Journey: Connecting to Joy amid Challenges

A few weeks ago, my therapist suggested that I’d connect with joy, even if for a few moments throughout the day. This has been hard, not because there aren’t “objective” reasons for joy but because these days joy is often clouded by fear and grief. When after a week of trying I reported that this was a challenging assignment, she asked me to describe what joy means to me, or more importantly, what it feels like. I heard myself speaking without a moment of hesitation. Joy has this warm orange color, kind of a melted gold. It’s the sensation of an autumn sun peeking through the golden leaves of the maple tree. My wise therapist pointed out that clearly, I have joy within me, or I wouldn’t have been able to provide such a precise description. She also mentioned that grief can coexist with joy, it’s not here to rob us of it. Fear, on the other hand, is a thief, manipulative and malicious. It echoed an assertion of a close friend who calls fear an abusive liar.

By now I’ve lived with acute anxiety for long enough to experience fear of fear. I’m anxious anticipating anxiety, which is a classic symptom. Any new physical sensation, let alone a symptom triggers it. I’m learning that it is quite common for people to struggle more physically and emotionally after they’ve completed their treatment than during treatments. Partially, it may be because treatments have their own routine, structure, and timeline. As difficult as they are, at least in my case there was a sense that once it’s over, the new chapter begins soon after. Or so I thought. The body can’t quickly recover from the shocks of chemo and radiation. It kind of seemed to have at the end of last fall but things got messy again. In my case, de-facto induced menopause further complicated things. The emotional trauma of this ordeal is only equal to physical struggles: you lose trust. At least I did. I know how important trust and hope are. But when after ten difficult months I had almost two better months before plunging into a new excruciating chapter this past February and most of March, trauma is the main thing I feel.

Trauma doesn’t diminish gratitude. I’m so grateful to have been able to carry through the spring semester (although I have no idea how I actually went through it…). Time in the classroom is so meaningful for me. Feedback from the students that they find the material useful for their lives, not just their careers, is priceless. In some way, hearing it from 20-year-olds is even more gratifying than similarly positive feedback from graduate students. Don’t get me wrong, I truly appreciate working with master’s and doctoral students from all around the world who land in my courses, and I love all my own doctoral students–these interactions are a crucial part of why I do what I do. But knowing that I’m connecting with young people who are finding themselves at this point (we all do, our entire life, but college seems a particularly intense time for it) is one of the reasons I love my job so much. I know I write about it in almost every essay, but only because I’m truly blessed with the unbelievable support around me. I’m receiving wellness treatments from amazing healers we have in town and my husband continues to carry me through this journey, along with the house and his full-time job.

I continue to search for joy. Our lilac is blooming magnificently this year and three weeks earlier than usual. Its smell instantly brings the feelings of joy, promise and hope. I have been circling my backyard taking what seems like a million pictures. Two French lilac bushes under our bedroom’s windows are only 2 years old but they are growing fast, blooming expansively and have the most delicious fragrance. The older white lilac is sweeter. The purple lilac, which is the largest bush, is taking its time, mostly having flowering branches at the top, reaching to the sky. One of my favorite things has been making an office on the patio and working while inhaling this heavenly fragrance. May we all find our ways to connect to joy!