Making Room for Joy Amidst the Sorrow

"Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow" - Swedish proverb ("Delad glädje är dubbel glädje; delad sorg är halverad sorg")

Sometimes, amidst the deluge of content on social media, I discover something that speaks to me on a deeper level and gives me pause. The above mentioned quote is one such example of this. Take a moment and see what comes up into your awareness as you consider it. Maybe it challenges your preconceived notions of joy and sorrow (e.g. That one must leave before the other can enter), or maybe the dynamic it describes feels familiar to your own experience. Whatever the case, I find that it points toward a more complicated fact of life: the two often co-exist.

Sorrow is one aspect of many in the broader constellation of grief. It often has a holistic impact on our systems. Our worlds narrow and become greyer. We lose track of time and find that days, weeks and months blend into each other. Our motivation and enthusiasm wanes, and everyday tasks of living can feel monumental. We can feel trapped in sorrow, like a sort of prehistoric tar pit (cue the Land Before Time reference). As we are consumed by it, joy starts to seem like less and less of a possibility in our lives.

This is the point where we come back to our Swedish proverb. Contrary to what many of us may believe, joy does not ask sorrow to leave. They are intimately linked to each other, and as such, we can experience them simultaneously in our systems. This may feel confusing to us, and it is important to distinguish joy from happiness here. In her most recent book, “Joyful, Anyway” Canadian author, academic and Stage IV cancer survivor, Kate Bowler explains that, “Happiness depends on circumstances going right. Joy is something sturdier. It is the recognition that life is still worth loving—even when it is fragile, unfinished, and full of sorrow.”

Allowing joy is part of how we sustain ourselves through difficulty. It replenishes emotional energy, strengthens resilience, and reminds us that we are more than what we’re going through. It does not erase the sorrow, rather; it sits beside it like a compassionate friend would, allowing time and space to just be. Through this process, the sorrow will start to soften, and perhaps become a little less heavy in our systems

I’d encourage you to look for some joy amongst your sorrow. It often arrives quietly and gently and can take the form of something simple and familiar to us. It might be the comfort of a favourite song, the way sunlight filters through a window, or the relief of a deep breath after a long day. It might be a shared smile, a memory that brings both tears and warmth, or the simple satisfaction of completing some small task

These moments may feel fragile and fleeting at first. You might even feel resistance – a part of guilt may arise for feeling okay, even temporarily. This is a common and deeply human response. When you’ve been hurting, your mind can start to believe that staying in sorrow is a form of loyalty: to a person, to a past, or to your own experience.

But joy is not disloyal. It is restorative, both internally and externally.

It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel heavy. And it’s also okay to laugh, to rest, to notice something beautiful, even while you’re still hurting. Remind yourself that it is okay to feel not okay, and it is okay to feel okay, often simultaneously.

You don’t have to choose between joy and sorrow.

You can carry both.

Notes 

Joyful Anyway by Kate Bowler

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash