Why “Joy in the Mourning”?

I live with depression, grief and trauma recovery. These things are always there in the background, whatever else is going on. Some of them will never go away, although as time goes on I hope they won’t loom as large as they do now.

Some days, when I wake up in the morning, it feels as though my head is full of treacle. My brain works slowly and I struggle to get out of bed and get dressed. You probably wouldn’t know I was struggling if you were watching, because I just get up and get moving. One big difference between depression when I was a student and in my twenties is that I don’t have the luxury of staying in bed on a bad day. I certainly didn’t see it as a luxury at the time, especially once I had a job and didn’t get paid on the days I stayed in bed. But it isn’t an option now, so I get up, get dressed and keep putting one foot in front of the other, even on the days when I perceive everything through a haze of grey. I keep reading stories, rolling out playdoh, mixing pink milk, singing, admiring Duplo constructions, and scolding badly behaved trains. On my really bad days, we watch more television. The better weather is a gift, as K loves playing in the garden.

When my husband and I first fell in love (after some years of friendship) he started to call me Joy. He said that I have a gift for joy, for experiencing it myself and for encouraging others to find it. And, although it’s very easy to dismiss (or simply miss) the moments of joy when everything is cloudy, they are still there. When K flings her arms around me; when she insists that I’m a kitten and she’s a baby rabbit and we have a feather to chase; when she bursts into song; when she declares that a pâté sandwich, strawberries and apple juice is the mostest yummy lunch ever ever; and when she calls me “Mummy sweetheart”. It’s true that on the bad days these things don’t help as much as they do on the good days, but they are still there. And I do believe I would be in a much worse place, physically and emotionally, if I didn’t seek the joy and try to notice it when I find it.

Some people suggest, or seem to suggest, that depression is a choice and if we all just focus on the good things, we’ll all feel good all the time. That shows a fundamental misunderstanding of depression. Looking for the good things doesn’t make depression go away. On bad days, it doesn’t even make it better. But it’s still there. And, for me, it can be a sign of hope. If I can see and celebrate the good, perhaps the darkness is a little bit further away. Perhaps.