Joy and trust in ourselves aren’t luxuries — they’re quiet inner compasses. Yet many of us have drifted so far from them, we barely remember what they feel like. This article is not about chasing endless happiness, but about something deeper: the ability to feel alive again, whole again — and safe in our own presence. Let’s explore why we disconnect from joy and how to master the art of joy again.

Human beings don’t arrive in the world with spreadsheets and strategy. We come with wonder. Watch any well-fed, cuddled baby – they marvel at their own toes. They giggle at curtains. They crawl toward the light with curiosity and courage. That joy is our natural state when we’re not busy proving or performing.

So… where did it go?

Somewhere along the way, many of us began building our identity around pain. We confused maturity with seriousness. We started believing that joy was something to be earned, justified – or postponed until everything is finally “in order.”

But what if that joy didn’t leave? What if it’s just been waiting for us to come back?

One of the quietest saboteurs of joy is the idea: “I’m not enough yet.”

Not wise enough, not healed enough, not successful enough. This belief – whether loud or lingering in the background – disconnects us from the truth of who we are. It makes us think joy is only allowed once we’ve become someone else.

But here’s the problem: if we only allow joy at the finish line, we spend our whole life running.

When we internalise the story that we’re broken, we start filtering the world as if it’s against us. We don’t just doubt ourselves – we stop trusting life itself.

Have you ever felt like you were just… too small for your own life?

We might say things like:

“Without this person, I’ll never be okay.”

“Until I get that job, I don’t deserve to rest.”

“I can’t be happy until someone notices/love me.”

These inner messages are subtle forms of self-abandonment. We assign power to something (or someone) outside us, and make ourselves wait — sometimes forever.

In these moments, we forget that we are not the child anymore. We are the adult now. And adults don’t need permission to step into joy.

Let’s gently ask: have we built our whole personality around pain?

Do we keep replaying past struggles in our heads — not to heal, but to stay loyal to the identity we’ve built through them?

Struggle may be part of the story. But it is not the whole book.

Real transformation begins when we stop performing misery, and start reclaiming dignity. Not as denial — but as a conscious choice to include joy alongside pain.

Somewhere, many of us picked up the idea that we have to “become better” before we can feel joy, love, or ease. That someone — a parent, a boss, a god — will eventually say, “Okay, now you’re allowed.”

But here’s the radical truth: the permission doesn’t come from outside.

Joy is a right, not a reward.

What if we simply started noticing the good already here? The growth we’ve already made? The calm in this very breath?

Close your eyes. Imagine the version of you who already lives the life you long for.

Now imagine this version as a real person. What do they look like? Are they taller in your mind? More confident? More glowing?

And now — what if you stepped into that image? Not to fake it. But to claim it. To remember that this person isn’t a fantasy — they are you, when you stop shrinking.

Sometimes our nervous system just needs help catching up to who we’ve already become.

Freedom. Love. Rest. Joy. Meaning. These are not privileges handed down by fate.

They are self-bestowed.

We don’t wait for someone to say: “You’re allowed.” We say it to ourselves. As adults. As creators of our own life.

This is not selfish. This is sacred.

What if you didn’t have to fight anymore? What if the softest strength was simply allowing yourself to live — here, now, as you are?

You don’t have to be perfect to deserve peace. You don’t need to prove your pain to belong.

The permission is already inside you. Sometimes we just need help hearing it.

If this stirred something in you — a remembering, a longing, a yes — I’m here. This path back to self-trust and quiet joy can be walked together. Contact me, yours, Ksenia Trefilova.