Dear EKC: Is it Okay to Feel Happy When So Much is Going Wrong?
Dear EKC,
I’m having a really hard time right now and it feels like it’s for a weird reason. It’s kind of hard to put into words. I’ll be making breakfast or something and for just a second, I’ll feel completely at peace, completely happy. The music’s playing in the background, my coffee’s perfect, my son’s eating his cereal, and everything’s just—for that moment—okay. And then I feel this overwhelming wave of guilt crashing down, coming from nowhere, like: how can I feel happy when the world’s falling apart?
Everywhere I look, something’s on fire. The news is full of the worst heartbreak I can imagine: war, loss of human rights, children ripped away from their parents, people being taken from their homes and kids from their schools. Friends in our home country are having such a hard time, with loss and illness and fear. Everything feels uncertain. And it feels like—life should also be heavy, to reflect everything going on. But I catch myself laughing at a joke or staring at my husband and thinking how wonderful he is, feeling gratitude for our home, and it feels wrong.
The other night, my son told a story about his day at school and burst into his little giggles that always make me laugh too. As soon as I said goodnight and shut the door, I felt this pang in my chest, thinking of the families who can’t gather safely and are grieving and scared. But I also don’t want my boy to know I’m struggling. He deserves to be happy and all of this is way too heavy for him, he’s so little.
I just feel like there’s some unspoken rule that says that if the world’s hurting, I shouldn’t be allowed to feel joy. I feel insensitive and naive when I have those moments of peace and calm. But I don’t want to go numb either. I want to stay open to pain, but also to love, connection, and moments that make all of this worth it.
How do I hold both? Is it even possible, or something I should be doing at all? How do I let myself feel happiness without feeling like I’m betraying the rest of the world?
- Feeling Conflicted
Dear Feeling,
I’m so glad you wrote in and I’m so sorry you’re going through such a hard time. Let’s slow down and take a couple of deep breaths: in—and out. In—and out. Are there any places in your body that can relax right now? When you breathe in, imagine your breath filling you all the way from your head to your toes. And when you breathe out, let your body release the tension you’ve been holding.
You’re doing a great job. You’re asking for help with something that so many people feel but can’t put into words. You’re giving them words they can use to ask for help too.
I want to take a moment to remind you that you’re not alone in this place. You’re struggling with hard things, emotions and experiences that might feel impossible when they’re happening. You’re in a position of feeling like what you’re going through is so heavy you have to hide it from your son to protect him. It sounds like so much for one person to carry, and that’s okay. That’s why we’re here. You deserve help carrying everything, and care for yourself, too.
We’re here for you and would love to help you find ways to make life feel a little easier again, more in balance.
Let’s talk about the feelings in your letter. We hear this a lot at EKC, in different ways: how hard it is to hold mixed emotions, happiness and sadness, gratitude and grief, side by side. You’re right. It can feel deeply complicated and uncomfortable.
The thing is, right now, there really IS so much going wrong. Others are suffering. You might be navigating something painful yourself. It’s no wonder that happiness feels suspicious at times, like acknowledging it might erase or minimize someone else’s pain, or your own. There’s often a fear that if we let joy in, we’ll seem oblivious, or unable, or unwilling to face reality.
But here’s the truth: joy and sorrow can, and do, coexist.
One of the metaphors we use in Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) can help here. Imagine your hands as sheets of paper. Across them are written all kinds of words: some harsh, some tender. Fear, guilt, love, sorrow, gratitude. No matter how full the paper becomes, there are always spaces untouched by ink. And you can fold the paper, tuck it away, or hold it closer to you. The marks don’t disappear but you have flexibility, power, in how you carry them.
This is how emotions work, too. You don’t have to erase sadness to make room for joy. You can carry both. There’s space for all of it.
This time of year is a perfect reminder of that paradox. Outside, leaves are falling and plants are withering: the quiet beauty of endings. But at the same time, the world’s bursting with color: burnt oranges, golds, deep reds. Life and death, decay and renewal, loss and wonder are always intertwined. Even our breath reminds us: every out is followed by an in, every in eventually flows back out again. Yin and yang.
So yes. It’s okay to feel happy, even now. It’s okay to laugh with your son, to notice the sunlight, to be moved by something beautiful. These moments don’t cancel out your compassion; they sustain it. Feeling joy doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten the pain of the world. It means that you’re human enough to hold both.
Warmly,
Kate Berger
EKC Psychologist