I'm the Problem...
Lessons from 10 months of Joy Spotting
Joy has shown me where I’ve fallen short.
The older I get, the more I realize that sometimes it’s me—my silence, my assumptions, my refusal to look inward because it’s uncomfortable. For years, it felt easier to search for the fault outside of myself, to locate the source of discomfort in other people’s choices, and to hold tightly to my stories of blame. But when I finally turn the gaze to myself, I find both the problem and the power. The invitation to be more accountable is not punishment—it is a way back to solid ground. It’s courage. The bravery to make a decision when the path is unclear, to risk choosing differently, to honor my own truth even when it unsettles the room.
Practicing Joy Spotting this year has taught me a lot about myself. I’m learning that leaning into my inner knowing is about holding both grief and delight. That is the blessing. One that has carried me through this year. Being self-reflective has been a reckoning that needed to happen. I’ve been asking myself so many hard questions like:
What do I really want this season?
Who brings me joy?
How do I share joy with others?
When I am my saddest self, where do the glimmers of sweetness show up?
Who am I outside of my roles to other people? And where can I find joy in that?
These past 10 months, joy has become a practice—an act of self-love and a testament to my growth. Looking in the mirror to see, what my mama calls, growing edges is the only way forward to reach self-trust and clarity. And I’ll be honest, I hate it here (lol).
With each passing season, I see more clearly that self-accountability requires me to stop excusing behavior—my own or others’—that betrays the alignment of my life. It asks me to notice the ways I’ve abandoned myself for approval, and to choose differently moving forward. To face my tenderness and changes and say, I see you AND I am still worthy of moments that cradle me softly in the midst of the heaviness. All 10 months of this year have reminded me that I cannot demand vulnerability and clarity from others if I am unwilling to practice it with myself first. This has been a sobering truth lately—integrity and alignment start at home—within your damn self.
This season, self-trust hasn’t been built through grand gestures of courage but through the small, ordinary moments of my days. It looks like having the difficult conversations I’ve avoided, trusting myself to remain steady in the midst of high emotions and chaos, and keeping my word to myself—even when no one is watching. It’s in honoring my boundaries and resisting the pull to shrink back into what feels easy and familiar.
These seemingly simple acts accumulate into something powerful: a relationship with myself that is steady, dependable, and deeply rooted. Trusting myself means no longer waiting for consensus or permission to live in alignment with my values. It means giving myself room to make mistakes, learn from them, and always return to my center without shame.
And in the middle of all this work, there is joy. Of course there is. If this year has taught me anything, it’s that joy is a quiet savior—always waiting, always ready to toss us a life raft when we’re struggling to stay afloat. My joy has been small and tender, showing up in stillness more than spectacle. It comes when I choose growth instead of avoidance, truth instead of performance. It shows itself in the exhale that follows keeping my own promises, in the relief of not abandoning myself just to be accepted, in the steadiness of knowing I can remain rooted even when life feels unsteady. Spotting joy has become an asset to my life. It reminds me that accountability isn’t only about repair or correction—it’s also about recognition and celebration.
Joy, I am learning, is not only about ease or lightness. This year has brought more tears and emotional confusion than I care to count. And yet, the joy that found me often arrived after surrender—after letting go of what once felt safe, after loosening my grip on what I thought I knew best.
There is a kind of joy that grief makes room for, a joy that doesn’t shout but sings softly in the background. It slips in quietly once we’ve laid down what no longer fits, reminding us that even in and with loss, there can be new life.
Shedding who I used to be hasn’t been graceful, but it has been gracious. It’s messy, sticky, and uncertain. It often feels like standing barefoot on shards of my own becoming, unsure if I’m strong enough to keep walking. But when I do, when I allow an old version of myself to fall away, joy rises in the space that is left behind. It doesn’t announce itself with fanfare—it arrives in stillness, in the recognition that I am freer than I was before.
Part of accountability for me looked like admitting that I’d outgrown the person I once was. I was playing a role for so much of my life, trying to stay in line and do things the way they “should’ve” been done. I find myself looking back and seeing how often I held my breath so that I wouldn’t be the one to rock the boat. At 36, I woke up ready to tip the boat over and learn how to swim.
I am no longer the the one who will abandon her needs for someone else’s comfort. I am no longer the one falling in love with potential, I want to see proof of concept. I am no longer the shrinking. I am standing tall. Tall in the mud. Tall in the quicksand. Tall in the thick of fall apart. Letting that go is not an act of betrayal—it’s an act of devotion to the woman I am today, and the woman I will become.
In this devotion, in this intentional destruction of being the good girl, in the dismantling of the idea of the life I thought I should have and want, even in the depths of my sadness, there is always joy. A deep, resilient joy that comes from seeing myself clearly and choosing to live ten toes down with that clarity in hand. No shame. No guilt. Even when I feel lost, I know I will find my way.
These days, my joy is less about pleasure and more about presence. It shows up in the recognition that each time I peel back another layer of who I no longer need to be, I meet a truer version of myself. The older I get, the more I trust that I can guide myself through every season, every transformation.
To shed the past self is to risk discomfort, but to remain unchanged is to risk stagnation. Joy steadies me in that in-between space. It reminds me that growth is not only about letting go—it is about making room for what is waiting to bloom. And often, that “something new” is simply myself—more whole, more honest, more free.
This is the joy of becoming: to face who I am, to name where I falter, and to rise again. It may be tender and unglamorous, but it is also the truest freedom. Because in the end, the ground beneath me is steadied not by approval from others, but by my own willingness to be accountable, to be true, to be whole—and to notice the joy that blooms each time I choose myself.
May we all remember that freedom lives where accountability and joy meet. Lean in and look at yourself and your life. Under the brush of everything you’ve shed, joy remains rooted. Trust that.
I’m excited to share that my limited-edition joy planner, Spot Joy, created in partnership with Karst Goods, is officially available. A few months ago, I reached out to Karst with the hope of bringing something meaningful to this community—and together we made it real. As many of you know, I’ve been using a Karst planner for my own joy-spotting practice this year, so creating one with them feels full-circle and incredibly special. You can order your copy HERE, and keep reading for details on our October Joy Spotting challenge.
Offering this newsletter for free is something I deeply value. Many of you often ask how you can support my work, and I’m grateful for that. From books to journals, perfumes to workshops, I’ve created offerings with love and intention. When you choose to support them, you make it possible for me to continue sharing this newsletter at no cost. Thank you for believing in my work and vision—it means more than I can say.
October Joy Spotting Challenge
This month, I invite you to notice joy not only in the lighthearted moments, but in the spaces where you are letting go of what no longer align with your growth. Think of it as a practice of honoring your becoming. Each day, pause and ask yourself:
Where did I release something old today—an assumption, a fear, a habit—and what joy did I uncover from choosing to let go?
What small act of honesty can I lean into this month?
How can I spot joy in being present with who I am now, instead of staying stuck on who I used to be?
If you’re using the Spot Joy Planner I created with Karst, this is the perfect place to record those moments. Let the pages hold your daily notes, small wins, and reminders of how you are growing lighter with every release. You can lean deeper into joy on the lined pages provided in the notebook to do more long form writing. Over time, your micro moments will add up to a story of becoming—one where joy is not just found in the peaks of life, but in the valleys of shedding.
By the end of October, you may discover that joy is less about what you’ve gained and more about what you’ve been willing to release. And in tracking it—whether on the page or in your heart—you’ll have proof that joy has been with you all along, waiting to be noticed.
This feels like a godsend, truly. I recently had a revelation that I cannot expect from others what I am unwilling to give myself. I cannot expect to be surrounded by certain kinds of people and friends if I cannot first be that kind of person to others. Self-accountability can feel uncomfortable, but being in a place to where I could see how my actions impacted others and being receptive to acknowledging my faults and shortcomings AND make an effort to hold myself accountable to them (in whatever way that takes shape) felt like the biggest hug I could give myself. I realize now that in the way I can tend to myself, through what feels good and what doesn’t, mirrors the way I can tend to others. You shared so many necessary reminders here. Thank you.
Beautifully written. This reminds me that giving yourself grace doesn't mean you shouldn't hold yourself accountable. I think you're so right when you say that freedom is where joy and accountability meet. Thank you 🧡.