This holiday season, I cannot gift wrap joy in a box, but I can share my joy with you through these words. May this story be a reminder that you are seen, you are loved, and you are stronger than the pain you have survived. Unwrap joy — it is already yours.
Sis, the holidays can be complicated. Lights twinkle, music fills the air, and yet many of us sit at the table with silent aches hidden behind our smiles. I know, because I’ve been there. I am a survivor of breast cancer and domestic violence. And I am a woman who has walked through shadow, but still chooses to stand in the light. Joy is not always about what happens to us — it’s about what God places inside us.
If I could, I would buy joy in bulk, wrap it in gold paper, and deliver it to every Black woman carrying grief in silence. Since I can’t, I will share the lessons that taught me how to keep joy alive, even in the darkest places:
Joy is found in your voice. When doctors hesitated to take me seriously, I had to advocate for myself. I pushed for tests, demanded answers, and refused to let silence steal my future. Every time I raised my voice, I unwrapped another layer of joy.
Joy is hidden in the tears. There were nights when my pillow was soaked with grief. Yet, Psalm 34:18 promises, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” My tears did not wash away joy; they watered it. Sometimes joy is wrapped inside our tears, waiting to be revealed as strength.
Joy lives in the scars. Breast cancer and domestic violence have scarred my body. But scars are not just marks of pain — they are proof of survival. My scars sing, “You made it through.” That song is joy.
Joy refuses counterfeit love. Love that hurts is not love. Healing taught me that joy comes when you refuse to settle for pain disguised as love. True joy is found in relationships — with family, friends, or God — that affirm your worth, not diminish it.
So, here is my holiday gift to you. Wrap yourself in joy. Speak life over yourself. Let your tears water your growth. Celebrate your scars as survival stories. And remember that you deserve love that heals, not harms. This year, instead of waiting for joy to arrive under a tree, I want you to unwrap it in your own life. Ask yourself:
What voices do I need to raise so I can live fully?
What tears are watering seeds I can’t yet see?
What scars can I start celebrating instead of hiding?
Where do I need to choose love that feels like joy?
Joy is the gift I wish I could place in your hands. But, since I cannot, I will leave you with this reminder: Your survival is proof that joy is already within you — and it’s the greatest gift of all.
Drop a comment below, Sis, and tell us — which of these life lessons speak to your heart? In this season, how are you choosing joy or rewriting the stories of your scars?
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