On finding joy, naming grief, and being brave enough to say the hard parts out loud.
Lately, I feel like I can’t escape the conversation about joy and grief.
It’s everywhere.
In the things I’m reading. The conversations I’m having. The messages I’m hearing. The stories that somehow find their way into my social media feed.
And I can’t decide if everyone is suddenly talking about the same thing, or if the algorithm has finally figured me out.
Maybe it’s both.
But the more I hear about joy and grief existing together, the more I realize that this is exactly why A Pile of Ashes exists in the first place.
Not because I have figured out how to live a life without grief.
Not because I’ve discovered some magical way to turn every difficult circumstance into something beautiful.
But because somewhere along the way, I began to understand that life doesn’t have to stop being beautiful just because parts of it are broken.
And maybe that’s a message worth sharing.
You’re Brave Enough to Say the Hard Parts Out Loud
I was having dinner with a friend recently, and we started talking about my writing over chips and salsa.
I’ve been finding my way back to blogging after being away from it for a long time. And if I’m being completely transparent, it has been a little intimidating.
The internet has changed. Social media has changed. The way people consume content has changed.
And sometimes I wonder if anyone even wants to read what I have to say anymore.
But my friend was genuinely excited that I was writing again.
She encouraged me to keep going, and then she said something that stuck with me.
“You’re brave enough to say the hard parts out loud and share them on the internet.”
I’ve thought about that conversation several times since.
Because I don’t necessarily feel brave.
Sometimes I feel like a woman who has lived through enough difficult seasons that pretending everything is fine simply doesn’t make sense anymore.
Sometimes writing is the only way I know how to make sense of what I’m feeling.
And sometimes I share those words because I wonder if there’s another woman somewhere who needs to know she’s not the only one.
Maybe that looks like bravery from the outside.
From where I’m standing, it mostly looks like telling the truth.
What If Joy and Grief Were Never Meant to Be Opposites?
For a long time, I think I viewed joy and grief as two separate seasons of life.
You grieved when things were hard.
You celebrated when things were good.
And somewhere in between, you tried to recover enough to move forward.
But life rarely works that neatly.
You can sit at a table surrounded by people you love and suddenly feel the weight of someone who’s missing.
You can be grateful for your children and still grieve the parts of motherhood that have been difficult.
You can laugh until your stomach hurts and cry in the car on the way home.
You can love your life and still wish certain parts of your story had been written differently.
And none of those things cancel each other out.
I’m learning that joy isn’t always the absence of sorrow.
Sometimes joy is the laughter that surprises you in the middle of it.
Sometimes it’s a conversation with a friend who reminds you that your voice still matters.
Sometimes it’s recognizing that even though life looks nothing like you imagined, there are still things worth celebrating.
Grief tells the truth about what has hurt us. Joy reminds us that hurt isn’t the only truth about our lives.
And I think there’s room for both.
This Is Why I Started A Pile of Ashes
When I think about the name of this little corner of the internet, I think about everything the ashes represent.
The things that happened.
The things that burned.
The dreams that didn’t unfold the way we expected.
The relationships that changed.
The prayers that seemed to go unanswered.
The losses we still carry, even when everyone else assumes we’ve moved on.
But I also think about what can grow after a fire.
And what can be beautiful even before the ground looks whole again.
That’s the heart of A Pile of Ashes.
It isn’t a place where I promise to show you how to escape hardship or find a happy ending to every difficult story.
It’s a place where we can acknowledge that some things really were painful. Some things really did change us. And some things may always leave a mark.
But there can still be beauty here.
Not because everything that happened was good.
Not because we needed the pain to become better people.
And certainly not because every loss comes with an explanation.
But because the goodness of God doesn’t disappear when life becomes difficult.
Sometimes we recognize it in ways we never expected.
And sometimes we need someone else to remind us to look for it.
Maybe We All Need Someone to Say It Out Loud
I don’t know if social media is feeding me conversations about joy and grief because they’re trending or because I’ve spent enough time searching for them.
Maybe the algorithm knows me better than I’d like to admit.
But I wonder if there’s another explanation, too.
Maybe more women are beginning to say what they’ve been carrying quietly for years.
Maybe we’re getting tired of pretending that gratitude means we can’t be disappointed.
That faith means we can’t question.
That joy means we can’t cry.
That a beautiful life must also be an easy one.
And maybe hearing someone else say the hard things out loud gives us permission to acknowledge our own.
Because there is something incredibly comforting about realizing that the emotions you thought made you different are actually shared by so many others.
You aren’t the only woman who has cried over something she thought she’d already made peace with.
You aren’t the only one who feels grateful and overwhelmed in the same breath.
You aren’t the only one who has asked God why and still trusted Him enough to keep praying.
And you aren’t the only one trying to recognize joy in a life that has held its share of grief.
So I’m Going to Keep Writing
I don’t know exactly what this next season of A Pile of Ashes will look like.
I don’t know how many people will read these words.
I don’t know if the algorithm will ever figure out where my writing belongs or who needs to see it.
But I know why I started.
And I’m beginning to remember why I loved writing in the first place.
Because sometimes the words we are most afraid to share are the very words someone else needs to hear.
Because telling the truth about grief doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to celebrate joy.
Because beautiful things can exist in difficult places.
And because I still believe that God can bring beauty from ashes.
Maybe my friend was right.
Maybe it does take a little bravery to say the hard parts out loud.
So I’m going to keep saying them.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because I know I’m not the only one asking the questions.
And if you’ve found yourself somewhere between joy and grief lately, I hope you’ll stay awhile.
There’s room for both here.
And there’s room for you, too.
I’d love to know: Have you been noticing more conversations about joy and grief lately, too? Or is this simply one of those things we begin to recognize everywhere once we’ve lived through it ourselves?
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