When youâre healing from narcissistic abuse, joy often feels⊠dangerous. Too big. Too loud. Too much. Like a risk you canât afford.
âIf I laugh, am I minimizing what happened?â
âIf I feel happy, will they think they didnât hurt me?â
âDo I even deserve joy after everything?â
Letâs burn that guilt to the ground right now: Joy is not betrayal. Joy is defiance.
In this article, Iâll break down:
This isnât just about feeling better. Itâs about taking back what they tried to steal.
Letâs call it what it is: narcissists train you to be afraid of joy.
Over time, your brain made a quiet deal:
If I stay small, maybe Iâll stay safe.
So you stopped dancing. Stopped creating. Stopped resting. Stopped laughing.
Joy became risky. Pleasure became a guilt trip.
But now? Youâre in recovery. The contract is void.
Trauma changes brain function. You literally forget how to recognize â and trust â pleasure.
Your dopamine and serotonin systems take a hit. Your amygdala (threat center) goes into overdrive. Your prefrontal cortex (logic, calm, play) gets sidelined.
This is why survivors say things like:
âI donât even know what makes me happy anymore.â
âFun feels fake.â
âI feel numb even when things are going well.â
Hereâs the good news: that wiring isnât permanent. Joy is neuroplastic.
You can relearn how to feel good â and trust it.
It was a dumb TikTok. A cat knocked over a vase and looked personally offended by gravity.
And I laughed. Like, full-belly, uncontrollable laughed.
And then â I cried.
Because for the first time in months, my body remembered what safety felt like.
Joy after trauma is complicated. Itâs beautiful. Itâs grief-lined. And itâs a sign of healing.
I made a list of every tiny thing that used to bring me joy â pre-abuse.
Not what I âshouldâ like. What actually lit me up.
Mine looked like:
Then, I tried one thing a day â no pressure to enjoy it. Just curiosity.
I used to attach disclaimers to everything I enjoyed:
âI earned this because I worked hard.â
âI need this break or Iâll burn out.â
âI know itâs dumb butâŠâ
No more. Joy doesnât need a reason. You donât have to earn rest, pleasure, or delight.
New rule: If it doesnât harm me or someone else? I donât justify it.
Laughter is free regulation. It literally resets your nervous system.
But I hadnât genuinely laughed in forever. I was waiting for âpermission.â
So I made a joy list:
I laughed. Then I panicked. Then I laughed again. Thatâs trauma recovery, baby.
When words failed, music saved me. Sometimes I needed rage. Sometimes softness. Sometimes pure, unapologetic vibe.
My tools of joy:
Music bypasses the thinking brain and goes straight to the soul.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
I bought them because they were pretty. Not for a holiday. Not for someone else.
That was radical joy.
For years Iâd been trained to see gifts as transactional. Now? I became my own source of delight.
Narcissistic abuse often makes pleasure feel performative. Youâre always being watched, judged, baited.
So I created safe joy spaces:
Just me. Music on. Lighting soft. Weighted blanket or infrared sauna if I needed grounding.
Joy became private. Sacred. Mine.
Before bed, I started writing down:
Not gratitude. Not pressure. Just joy spotting.
It trained my brain to look for delight instead of danger.
You start feeling more like you.
Not the hypervigilant version. Not the fawning version. Not the version built to survive them.
But the version built to thrive â because joy makes you whole again.
Hereâs what changed for me:
And that changed everything.
Use this in your journal or IMC Methodâą template:
They wanted to take your light. Your laughter. Your softness. Your silliness. Your celebration.
Reclaiming joy after abuse isnât weakness. Itâs war paint.
It says:
âYou donât get to keep my happiness. I do.â
So buy the flowers. Laugh too loud. Paint badly. Sing off-key. Take up space.
Let your healing be loud, vibrant, and unapologetically joyful.
Because your joy?
Is a rebellion. And you? Are winning.