Marissa’s journey with chronic illness has reshaped her understanding of happiness. What once seemed tied to major achievements is now found in life’s quiet, everyday moments—like the comfort of her cats, the warmth of a familiar song, or the small joys of a simple celebration. Through acceptance and a shift in perspective, she has learned to embrace happiness in unexpected ways.
Keep reading to discover how Marissa finds light in the little things, even on the hardest days.
The Comfort of My Cats
It might seem rather silly, but something that keeps me going on my hardest days is my cats. I’ve been a crazy cat lady since I was born, and I’ve always found a sense of pure, innocent joy in cats. They’re such complex creatures, and every cat has their own personality and quirks, just like humans. On the hardest days when I’m in so much pain I can barely move from the bed, my cats are all there keeping me company. When I’m crying, at least one of them is trying to pester me, knowing that just their presence helps me feel better. Or, one of them will run through the room in a full sprint for no apparent reason, making me laugh and snap out of an emotional rut. My lack of typical “productivity” doesn’t bother them. They don’t care if I haven’t showered. They love me simply because I’m here. I mean, I love my husband, but my cats provide a level of unspoken love and support that no human can match. Pet owners, you know what I mean.
Redefining Happiness
I think it’s safe to say that happiness can be a complicated thing for anyone. I tend to struggle with black-and-white thinking, and my idea of happiness has definitely been caught up in that. Before my diagnosis, I thought happiness came from big successes like earning degrees, well-paying careers, traveling the world, winning awards, etc. Since my diagnosis (probably with a little maturing, too), I’ve learned that you can be happy without those big things. As cliche as it sounds, happiness comes from within; however, it doesn’t come naturally. You have to make your own happiness by paying attention to what makes your heart feel warm and appreciating the little things.
If you rely on big successes for happiness, you probably won’t find happiness very often; but if you learn to truly appreciate the joy in the mundane, you’ll find happiness all around you. In cups of coffee, in songs on your “on replay” playlist, in light-refracted rainbows on the wall, in the feeling of a cozy pillow, in the smell of your favorite candle, in belly-aching laughter, in washing your face in the morning… even in doing the laundry. Chronic illness brings with it a lot of unhappy things, but regardless of my illness, I’ll always have the mundane.
Celebrating Small Wins
This is something I’m still working on. The journey of being young and developing a chronic illness/disability is difficult and confusing, and I think it’s a lifelong journey of learning. I’m still learning to see small wins as actual wins for myself, so I probably don’t celebrate them as much as I could. My favorite way to celebrate is with a little treat! The treat itself varies, though. It could be a $2 Slurpee from 7-Eleven, ice cream at home, a movie night in bed with my husband, a trip to an antique store, a relaxing hot bath with extra bubbles… just something that I like, to remind myself that wins of any size deserve at least a little celebration.
Learning Acceptance
If I could tell my past self one thing about finding happiness when her whole world felt like it was falling apart at the hands of her own body, when the words “chronic” and “incurable” sounded like her dreams were trashed—it would simply be to always remember this phrase: “and that’s okay.”
I know my past self would initially think that’s the least helpful thing to say and probably the lie of the century, but I know she’d eventually feel comfort in learning acceptance and figuring out that SHE would be okay, regardless of how difficult, painful, and unbearable everything feels. Following the overwhelming or negative thoughts with “and that’s okay” would really help her realize that it is—in fact—okay.
She could no longer run a mile, and that’s okay. She needed a feeding tube to eat for a while, and that’s okay. She couldn’t finish her college degree, and that’s okay. She felt like this diagnosis is unfair, and that’s okay. The realization that things are okay—even when they don’t feel okay—opens the door to finding happiness.
Follow Marissa on Instagram to learn more about her journey.
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