The Kind of Joy No One Talks About

People always talk about chasing happiness.
It’s in the books, the podcasts, the Instagram quotes:
"Follow your bliss."
"Do what makes you happy."
"Happiness is a choice."

But what if you’ve been choosing it every day and it still doesn’t come?
What if all you can manage is surviving the next 24 hours—keeping a roof over your kids’ heads and your emotions in check long enough not to break down at work?

Let’s get real for a moment.
Happiness isn't a destination.
It’s not a reward for being a good woman, a good mother, or a good employee.

It’s not something you chase.
It’s something you grow.

There Are Two Kinds of Joy

The world sells us fleeting joy—the kind that makes you feel good for a moment.
The kind you grab when life feels unbearable.
A slice of cake at midnight.
A flirtation that distracts.
A daydream about someone who never really saw you.

It’s soft. It’s tempting. It numbs the ache.
But it doesn’t heal.

Then there’s rooted joy.
This one doesn’t arrive with fireworks.
It grows slowly, like wildflowers through broken pavement.
It’s the kind of joy that comes from knowing you showed up for yourself—
even when no one else did.

For single mothers like me, rooted joy isn’t found in perfection.
It’s found in small victories:
waking up despite the heaviness,
showing up at work with tired eyes but a fighting spirit,
and loving your children fiercely while learning to love yourself again.

I Stopped Waiting to Be Rescued

There was a point in my life when I stopped looking for love.
Not out of bitterness—
but because I was tired of being someone’s temporary comfort.
I didn’t want to be chosen only when it was convenient.
I didn’t want to be a pitstop on someone else’s journey.

I wanted something deeper.
But most of all, I needed to become someone deeper—for myself.

There was a moment—quiet and raw—when I stood in the mess of my life and finally said:
“This isn’t how my story ends.”
I may have been tired.
Broke.
Heartbroken.
But I wasn’t done.

That’s when the shift happened.
I didn’t need a savior.
I needed a mirror.
To see myself clearly again. To remember my strength.

To the One Who Promised Me the World

To the man who said he’d give me everything—
thank you for not fulfilling that promise.

Your absence became the space I needed to rebuild myself.
Your silence taught me how to hear my own voice again.
If you ever show up at my doorstep—
you’ll find someone you no longer deserve.

You will never have me back.

Because now, I guard my peace like it’s sacred.
I don’t entertain shallow promises or perform for temporary affection.
I have found something more profound than fairy tales:

I’ve found myself.

And even if my story doesn’t end in a conventional happily ever after—
it’s real.
It’s mine.
It’s something I will carry in my heart until my last breath.

To the Woman Drowning in Silence

I see you.
Trying to stay strong.
Trying to hold it together for everyone else.

Please know this:
Your story isn’t over.
Even if you’re in the thick of it.
Even if no one shows up.
Even if all you have is yourself.

That is still enough.

There is a silver lining, and I promise—if you keep going—you’ll see it.
You’ll feel it.
And one day, it will bloom inside you.

Forget what society tells you happiness should look like.
Forget what your family expects, what your culture dictates.

Seek what your soul truly longs for.
Not what’s acceptable.
Not what’s easy.
But what’s true.

And when you do—
you won’t have to chase happiness anymore.
It will begin to rise from within you,
like something that never left—
only waited to be remembered.

You are not hard to love. You are just deep.
And that’s your power.
That’s your joy.
That’s your legacy.