The Quiet Kind of Happy

I used to think happiness looked like fireworks.

Big. Flashy. Loud. The kind you see on Instagram or at weddings. The kind that lights up a whole room and makes people say, “Wow, look at them. They’ve got it all.”

For years, I chased that version of happy.

Tried to earn it, dress like it, talk like it, even buy it.

But I never caught it.

Because that kind of happiness isn’t real—not for most of us.

What I’ve found, instead, is something smaller.

Something quieter.

Something real.

It looks like:

• Waking up without an alarm.
• That first sip of hot coffee when no one else is awake.
• Finishing a book you didn’t want to end.
• A text from someone who didn’t have to check in—but did anyway.
• Your dog resting its chin on your knee.
• Saying "no" and meaning it.
• Saying "yes" and being glad you did.

Happiness doesn’t crash into your life like a concert.

It sneaks in like sunlight through a curtain you forgot to close.

And if you're not paying attention, you’ll miss it.

Growing up, we’re told that joy has to be earned.

That we need to do something big—graduate, succeed, marry, perform—to deserve it.

No one ever said:

“You’re allowed to be happy on a Wednesday with nothing planned.”

Or:

“It’s okay to feel joy even when everything isn’t perfect.”

But here’s what I’ve learned:

Happiness isn’t a finish line.

It’s not what comes after healing, growing, or winning.

Sometimes it’s what happens during the mess.

There was a night, not too long ago, when I sat on the floor of my small apartment eating noodles out of the pot I boiled them in.

The power had gone out for two hours.

My phone was at 8%.

I lit a candle. Put on a hoodie. And just sat.

And for some reason, I felt something I hadn’t in a while: peace.

That night, I realized—I didn’t need my life to be louder.

I needed to stop muting the parts that were already enough.

Because if you’re waiting for life to be perfect before you feel joy, you might wait forever.

Happiness isn’t a destination. It’s a visitor.

It doesn’t always knock.

Sometimes it just sits beside you and waits for you to notice.

Look around.

It might already be here.

We’re taught to chase the big moments.

Engagements. Promotions. Vacations. Viral wins.

And don't get me wrong—those things can feel good.

But they pass.

The adrenaline wears off.

The crowd leaves.

The photos get buried under the next scroll.

And then we’re left wondering why we feel… empty.

I call it the “celebration hangover.”

When the confetti settles and we’re back in the silence of our real lives, we ask:

“Is this it?”

We forget that the goal was never to impress others with how happy we look—it was to feel whole when no one’s watching.

Comparison kills the small joys.

I used to think I wasn’t successful because someone else my age owned a house, or had a six-figure job, or a "picture-perfect" family.

But I realized:

• Their happy isn’t my happy.
• Their timeline isn’t mine.
• Their peace might come at a price I don’t want to pay.

When I stopped comparing, I started noticing what I already had.

And what I had was enough to build a life that felt soft and real and mine.

You know the best part of most days?

They don’t look like much.

But they feel like everything.

• Folding laundry while music plays in another room.
• Getting into a bed with clean sheets after a long day.
• Finishing your to-do list, even if it only had three things.
• Laughing at a meme that feels like it read your mind.
• Someone remembering your favorite flavor without asking.

These are the "invisible wins."

They don’t make headlines.

They don’t get likes.

But they build a life worth living.

A lot of people think they have to be healed to be happy.

But what if healing is part of happiness?

The moment you forgive yourself for something.

The moment you don’t react the way you used to.

The moment you set a boundary and don’t feel guilty.

Each of those is joy, hidden in the folds of growth.

And here’s a secret:

Healing doesn’t always feel good. But it leads you to peace—and peace is the quietest kind of joy there is.

We all know how to criticize ourselves.

We rarely learn how to celebrate ourselves—especially in the ordinary.

But the day you stop waiting to be perfect to feel joy…

That’s the day life starts to feel like it belongs to you again.

So take the walk.

Eat the good toast.

Play the same song five times in a row.

Wear the hoodie that makes you feel safe.

Text the friend even if you think you're bothering them. (You're not.)

Let life be messy and meaningful.

Let happiness be quiet and real.

That’s okay too.

Sometimes joy is late.

Sometimes it hides in pockets of the day you haven’t opened yet.

But I promise—it’s coming.

You don’t have to earn it.

You don’t have to chase it.

You just have to let it stay when it arrives.

Even if it’s soft.

Even if it’s small.

Even if it just looks like peace on a Wednesday.