When Joy Feels Foreign
Eliana laughed so hard she fell into Mara’s lap.
It was the kind of moment that used to be effortless. Natural.
Now it felt like watching sunlight through a screen door—beautiful, but distant.
Mara held her daughter close and let the laughter echo, even if it didn’t land fully inside her.
Later, she wrote in her journal:
> “I’m allowed to feel joy, even if it doesn’t feel like mine yet.
> I’m allowed to trust that it will come back.
> And I’m allowed to hold it gently when it does.”
Somewhere in that softness, she found her breath again.
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