When You’ve Been Through So Much, Celebration Can Feel Strange

For people who have been through the storms of life, whether it’s betrayal, loss, abuse, or constant struggle, joy doesn’t always feel as easy as it looks. You see others smiling, laughing, and soaking up love and attention like sunlight, while you quietly wonder, Why can’t I just relax and enjoy this?

When you’ve spent years in survival mode, your heart gets used to scanning for danger, not resting in safety. Trauma teaches you to brace yourself, to expect the other shoe to drop. So when good things finally happen, your mind might whisper, Don’t get too comfortable, this won’t last. The celebration feels foreign, and letting others love on you feels almost… risky.

The Bible reminds us, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still” (Exodus 14:14).

Stillness doesn’t just mean being quiet, it means trusting enough to let go of the need to always be on guard. That’s where the real battle is for many of us: letting ourselves be seen, celebrated, and loved without suspicion.

It’s not about being ungrateful. In fact, those who have endured the most often feel the deepest gratitude. But gratitude and trust are two different muscles. You can thank God for the blessing while still holding it at arm’s length because your nervous system hasn’t caught up with your spirit yet.

Healing invites us to lean into moments of goodness without rushing them out the door.

As Psalm 30:11 says, “You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”

Joy is a garment you have to learn to wear, especially when you’ve been clothed in grief for so long.

Author Brené Brown once said, “Joy is the most vulnerable emotion we experience.” And she’s right. Allowing joy means admitting you have something to lose. But it also means you believe you’re worthy of keeping it.

So here’s the reminder: You are allowed to exhale. You are allowed to smile without waiting for the punchline. You are allowed to receive love without auditioning for it. The people clapping for you aren’t your enemies, they’re your witnesses.

Ecclesiastes 3:4 says there’s “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

If God has brought you into a season of dancing, don’t stand on the sidelines still holding your sackcloth. Step into the light. Let yourself be celebrated. And when the voice in your head says, It won’t last, answer it with this truth: “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6).