seem to settle. The moment happiness arrives, we start looking around for what could go wrong. We have waited for this joy, but when it shows up, it feels almost suspicious.  

There is this tiny flinch that happens when things go right, as if joy is too bright, too fragile, something that could shatter if we hold it wrong. We call it being realistic, being careful, being grounded. But is it really that or something that whispers, ‘don’t relax yet, something is coming.’  

I think a lot of us do this, where we learn to brace for the next fall even while standing on steady ground. The good moments make us restless, the quiet feels suspicious, and peace starts to itch because we have grown used to surviving, fighting, not celebrating. 

Does joy feel unsafe because it asks us to stop scanning for danger? To let go of control. To believe that it’s okay to feel good without preparing for loss.  

So, often we keep joy at a distance. We tone it down before it can hurt us. We convince ourselves we are managing expectations when really we might just be protecting our hearts from hope. We are just scared to feel it all. Because joy, when it’s real, makes us soft. And softness makes us feel exposed. 

Maybe safety isn’t found in controlling the outcome but in allowing joy to exist even when it might not last. Maybe that’s what being alive really is, not waiting for the perfect moment, but learning to trust the good when it comes, even if it’s trembling.  

Sometimes joy will still feel unfamiliar. It might come quietly, hesitantly, like it is asking permission to stay. When it does, the most radical thing we can do is not analyse it, not question its expiry date, but just let it sit beside us. Let it be good even if it is temporary. 

If this resonated with you, pause today to notice one small moment that felt gentle, even if it lasted only a breath. That’s where safety begins to rebuild itself.

And if you are finding it hard to do that alone, you can always reach out to us at iDare. We are here to listen, support, and help you find steadiness in your own time. 

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