It’s surprising to me how long misery can be endured, especially in a draining job. While I was working in corporate, I thought the unhappiness I experienced in my job was normal. That it was just the price of success. Most people I knew were stressed too, especially my coworkers. Most of them seemed just as overwhelmed as I’d been. And so I kept playing the game, believing its what I needed to do to survive.
But each time I tasted real happiness—on vacation, during my son’s visits, in my writing—it started to chip away at this belief. It got harder to believe that staying in a corporate role I hated was my only choice. I decided to focus more on how following my joy might lead to a new career.
I began by returning to the activities that used to bring me joy, the ones I didn’t think I had the time or energy for. But once I started doing what I loved again, I started to feel like the old me, and it felt good. I started hiking again, something I was excited to do when I’d moved to Arizona but hadn’t done much of in my first two years. Being in the beauty of the Sonoran desert among the mighty Saguaro cacti was invigorating. It reminded me of a carefree happiness I’d once known.
Reconnecting with the person I was before the constant stress was enlightening. Walking desert trails, breathing fresh air, and moving my body reminded me that life could feel good again. As the heaviness lifted, my energy began to return—the kind of energy it takes to build a better life.
And energy wasn’t all I gained. I learned that when I’m in a joyful space, I’m more open to ideas, and it’s incredible how easily they begin to flow—without forcing them. Solutions to problems come more easily. Topics for books, articles, and future projects arrive faster than I can write them down.
The opposite is true when I retreat into fear or exhaustion. My thinking becomes narrow. Instead of seeing possibilities, I focus on obstacles. Instead of asking what might go right, I worry about what could go wrong. That flow disappears, and life begins to feel like a struggle again.
Reclaim Your Joy
If you’ve been running on empty like I was, finding your joy again can be difficult. It can even feel self-indulgent. But it’s not. It’s essential if you want to get back to yourself. At least it was for me.
That renewed sense of aliveness becomes the oxygen that feeds the fire. When your energy is restored, your capacity to plan, think creatively, and take meaningful steps expands. Reconnecting with what lights you up—whether through nature, movement, family, or something else—gives you the fuel you need to keep going.
But it won’t happen on its own. It requires you to make space for it—deliberately, and sometimes against the pull of old habits. The exhaustion of a stressful job doesn’t just disappear when you leave work for the day. It follows you home and convinces you that you don’t have the energy for anything more than the path of least resistance.
Reclaiming your joy means pushing back against that. It means walking away from what merely numbs you and spending your time on what actually restores you. Less scrolling. Fewer hours in front of the TV. More time doing the things that remind you what it feels like to live fully.
It’s much more difficult to create a better life from a depleted place. And it’s even harder to build a life you love from inside a version of yourself that’s been flattened by years of survival mode. You have to find your way back to yourself first. Joy—even small and ordinary joy—is often the first step.