Joy as Resistance: Creating Light in Darkness

Joy is public health.

In 2025, it can feel like there’s no room for joy. With global crises, injustice, and collective grief pressing in, choosing joy might seem naive or even irresponsible.

But I’ve come to believe this: joy is not the opposite of struggle. It’s what allows us to stay in the struggle without being swallowed by it.

As a researcher, I see joy not as an escape, but as a vital act of resilience.

A way to protect our nervous systems, sustain our capacity to care, and keep our hearts from shutting down.

Not performative joy. Not toxic positivity. But micro-joys as quiet, intentional moments that root us back into life.

What do micro-joys look like?

They are simple. Sensory. Grounded.

• A walk at sunset, no phone, just the sky.

• Cooking a beloved meal, slowly and with presence.

• Picking up a bunch of flowers, just because.

• Ten minutes of undistracted time with your child.

• Standing barefoot on the grass.

• A good book before bed.

These are not luxuries.
They are gentle defiance.
They say: I will not let the world harden me.
I will make space for beauty.
I will stay open.

Because when systems are built to burn us out, presence becomes protest.

Joy helps us engage, not escape

These micro-joys don’t turn us away from what’s hard. They give us the capacity to turn toward it with clarity, compassion, and strength.

They remind us of what we’re fighting for, not just what we’re fighting against.

What’s one micro-joy you can make space for this week?

Let it be small.
Let it be quiet.
Let it be yours.
That’s how we keep going.

A note on privilege:

I also want to acknowledge that the ability to access joy - to go for a walk, to feel safe in your body, to take a pause - is not equally available to everyone. For people living in conflict zones, under occupation, amid disaster or displacement, the idea of seeking beauty or calm is distant or impossible. To speak of micro-joys without naming that reality would be careless. This reflection is not a universal prescription, but a personal reminder: when we have space to soften, we can honour it - not as guilt, but as fuel. Not to look away from suffering, but to build the inner strength required to respond to it.