Second, write it down. Every win, every smile, every moment you felt proud or free or seen—keep a joy journal. Because when you’ve been gaslit, minimized, and emotionally whiplashed, it’s easy to forget who you are. This isn’t just about memory; it’s about reclaiming identity. If you’re staring at a blank page, call up a friend who knows your worth. Let them remind you of the victories the narcissist tried to erase.
Third, step into worship. Real joy doesn’t come from people; it comes from presence. Psalm 16:11 says, “In Your presence is fullness of joy—not partial fullness.” You don’t have to wait for perfect circumstances. The joy of the Lord is deep, sustaining, and sacred. Sing, pray, dance, meditate—however you draw near to God, do it. Because when heaven fills your lungs, the narcissist loses their grip.
Fourth, stop trying to fix the narcissist. You can’t. You weren’t created to heal someone who refuses to admit they’re bleeding. It’s okay to grieve what could have been, what you hoped they’d become. But don’t lose yourself in the rescue mission. That’s not love; it’s martyrdom, and your joy is too precious to be nailed to that cross.
Fifth, practice gratitude, not just silently but out loud. Train your tongue to testify. Not every day will feel good, but there’s always something to be thankful for. Don’t just think it; say it. “Thank you, God, for this sunlight. Thank you for this breath.” Gratitude tills the soil where joy can grow again.
And sixth, treat happiness like a muscle. If it’s been weak for a while, don’t shame yourself. Just start small. Stretch it, use it. Celebrate something simple. Don’t chase a performance of joy; cultivate the presence of it. This isn’t a race. The pace of your healing isn’t a test of your faith. Go slow if you must, but keep going.
And hear this loud, beloved: the fact that the narcissist couldn’t celebrate you doesn’t mean you’re not worth celebrating, because you are. So take back your smile. Let joy be your rebellion. Let laughter be your resistance, and let peace be your portion. Not because you earned it, but because you were always worthy of it.
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