My wife took a look at my website recently and said, “Where is your story? People would benefit from knowing what you’ve grown through.” I agree, but it felt too vulnerable to have it here in writing where it would stay. Here, it would be permanent. When I speak to groups, what I share is somewhat temporary and only what makes an impact is generally remembered. In my opinion, it can also be hard to see through the written word how much healing I have done to get where I am. In person, however, you can see and experience my energy and spoken word as a testament to my healing. And I do think it is important to share my journey with you regardless. So, take what you like and leave the rest…

Like many people, I have experienced many losses in my lifetime. My grief has come from many experiences: hearing loss, estrangement, dysfunctional family dynamics, colorism, the deaths of several students and friends, as well as the death of my mother and our family dog. I also lost my own physical strength due to a car accident that sparked fibromyalgia, forcing me to use a cane and walker (sometimes even a wheelchair) regularly for six years. I also experienced discrimination in public and at work. My fibromyalgia ultimately took me out of my teaching career. I had experiences, too, in which I lost my dignity, access, autonomy, and financial security. I also experienced sexual, physical, and emotional violations that left me feeling stripped of some of my most basic human rights.

As someone who has struggled with depression and who is both an empath and a highly sensitive person (HSP), there came a point when enough was enough. I knew suicide could not be the answer. For years, I had a pinky promise with my mom that if I ever reached that point, I would call her before doing anything to hurt myself. So when the shit kept hitting the fan and Mom was no longer here, I had to find other ways to navigate my grief. The hardest part was realizing that loss would continue to be part of life no matter how unjust it felt. I can’t control that, but I discovered that I could begin changing how I respond to it and how much space I allow it to occupy. Little by little, I began creating a practice for my own sustainable joy. Those practices eventually became what I now call Joy Stamina. Joy Stamina will not make pain disappear, but it continues to help me, and so many others, move from surviving to thriving more often.

There are still so many things that could and do bring me down and there are so many things that fulfill me and make me smile. When I accept this as life’s dichotomy, I thrive! There are mornings I still have to make the choice to get up and access joy because, as an empath and highly sensitive person, my mind and body absorb everything people are feeling and experiencing around me. There are still nights when I go to sleep and question my purpose and the state of our humanity. Today, I no longer need to use a cane or a walker, although sometimes I still need a wheelchair at airports and to use disability parking when I am depleted. Joy has become deeply rooted in me through my Joy Stamina practice. I play and have fun while also feeling my sadness and pain, but I am no longer married to the grief. For me, it is “Yes, And,” not either/or.

So, what are you carrying right now that needs attention so it can make room for more joy?