Whole with Joy: A Love Song to Wholeness
“Once we recognize what it is we are feeling, once we recognize we can feel deeply, love deeply, can feel joy, then we will demand that all parts of our lives produce that kind of joy.”
Whole with Joy began as a quiet rebellion, a whisper of resistance in the shadow of despair. After my divorce, I was left empty, aching to prove my worth to myself and the world. I buried myself in “the work,” clawing at the illusion of a perfect self, as though I were broken and in need of repair. But what I truly needed was not fixing—it was a gentle space to simply be. Slowly, I began to understand: wholeness is not a destination. There is no map, no perfect shape to mold myself into. Wholeness is not something to achieve, but something to embody, softly, moment by moment. It is a process of unbecoming everything I was told to be and remembering who I already am.
For much of my life, as a queer Black womxn, I have seen myself through fractured mirrors. The reflections were warped, telling me my voice was too loud, my feelings too much, my desires too wrong. I carried the weight of internalized shame, believing the yearnings of my heart betrayed my Blackness, my womanhood, my faith. There was a part of me—rooted in childhood, shaped by ancestral survival—that sought salvation in love. I wanted someone else to bear the weight, to piece me back together, to save me from the suffering I carried as a Black womxn in this world. When my marriage ended, I faced my greatest fear: myself. There was no one left to save me, no one to complete me. It was just me, standing at the edge of my own darkness.
So I stepped into it—the vast unknown of my fears, the boundless mystery of the future. What I discovered there was not an end, but a beginning. Wholeness, I learned, is not about perfection; it is about love. It is a lifetime of learning to hold yourself tenderly, to live with a heart open to all its facets. It is a gradual, spiraling journey of shedding, unraveling, unlearning, and remembering.
The Sky as My Mirror
In the early days of this journey, I struggled to embody this truth. My therapist shared Rumi’s The Guest House with me, inviting me to see the complexity of my humanness. They reminded me that I didn’t have to choose one emotion or way of being over another, but instead welcome them all. These words helped me breathe easier, but the practice eluded me—until one summer day.
I lay on the grass in front of my house, staring at the sky. The clouds moved above me: vast, iridescent, puffy, dense, wispy, glorious. They glided through the heavens without attachment, without hesitation. Each was breathtaking, each impermanent. In their quiet transit, I saw myself. My emotions, my being, were like those clouds—limitless in form, divine in their ephemerality. In that moment, something clicked. I understood what my therapist had meant: I didn’t need to attach to one feeling or identity. I could let them all come and go, passing through me like clouds across the sky.
That moment freed me. Slowly, with practice, I began to meet my emotions differently, to hold my identity with more love. I began to see myself not as a puzzle to solve, but as a sky—wide, expansive, and beautifully alive.
Joy as Liberation
Whole with Joy is a practice of living Audre Lorde’s words: “Once we recognize what it is we are feeling, once we recognize we can feel deeply, love deeply, can feel joy, then we will demand that all parts of our lives produce that kind of joy.” To embrace the fullness of our human experience is to ignite a sacred fire within us—a fire called joy.
I now understand the gift my mother gave me when she named me Joy. Born in 1943 in Oriental, North Carolina, my mother—described as a “Steel Magnolia”—embodied grace and resilience. Like the magnolia tree, she endured, her roots deep and unshakable. In naming me, she spoke into my life what the world so often denied her: joy as power, joy as liberation, joy as a birthright. This joy, often called “unspeakable joy,” is what we feel when we return to ourselves, when we embrace our wholeness.
A World That Denies Wholeness
We live in a world fueled by greed, hate, and fear—a legacy of scarcity and division that dehumanizes us all. To survive, we conform. We play roles written by others, seeking safety at the cost of our authenticity. We perform, repress, and organize our lives around false security, all while suffocating under the weight of internalized oppression.
As a therapist, I’ve learned that beneath our differences, we share the same core fears: abandonment, rejection, the unknown, death. Yet we are also hardwired for connection, belonging, and resilience. These truths are etched into our very being. Our work is to reclaim them, to honor the cries of our souls. The anger, grief, anxiety, and shame we often try to shed are not our enemies—they are our teachers. They show us what we can no longer tolerate, what must change. They are our soul’s demand for freedom.
To embody your wholeness is an act of revolution. It sets you free, and in doing so, it liberates us all. When you honor your inherent wholeness, you embody the energy of love—and love is the force that renders us equal. And what does the world need more than love?
May you invite the possibility of being whole with joy.
May you allow yourself to feel all your feelings with tenderness, without attachment.
May you follow the desires of your heart, wild and true.
May you, like the clouds in the sky, move freely, expansively, beautifully.
Whole with Joy: Embodiment Practices
Take a sacred pause. Breathe deeply, in and out.
Speak aloud:
“I honor who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming.”
Engage in a 5–10-minute meditation with Rumi’s The Guest House as your guide.
Connect with your inner child: Paint a rainbow. Then mix the colors to explore infinite possibilities.
Remember your wholeness: Spend time skygazing—day or night. Notice what shifts in your body as you observe the sky’s vastness.
Practice mindfulness:
Breathe into your body and observe with curiosity.
Ask yourself: Do I feel relaxed, constricted, open, detached?
Compassionately reflect:
Am I embodying a script written for me, or am I living from my authentic self?
Sit with how it feels to notice the difference.
These practices are an invitation to come home to yourself. ✨