Finding Joy (Even When You're Still Sick)

Because surviving isn’t the same as living—and you deserve more than just making it through.

I know. Some of you bristled the moment you saw the title of this post.

I get it. There’s a whole subculture in the chronic illness community that quietly implies that if we just try hard enough, we can happy our illness away.

This isn’t that.

Believe me—I tried that approach. One day, I’ll tell you the full story.

But today isn’t about forcing positivity or pretending things are fine when we clearly are not.

Today’s post is about finding joy in spite of being sick. It’s about tiny moments that refill your cup when you’re exhausted, overwhelmed, and suffering. It’s about noticing slivers of light in a life that can sometimes feel pretty bleak.

The Weight of It All

When you’re chronically ill, the suffering can feel like a thick, heavy blanket—one that covers everything with sadness, frustration, and loss. It’s stifling.

And if I’m being honest, I go to that dark, lonely place more often than I’d like. But I don’t like it there. I don’t want to live in that space if I can help it.

Depression and anxiety are incredibly common with chronic illness—and how could they not be? When everything you thought you were gets taken from you, of course you're going to grieve. Of course you’re going to struggle.

But for me, I’ve learned this:

I don’t want to just survive my illness. I want to live—even just a little.

The Guilt of Joy

When your illness is invisible or poorly understood (or still undiagnosed), it can feel like every joyful moment becomes evidence against you.

If you laugh, if you go outside, if you enjoy something… people assume you’re not really sick. And sometimes we even start to believe that ourselves. Like joy is something we need to explain. Justify. Tone down.

I used to feel nervous posting photos of myself smiling or enjoying something. Not because I wasn’t truly happy in that moment - but because I knew what would come next. The comments. The assumptions. The unspoken, “Well, you must be feeling better!”

And I get it. Most people mean well. But what they don’t always see is that joy and illness can live in the same frame. That a good moment doesn’t mean the pain is gone - it just means I’m still here, trying to feel human.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

When someone with cancer shares a smiling photo, we don’t question if they’re still sick—we admire their strength.

We say things like, “Look at them finding joy in spite of it all.”

But when it comes to chronic illness—especially the invisible kind—the narrative changes. Joy becomes suspicious. Rest becomes laziness. Smiling becomes proof that you must be fine.

But we deserve those moments too. We are sick. And still human. And still allowed to feel joy.

What Joy Looks Like (for Me)

Joy doesn’t look the same as it used to.

I’m not dancing , throwing parties, or hiking mountain trails. But I still look for joy—sometimes I build it, foster it, fight for it. Because I need it.

Here’s what joy looks like in my world:

• A cuddle with my cat

• Watching my dog play

• Watching the clouds go by

• Coffee with my husband

• Laughing at how crazy life has become

• A cozy video game

• Painting

• A few minutes in a thrift store

• Listening to music

• Sitting in the dark, listening to ocean sounds, and imagining I’m there

• A camping trip (let’s be honest—there isn’t a whole lot of difference between sitting on a couch all day and sitting in a camping chair all day)

• A good meal

• A short call or text conversation with a friend

• A funny meme

• Time with my family—even if it’s quieter, shorter, or more modified than it used to be

  
  

These little moments don’t cancel out my pain. They don’t mean I’m healed.

They just mean I’m still here.

You Deserve Joy, Too

If you’re living with chronic illness—especially one that’s invisible or misunderstood—let me say this clearly:

You are allowed to feel joy. You don’t have to explain it. You don’t have to earn it.

Joy may look different now. It might come in smaller doses, show up unexpectedly, or need to be created on purpose. But it still counts. It still matters. And it’s still yours.

So if you see me out and about - smiling, laughing, enjoying life a little - please don’t assume I’m better. I’m just trying to feel alive, even in the middle of being sick.

Look for those moments. Create them. Let them in.

It’s the difference between surviving and living with chronic illness.

You deserve it. We both do.