Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / Why Hiding Your Joy Feels Safer Than Sharing It | Still Standing
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of silence that happens right when you’re about to tell someone good news, and it feels less like anticipation and more like holding your breath underwater. You swallow the words before they leave your lips, not because you don’t want them to be heard, but because you are terrified of what might happen if they actually are. I want you to picture a moment from last week. Maybe it was a promotion you got, a relationship that finally clicked, or just a small win that made your chest feel light. In that exact second, did you reach for your phone? Did you open your mouth to speak? Or did you feel that invisible hand clamp over your voice? We have all done it. We have all chosen the safety of secrecy over the risk of sharing our joy. And I need you to know, right now, that you are not broken for doing this. You are not ungrateful. You are protecting yourself from a world that has taught us, time and again, that happiness is fragile. That it is something to be guarded, not displayed. When we hide our excitement, we are often trying to prevent the disappointment of having it taken away, mocked, or minimized. It is a survival mechanism. It is a shield. But shields are heavy, my friend. And wearing one every single day is exhausting in a way that is hard to put into words. Let’s sit in that for a second. Why do we think our joy is dangerous? I think it comes from a deep, cultural conditioning that tells us if we shine too brightly, we will burn out. Or worse, we will make others feel dim. I remember early in my corporate career, I had finally finished a project I loved. A real achievement. Something that felt like proof that I belonged there. I went to the breakroom, heart pounding with genuine pride, ready to share it with my team. But then I saw the face of a colleague who had been passed over for that same opportunity. My smile froze. I looked at her shoulders, tense and tired, and I suddenly felt like my happiness was an insult. So I swallowed it. I changed the subject to the weather. I pretended I wasn’t proud. I thought I was being kind. But looking back, I realize I was being cowardly. I was prioritizing their immediate comfort over my own authenticity. I was treating my joy like a liability instead of a gift. And in doing so, I taught myself that my light was something to be hidden. Take a breath with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Good. Now I want to ask you: What did that cost you? Every time you swallow your excitement, you pay a price. The first price is isolation. When we don’t share our wins, big or small, we lose the chance for others to celebrate us. And celebration is how we bond. It is how we say, 'I see you. I am glad you are here.' When you keep your joy locked inside, you create a wall between you and the people who love you. They can’t high-five a secret. They can’t hug a suppressed victory. You end up feeling lonely in a crowded room, wondering why no one notices how much you’ve grown. The second cost is the erosion of trust in yourself. If you can’t trust yourself to hold your own happiness, how can you trust anyone else to witness it? You start to doubt your own worthiness. You begin to believe that maybe you aren’t as good as you thought, because if you were, surely someone would be cheering louder. The silence becomes a lie that grows heavier with every passing day. Here is the truth that took me years to learn: Sharing your joy does not diminish someone else’s struggle. Your light does not steal theirs. This is a myth we tell ourselves to avoid discomfort. Think about it. When you hear a friend share good news, do you immediately feel smaller? Do you feel like you’ve lost something? For most of us, the answer is no. We feel a spark of connection. We feel hopeful. The only reason we hesitate is the fear of rejection, or the fear of seeming arrogant. But arrogance is loud and boastful. Quiet joy is different. It is humble. It is grateful. It is simply the act of saying, 'This happened, and it matters to me.' When we share our excitement openly, we give permission for others to do the same. We create a culture where good things are allowed to exist. We become a safe harbor for each other’s happiness. Instead of hiding, we invite. And inviting is an act of courage. It says, 'I am ready to be seen, even if I’m afraid.' So how do we start? We don’t need to announce our life changes on social media if that feels wrong. We start small. We start with one person. One trusted friend who knows how to listen without fixing. Next time something good happens, resist the urge to minimize it. Don’t say, 'It was nothing,' or 'I got lucky.' Say, 'I’m really proud of this.' Notice what happens in your body. Does your stomach drop? Does your throat tighten? That’s okay. Feel the fear, and share it anyway. Let them see your excitement, even if it shakes. Watch their face. Watch their response. Most of the time, you will see a smile. A nod. A shared moment of genuine delight. And in that moment, the weight lifts. The shield drops. You realize that the world didn’t end. The sky didn’t fall. Instead, something beautiful happened. Connection. Resonance. Love. These are the rewards of vulnerability. They are messy, yes. They are risky, absolutely. But they are also the only way we truly live. We are not meant to carry our joys alone. We are meant to pass them around like warm bread, breaking off pieces for each other until everyone is fed. I want to leave you with this thought as you move through your week. Your excitement is not a threat. It is a testament to your aliveness. It proves that you are still growing, still learning, still hoping. Don’t let fear convince you otherwise. If you have been hiding your light, try letting it flicker today. Tell someone about that book you loved. Share that recipe that worked. Mention that walk that cleared your head. See what happens. You might be surprised by how many hands reach out to hold yours. You might find that you are not alone in wanting to celebrate. We are all walking around with these quiet treasures, waiting for permission to bring them into the open. Be that permission. Be that safe space. For yourself, and for everyone listening. Take a breath with me. Feel the weight in your chest. Now imagine setting it down. Imagine speaking your truth, however softly. Imagine the relief of no longer holding your breath. You deserve to be happy. And you deserve to share it. Not because you owe it to anyone, but because it is yours. And it is beautiful. Thank you for showing up today. Thank you for trusting me with your attention. I’ll be here next week, keeping watch with you. Until then, be gentle with your joy. It’s safer than you think. I’m Marissa Davidson. Keep standing.