I'm in a lot of pain this week. At the risk of sounding like a total dickhead (nobody likes a braggart, silly girl), being in a lot of pain is a relatively mundane experience for me, as mine is of the chronic variety, and its persistence — in combination with my C-PTSD and DID, especially — means that I have a very high tolerance for physical discomfort. Someone once told me that I must have "the pain tolerance of the fucking hulk," and while I imagine that might sound like a good thing to someone folks, a few of y’all may be familiar with the unfortunate truth: most of the time, a high pain tolerance is really only useful for, at best, pushing past my limits to get shit done and, at worst, pushing past my limits to punish myself for whatever sins I think I’ve committed that day. Otherwise, it just makes for a lot of undetected injuries and my best impressions of an achy old woman.

Anyway, we’re not talking about my complicated relationship with pain right now. I only mention it to contextualize where I’m at emotionally as I write this letter. What I really mean to say is that I’m in a lot of pain, which means it’s harder for me to mask my emotions, which means that my sentimental ass can’t help but wax poetic all over the page. And since I've been writing so much heavy stuff lately, I thought we could take some time to focus our attention on joy — specifically, various ways to welcome more joy into our lives, even (and especially) when joy feels absent.

July 22nd is my Mama’s birthday, and I’ve been thinking about how I could honor her in my writing practice. I landed on this. So, without further ado, here’s a little list of ways to let the light in, dedicated to my Mama, Joyce.

• ☆ Mama used to tell me that the fastest way to live a less depressing more joyful life is to change the way you talk about it. Mama dropped out of high school at 16 to care for her parents and younger siblings, and she had a funny way of saying certain things (“I’ve got no ideal,” for example) — but something she emphasized often is the importance of being positive whenever possible. Plans fell through at the last minute? Whatever. Mama was a homebody and liked time alone. Meatloaf didn’t turn out as soft as she wanted? Well, at least she could tweak the recipe for next time. Dying at the age of 53? Don’t you start feelin’ sorry for her now: it was summertime, and god was good, and her girls were still growin’ healthy and strong. It’s all out of our hands, anyway. At some point, you gotta let go.
• ☆ On that note: let go. Release your grip on the illusion of control and remember what you set out to do. You didn’t start on this path solely to prevent the bad things or keep the scary stuff at bay. I reckon you’d like to live a little, too — but you’re gonna have a hard time doing that if you’re too busy ruminating over an irreversible past or obsessing over an uncertain future. Uncurl your fists, baby. Turn your open palms outward. Let it go.
• ☆ Something’ else that’ll make your life a little more bearable? Gratitude. Now, listen: I know how this one sounds, okay? But you can trust me because I am the Queen of Cynicism and Being a Bitter Bitch, and even I can attest that this shit works. It’s not foolproof, but it can help you get in the habit of redirecting your attention when you find yourself fixating on all things awful. I’ll give you an example: sometimes, when the people I love piss me off, I remind myself how lucky I am to know them well enough to be pissed off in the first place. What a blessing: to be so deeply interconnected that their idiosyncrasies become apparent (and perhaps a little annoying). When I’m stressed about money, I remind myself that I have a roof over my head, and food in my belly, and a safe place to call home, which has not always been true for me. Safety is a new experience, and I owe it to my younger self to celebrate the gift of second chances.
• ☆ Speaking of celebrations: cherish the “small” victories. The little wins that remind you why you started on this path in the first place. Other people’s approval and praise is appreciated but irrelevant. You are the only one who really knows where you’ve been and how far you’ve come, and you’re allowed to be proud of all that effort. If you makes you feel better, I’ll start: I’m proud of myself for staying alive. I’m proud of myself for being scared shitless and doin’ stuff anyway. I’m proud of myself for being a Big Brave Girl and sharing parts of my life with you because it’s proof that I’m holding onto the hope that I can make a difference, and if someone like me can make a difference and pat herself on the back every once in a while, believe me, baby. You can, too.
• ☆ Go outside. No, don’t you dare click away from this. I’m so fucking serious right now. Go outside. Will it fix all your problems? No. Will it magically make your mental health all better? No. Can going for a little walk combat the horrors of capitalism, or make your boss less of an asshole, or find a solution for the Pythagorean Theorem-ass love-triangle you’ve found yourself in? I don’t know dude, I’m not a miracle worker or a fuckin’ mathematician — but I am someone who is devastatingly mentally ill and chronically in pain, and even I can find comfort in touching grass. Being in nature isn’t a substitute for professional support or economic revolution, but in the short-term? It might just remind you what’s most important, and what’s most important is that you are alive and part of something much bigger and older and more incomprehensible than any of your problems. The trees have grown alongside you. The mountains play sentinel against the storm winds threatening to blow down your door. The earth remembers what we forgot, so if you find yourself searching for answers, know that sometimes you just gotta shut up, sit down, and listen to what your environment has to offer. Play in the dirt and talk to the worms and ask the ants how best to carry heavy burdens. They know. Trust me. They know.
• ☆ I don’t often like to speak in absolutes, but I feel pretty confident about this one: know that it is always better to be embarrassed about asking for help than dead. Talk to someone. A therapist, a friend, a stranger. Doesn’t matter. Someone somewhere will listen, and you need only to be honest.
• ☆ Put 2 cups of sugar, a stick of butter, half a cup of milk, three or four tablespoons of cocoa powder (depending on how chocolaty you like your stuff), and a lil bit of salt in a pot and bring it all to a quick boil. That shit better be bubbling. Then, turn off the heat and add 3 cups of quick oats, two to three heaping tablespoons of peanut butter, and a lil splash of vanilla extract. Mix that shit in. While the mixture’s still hot, lay out some wax paper (ideally, you lay it out before you start, so you can immediately start scoopin’, but whatever works), and carefully scoop spoonfuls of it into whatever-size cookies you’d like. Let ‘em harden. In my personal opinion, they taste better after sitting in the fridge for a couple hours. Alternatively, if you’re a fuckin’ heathen (or just don’t have the space to let individual cookies set), you can just put the mixture into a Tupperware container and have a brick of no-bake. It’s less convenient to eat, but the magic works just the same.
• ☆ Remember that there’s usually a non-zero percent chance your worst-case scenario happens, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s likely. It’s just possible, which I reckon means the reverse is also true. Bad shit is likely to happen at some point, but good shit is, too.
• ☆ Consider that it’s easy to feel like the world is ending when that’s the only story you ever let yourself consume. There are a million horrible, meltdown-inducing things happening everywhere, all over the world, at any given moment, and thanks to the tiny computers in our pockets, we have unlimited, front-row seat access. I know it’s hard to look away. It’s hard to feel like you’re allowed to look away, like it’s morally defensible to do what’s best for you while other people suffer. I am intimately familiar with that guilt. But baby, I gotta tell you somethin’, and I want you to repeat until you get it through your head: you are not a god. You are not some super person with super powers that will suddenly release you from the reality of being flawed and mortal. You can’t save the whole entire world. Shit, most of us can’t even consistently save ourselves — and that’s okay. At the very least, none of us are alone in the struggle of being human. Take a breath. Focus on yourself first. Then you can consider suiting up.
• ☆ Know that if you have one fan, it’s me. If you have no fans, yes you do. It’s me. And no, I’m not being funny. I’ll say it again: I am so fucking serious right now. I’ve already showed y’all my cards. I am the single most sentimental, overly emotional motherfucker I know, and at this point in my life, I wear my bruised, hole-punched heart on my sleeve. The only reason I’m still alive is because of the grace of good people who took the time to show me a little bit of kindness. What better way to honor their effort than by extending some kindness of my own? I’ve survived way too much insane shit to not love people out loud, and I do love you. Whoever you are. I love you out loud. I’m proud of you. I’m happy you’re still here. If you’re hurting, perhaps there’s a world where I’m holding you to my chest. If you’re feeling hopeless, I hope you know that I’m wishing for your healing on the next shooting star.
• ☆ And if you’ve spent a lifetime looking for someone to love you, know that you don’t actually have to look very far.

Look in the mirror, baby.

There you are.

about the author

Joanie St. Claire is a West Virginian folk witch and personal essayist committed to the cause of making the world a little freakier. Her work has been featured in Tell Your Story, Bleeding Thunder Zine, The Incandescent Review, and other digital publications. When she’s not writing about human nature, preaching about the power of self-connection, or talking about mental health on TikTok, she’s loving on her friends, wrestling with her dog, or (blessedly) touching grass. For professional (or personal) inquiries, reach out to joaniestclaire@gmail.com.