Joy sounds like the easy part.
We talk about seeking it, choosing it, protecting it. And all of that is true. But there is something underneath the conversation about joy that we don’t say out loud often enough.
For some of us, joy doesn’t feel safe.
Not because we don’t want it. But because we were never taught that it was available to us. Because happiness felt conditional, or fragile, or like something that always got taken away before we could settle into it. Because somewhere along the way we learned, quietly and without anyone saying it directly, that we didn’t quite deserve to feel good without earning it first.
And so joy became unfamiliar.
And here is the thing about the unfamiliar — even when what’s familiar is painful, the brain prefers it. Familiarity feels like efficiency to the nervous system. It knows the path. It knows what to expect. Change, even change toward something better, requires the brain to build something new. And that is uncomfortable in a way that can feel like danger even when it isn’t.
This is why choosing joy can feel harder than it sounds.
It isn’t laziness or ingratitude when joy feels out of reach. It is neurology. It is the brain defaulting to what it knows. And what so many of us know, deeply and bodily, is surviving. Managing. Staying braced for whatever comes next. Joy asks us to put the bracing down, and that is genuinely scary when bracing has been the thing that kept us safe.
But here is what I’ve learned.
The way through is not to wait until joy feels deserved or earned or safe enough. The way through is to make the unfamiliar familiar, one small experience at a time.
That means going toward the things you suspect might bring joy even when you’re not sure. Even when it feels awkward or foreign or like maybe this isn’t quite right for you. Every small reach toward joy is information. Every moment of genuine lightness, however brief, is your nervous system beginning to learn a new path. Beginning to believe that this too is available. That good things are allowed to stay.
It is a rewiring. And like all rewiring, it takes repetition.
For me it looked like small, consistent choices. Watching more comedy because laughing reminds my body what lightness feels like. Spending more time outside because peace is a form of joy I had underestimated for years. Building community because something in me comes alive when people have meaningful experiences together. These weren’t grand gestures. They were quiet priorities. Small decisions made again and again that slowly, steadily changed the texture of my daily life.
And joy did get easier. Not because the hard things disappeared, but because joy became more familiar than the absence of it. Because my nervous system started to recognize it as home rather than as something foreign and slightly suspect.
That is what the cost of joy actually is.
Not money or time or effort, though it asks for all of those things. The real cost is the willingness to go toward something your brain doesn’t yet recognize as safe. To choose the unfamiliar. To let yourself have something good without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
That takes courage. Real courage. The quiet, daily kind that nobody gives you credit for because it mostly happens in small moments no one else sees.
But the more you do it, the more you find yourself living differently. Making different choices. Protecting different things. Building a life that is structured, deliberately and unapologetically, around what makes you feel alive.
And one day you look up and realize that joy has become familiar.
And you can’t imagine going back.
30 Seconds With Beth
Take a breath and ask yourself honestly:
Is there something joyful I’ve been resisting or talking myself out of because some part of me doesn’t feel like it’s allowed?
Just notice what comes up. No judgment.
Then ask: What would it look like to move toward that thing anyway — even just a little, even just today?
Joy gets easier the more you let it in.
You are allowed to start now.
About The Author
Beth Inglish is an artist, leader, and transformational speaker who creates spaces where people feel seen, supported, and invited to grow. Through her abstract paintings and keynote experiences, she helps people reconnect to themselves, regulate their nervous systems, and move forward with clarity and confidence. Her work blends creativity, emotional intelligence, and storytelling to create meaningful moments of reflection and change. Whether on stage or in the studio, Beth focuses on helping people feel grounded, aware, and empowered in their lives. Visit her online gallery to explore her work and learn more about the stories behind each piece.