Joy is a Soft Place to Land
April has been a beautiful teacher
Be your own soft place to land—those words echoed through me the other day in the shower. As the water streamed down my face, I cried. Not because I was falling apart but because something within me was finally starting to come together. A truth I had quietly tucked away was rising to the surface, asking to be honored. As the hot water danced on my skin, I realized I had been waiting so long for joy. This kind of soft, tender, peaceful joy—waiting for the timing to be right to enjoy it. Waiting for others to affirm or acknowledge what I already knew to be true. Waiting for life to make sense before I let myself soften into the comfort that joy brings.
The truth that emerged under the steaming water was this:
Everything I’ve ever needed has always been within me. I didn't need more certainty from the outside—I needed to return to myself with gentleness and my joy.
For years, I looked to others for safety, clarity, and confirmation that I was on the the right path. I thought validation came from someone else's love and understanding. But in the quietest moments of my life, I remember that I can be the one who sees me. I can be my own reassurance, my own clarity, my own peace.
And that realization didn't break me—it brought me back to joy. It brought me back to the truth that I am enough, standing alone, in the entirety of my energy.
That's where true happiness begins—not in someone else's approval, not in performance or perfection, but in the tender act of choosing ourselves. Choosing to know joy for ourselves. Choosing to be gentle with our process. Choosing to stop shrinking to fit into spaces that were never meant to hold us. Choosing to honor what we need, even when it's inconvenient or misunderstood by others.
Healing asks for change, not comfort. Joy asks for an open invitation to come in and have a seat at your table. And that can be so hard. Both invite us to be honest about what's no longer working or aligned. To untether from the places, habits, and people we've sought small, temporary comfort in. As we all have been learning on this Joy Spotting journey—grief and joy stand side by side. I look at them like fraternal twins who welcome the truth of who we are, even when it's uncomfortable.
This month, Joy Spotting has taught me that I can make room for happiness and ease even through discomfort. April has been a beautiful teacher. I started to lean deeper into the fact that in this season, my healing looks like the willingness to release—even if that release brings grief.
It's okay to grieve. To soften. To mourn what didn't unfold how you hoped. To step into more aligned spaces.
Gentle Reminder: Your softness isn't a flaw—it's a reminder that you're still open, still feeling, still alive. It means your heart hasn't closed itself off from connection, even after disappointment. Allow everything you walk through, lead you toward the joy that's waiting in the shadows.
If you're in a season of returning to yourself, trust where it's guiding you. Leaving behind what's familiar for what's honest isn't selfish—it's necessary. Your joy doesn't have to be universally understood to be valid. And your peace is not a reward. It's your birthright.
So cry in the shower if you need to. Let the steam hold your affirmations. Let the water wash away your doubt and remind you of who you are. Let your own tenderness become the anchor. You're not too much. You're in the middle of becoming. Lean in.
Mid-month Mantra: Stay rooted in self-trust, softness, and truth.
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Alex - I was sitting down to right and your notification popped up. I have a hard time understanding how you - whom I read but don’t know - can speak so directly into a specific moment in my life. I am a healthcare chaplain. For a couple of years now I’ve been using one of your esssays on grief and gratitude in my grief group. It is powerful and has helped so many. Yet I never went to look for your writing until this week. And yet, here you are, speaking directly to me in this specific moment. I guess I just wanted to say thank you.
“my healing looks like the willingness to release—even if that release brings grief.” - this right here. 🙏🙏🙏