Happiness has a way of shifting, doesn’t it? What once felt like joy can sour into resentment, even loathing, when expectations crumble or circumstances weigh too hard. You want to cry, but you know the tears will only stir more frustration. And anger—unchecked—becomes dangerous. It pushes words out of your mouth you can’t take back. It nudges you toward choices that feel foreign, yet frighteningly possible.
Bottled emotions don’t disappear. They ferment. And when they erupt, the damage often reaches further than you ever intended. That’s why some people speak freely, preferring the sting of honesty over the poison of silence. And yet, many of us—myself included—hesitate. We hold back. We rehearse “what ifs” and crave do-overs, wishing we could rewrite decisions made in the name of happiness that didn’t last.
It’s strange how life can feel misaligned—when the way we’ve adapted to live no longer matches the way we know things should be. Destiny sounds beautiful when life is full, when the right things surround us. But when the wrong things cling too tightly, “destiny” feels more like a chain than a gift. You try to be strong, but sometimes strength looks less like fighting through and more like letting go.
Because here’s the truth: your sanity, your peace, your wholeness—are worth more than the illusion of happiness. Happiness is fleeting. Peace is sustaining. The kind of peace that comes when you stop performing, stop bottling, and start releasing.
And for those who trust God, there is even greater hope: He offers peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7). A peace that doesn’t require the “right circumstances” to hold steady. A peace that keeps you from unraveling when the weight of life presses in.
So maybe the real courage isn’t in holding it all in—or even holding it all together. Maybe it’s in loosening your grip, admitting what hurts, and seeking the kind of peace that can’t be stolen. Because your sanity, your soul, your heart—are far more precious than you think.
