Joy in Pain
Hi there,
2026 is coming in hot! How are we already past the midpoint of January? I hope you’re finding moments of ease and pause. I am too, despite a bit of a forced pause (more on that below). Here’s how I’m maintaining and building new rhythms at the outset of this new year.
Resting
An invitation to slow down long enough to hear what your mind, body, and heart are telling you.
Two things can be true at once: being hopeful and clear AND experiencing pain and discomfort.
I know this to be true because the start of my year has been marked by both.
Inwardly, 2026 has gotten off to a fantastic start. I feel attuned and alive. I feel the winds (and wins) from 2025, my family, and my community pushing me forward. I can see where I’m going clearly, even if only a few steps ahead, and I’m excited.
Outwardly, I would have scripted a different story.
I’ve been experiencing debilitating pain caused by an inflamed sciatic nerve on my right side. At times, it’s been difficult to stand or even walk a few feet. Gratefully, my orthopedic doctor has brought clarity and hope. He believes I’ll make a full recovery and that there are steps I can take now to reduce the likelihood of this happening again.
Being forced to rest and opt out of things that energize me has been hard. I’ve missed social gatherings, church, and activities with my kiddos. But while I’m still, I’m also listening for the larger message.
For now, it’s this: The progress you make is not always measured by the steps you take. Be still and know that God is still at work. I’m leaning into the stillness while also imagining a stronger, healthier version of myself, mentally and physically, in the weeks, months, and years to come.
Remembering
An invitation to reconnect with your brilliance - the wisdom, creativity, and magic within and around you.
I remember the day so vividly.
My son and I headed to the park for a two-year-old birthday picnic, despite the threat of rain. We were willing to take our chances, given how long the pandemic had kept us from gathering with others.
We arrived.
We played.
We ate.
We danced.
We took a group selfie.
The woman holding the camera, who had orchestrated this one-of-a-kind celebration alongside her sweet Southern husband, was beaming. Liz.
I learned last week that only three weeks passed between Liz’s cancer diagnosis and her death.
My heart cracked open for her husband and for their now six-year-old daughter, who had been a dear playmate for my son. I sat with the sadness. Then I remembered this photo and went searching for it. What I found instead was a long trail of memories, each one pointing to the same truth.
Liz’s priority was always, always to be a light.
Recasting/Realizing
An invitation to imagine the life you desire and pursue it with joy as your compass.
It’s been nearly a year since I first visited The Rest Spot, a women’s-only private club curated around the 7 types of rest, for an event I talked about in this newsletter.
Last month, I returned. This time, just for me.
On my birthday, I spent 90 minutes in the Sensory Suite. I had the option to sit and write, lie down, snack, step outside for fresh air, or all of the above. You already know. I did all of it. I then spent another 90 minutes resting in the lounge, and my visit felt complete.
It felt like a full-circle moment when I spoke with The Rest Spot’s Founder and CEO, Jena Burgess Singleton, last week. She shared her own experience of being forced to rest, including symptoms like shaking and facial paralysis. She turned her pain into joy for others.
Our conversation centered on space. Physical space to rest, yes. But also the internal space we create in our minds to embrace rest, and how that inner spaciousness shapes how we spend our time. Choosing six more opportunities like this feels like the right radical act of ease for my 2026.
Wishing you a strong and steady start to the new year. Here’s a reflection to honor your joy, even as it coexists with grief, struggle, or uncertainty.
Pause.
Notice where joy and pain sit side by side in your life.
Neither cancels the other.
Joy is not the absence of suffering.
It is constant.
A practice.
A posture.
A daily decision to beam, even on cloudy days.
It is the choice to be a light,
to remain present, even in stillness.
Today, ask yourself:
Where am I invited to rest more deeply?
Which version of myself waits on the other side of this pause?
May you find joy that honors your healing.
May you trust the quiet work happening beneath the surface.
May light meet you—right here, in this very moment.
Joyfully,
Elandria
