“Sunlight After the Storm: Finding Joy in Small Moments”

There was a time when I couldn’t get out of bed without feeling like my bones weighed a hundred pounds. Not from illness, not from age—but from grief. From the invisible heaviness of being discarded, devalued, gaslit, and finally… replaced.

The mornings were the worst.

I’d open my eyes and for just a few seconds, I wouldn’t remember. Then it would all rush back in—like a flood that never drained.

No one prepares you for the grief of still being alive when someone treats you like you’ve died.

But one day, something changed.

I was standing at the kitchen window. The house was quiet. I had a hot mug of coffee in my hands, and for the first time in weeks, I noticed the way the sun hit the floor. A golden stripe across the hardwood, warming the feet of my old dog, who was curled up in the light like it had come just for her.

Something about that moment opened my heart and healed me at the same time.

It was like the universe whispered:

You are still here. And joy is still possible.

That was the first moment I felt hope again. Not because everything was fixed, but because something had cracked open.

Since then, I’ve made it a practice: finding the smallest, quietest joys in my day.

💛 The first sip of coffee when the house is still.
💛 My hands in the dirt, planting comfrey or garlic.
💛 The way the crows caw at dusk, like they’re calling the day to a close.
💛 A handwritten note from a friend.
💛 Breathing in peace before bed.

These are not grand moments. They don’t erase the pain.
But they anchor me to the present.
And the present is where healing begins.

If you're hurting…

If you’re still walking through the storm, I see you.
If you cry in secret, feel invisible, or wonder if you'll ever trust again—you’re not broken. You're rebuilding.

Start small.
Notice one thing that doesn’t hurt.
Claim one tiny joy.
Even a breath.

Because the sun still rises.
Because your body is still sacred.
Because love still lives—in you.

Healing is found in the smallest places—often where no one is looking.

You don’t need to be fully healed to feel joy. You only need to be present for it.

And I promise: it will come.
Like sunlight after the storm. Carlin