I always want so badly to be understood, heard, listened to. Then when the time comes for me to share, the complicated thoughts and feelings that define me present the most annoying writers block. Pathetically, I surf Pinterest for “journal writing prompts” to see if something catches my eye. More often than not, the time slips away as I scroll through, simply entertaining myself, never writing down a single word.
Prompt: Where are you compromising your own joy?
Joy… *sigh* Phrased as a question assuming that I personally am largely responsible for my own joy. Not that I disagree. I do believe people can have joy despite their circumstances, can create their own joy, and are in a sense responsible for it. But what if you can’t feel joy. Even the things that would normally bring you a lot of joy, don’t. Maybe the question should be rephrased or given a precursor of, “Do you currently have the ability to feel joy?”
Now before I’m labeled a melodramatic pessimist, I’d like to say that I do experience happiness in many ways. My two sweet children, my handsome husband, funny moments, eating something that tastes great. I’m very grateful for the wonderful blessings in my life. In fact, my life looks so much like I always wanted it to, that the fact that joy is so absent, I feel enormous guilt and frustration. How is it that I can be laughing, but by the time that laugh stops, I realize the happiness that came with it, doesn’t linger. It’s a situational happiness that keeps me going, despite that craving… for joy.
Joy. When you close your eyes and feel the sunlight hitting your skin as it warms the hairs on your arms. When you just feel, and that feeling is contentment, knowing your soul is healthy. The joy that goes beyond momentary happiness and floods through you so much so that you want others to feel the way that you do. Real, powerful, joy.
But if someone were to ask me why I cannot feel joy, I wouldn’t be able to give them an answer. I guess that’s why I’m going to the doctor. To see if someone else can answer that question for me. So far, it’s been a “frustrating”, to put it mildly, path of experiments. When it comes to physical illness, doctors always seem to know what to do, what to give you, what to say. But when it comes to the brain, doctors are reduced to the ways of the ancient Egyptians, where doctors try one thing and if that doesn’t work, they just randomly try another. The only advice they ever really give you, is to hope. HOPE. That’s like telling a lame person that if they will get up and run around the building, their legs will start working when they’re finished.
It’s about there in my train of thought that things go blank. Soaking in my surroundings, I’m sitting in bed, my almost three year old son is taking a nap in his bedroom, and my one year old daughter is napping in the pack-and-play a few feet from my bed. It’s actually pretty quiet. They rarely nap at the same time, but I think the sound of my typing on the keyboard put her to sleep. I guess I’ll lie down for a bit and just listen to the ringing in my ears.