Moments In Between Joy And Surrendering To Return

Over the next couple of months, every fortnight you’ll be hearing from an incredible soul within The Daisy Patch community in our Joy Embodiment Series. They’re sharing their own ‘Joy Stories’ – how they embody joy in their lives, what it has meant to them, and a few lessons along the way. I trust you enjoy connecting with them and their joy as much as I have. 


Danielle x 

When I thought about sharing my own ‘Joy Story’ I realised there’s not just one tale. There are multiple stories that continue to weave into each other over time. That’s part of the beauty of tapping more and more into joy in our lives – it continues to reveal itself to us. 

I’m choosing to share a challenging joy with you all today, one that on the surface feels hard to feel into at times, which could be surprising given we are talking about such a pleasurable experience such as ‘joy’. 

In doing so I invite you to notice where you could be holding back on your own joy. Or where joy already exists in your life but it’s covered up in other ‘stuff’. The truth I’ve come to know is that it is always there. It’s just that it requires conscious intention to bring it out. 

I often refer to joy as a muscle. It requires that attention, that workout, that constant repetition, in order for it to feel strong, vibrant and present in our lives. My wish for you right now is that in reading everyone’s stories throughout the Joy Embodiment series you too will see that your joy already exists and can be accessed at anytime you choose. 

So here it goes … 

I was curled over the bathroom floor sobbing. Big heaving sobs coming from deep inside my heart. My heart was pulling at me. Begging for a release. 

I was hurting. Missing my creature comforts. And, missing my deeper comforts. The home I’d nested in, grown in, built a business and life in over the past 7 years. I was missing my walking route, where I could watch the water lap up the sunset and the quietness descend even within such a thriving city. I was missing the faces I saw on the street, the old shuffling dog with its beautiful smiling chatty owner.  

And my ground. My centre. I was missing all that. 

I felt like I’d been ripped up with my roots hanging bare. No where to hide. No where to curl up in comfort. All I could do was remain there. Exposed. And allow those sobs to heave out of me. 

My rational mind started to kick in – look at where you are. You are in paradise. You are waking up to the waves and sunrise each morning. You are in the place that millions flock to in order to experience its magnificence. You are in amongst nature’s purest beauty, and here you are cryinghurting

Somewhere between the cries, the rational mind, and my heart releasing, there was a softening. A moment to look up, to breathe, to remember

I asked my heart why I was here.  

She answered: You chose this

But why? 

It called you home. Home to yourself. And you listened. 

Without making much ‘sense’ I knew she was right. This yearning to be in this ‘paradise’ had been growing for years. I made big, difficult, heart-sore decisions to make it happen. Because the deeper part of me – my inner wisdom – knew there was something bigger at play. 

In that moment of softening and tuning into my heart I was able to look up. To get up. To release and surrender those tears. And then to see my surroundings. 

I gazed at the water and breathed it in. I thanked the sky for giving me the sunshine. I thanked my heart for always knowing and being able to bring me back to the bigger picture, even when it felt hard and I didn’t want to believe her. 

Looking up helped me see that everything that was happening around me, whilst hard, was allowing me to say goodbye, in order to welcome my new beginning. A beginning that didn’t have an ending yet, because she was so brand new. 

With that, I chose to trust in the moment. To breathe it in. To let it out. And to begin again, fully, with the knowing that the ending was just as precious as this new start.