Six months. That’s how long this MS relapse has been creeping in like an unwanted houseguest that refuses to leave. At first, it was small things, my brain cutting the signal to my legs for a split second, just long enough for me to collapse in public like a puppet with cut strings. One day, my skull nearly met a brick step. My vision blurred, brain fog thickened, pain wrapped itself around me like barbed wire, and fatigue pinned me down harder and harder. My hands stiffened until even the simplest tasks became impossible.
Eventually, I couldn’t get out of bed.
That’s when despair started to set in.
I lay there watching other people live their lives through Facebook, friends travelling, working, raising families. Meanwhile, I wasn’t living anymore. I was just an observer. The depression sank deep: I window shopped for a wheelchair, I made plans for Bugsy’s future in case I gave up, I worried about the clutter I’d leave behind, and who would have to sort through my life’s mess. I began handing out my things in my head, like a ghost-in-waiting.
It felt like the end of me.
Joy vs. Happiness
Somewhere in that heaviness, I realised something important: happiness and joy are not the same thing.
Happiness is the big picture. It’s a state of being, often tied to how your life is going overall: your health, relationships, work, and finances. When those collapse, happiness often does too.
Joy is smaller, wilder, and more resilient. It doesn’t wait for life to be perfect. It slips in uninvited, a spark of light in the middle of the dark. Joy is the squirrel running across the garden wall, the sound of a bird you can’t quite name, the way coffee smells first thing in the morning.
Happiness may feel far away, but joy can still sneak into the cracks. And sometimes a single spark of joy is enough to keep you going.
But then… Spring came.
The colours outside shifted. Bees returned to flowers. Squirrels ran mad little races. I saw a gecko on the wall and found myself wondering about its tiny life, the improbable miracle of it even existing. I noticed clouds again, leaves tumbling in the wind. And it hit me: these small flashes of beauty weren’t just distractions, they were lifelines.
I’d always loved “stopping to smell the roses,” but now it became survival. A friend suggested embroidery, since crochet was no longer possible for my hands. I tried, and to my surprise, I could manage it. I started stitching bright, clumsy shapes onto my clothes. My bag of rainbow embroidery floss became a treasure chest; all those colours sparked something physical inside me, like they were rewiring my brain in the best way.
I realised I wasn’t just noticing joy anymore, I was creating it.
There was a TED Talk I stumbled across that spoke about the science of joy, how colour, shape, and playfulness trigger a response in us. And I thought: This is it. This is what’s keeping me alive. Every time I added colour, playfulness, whimsy around me, on my jeans, on my walls, in little objects scattered around my bed, it pulled me back from despair.
Why joy matters when everything feels impossible
Psychologists call these “micro-moments of joy.” Research shows that even the smallest burst, a pop of colour, a laugh, a birdsong, can reduce stress hormones, boost dopamine, and give our brains a break from the relentless loop of pain and fear. They don’t fix everything, but they tilt the scale enough to matter.
When you’re in survival mode, that tilt is everything.
Joy doesn’t have to be fireworks. Sometimes it’s embroidery thread. Sometimes it’s a squirrel. Sometimes it’s just coffee in your favourite mug, warm against your hands, proof that life still has something gentle to offer.
Your turn:
Think about one tiny thing that gave you joy this week. Not happiness, not pleasure… joy.
Maybe it was a flash of colour.
Maybe it was a sound.
Maybe it was an object that made you smile.
Write it down. Notice how it feels in your body when you recall it. That’s your lifeline. Keep it close.
No matter how difficult or dark life gets, if we want to survive, if we want to stand even the smallest chance, we have got to find joy. You can either sink or swim, and joy is the kick that keeps your head above water.
For me, joy is Bugsy. It’s a gecko. It’s a bag of bright embroidery floss. It’s the stubborn belief that even here, even now, while my body is under attack, life is still offering me something worth holding onto.
Recent moments of joy
EmbroideryFeeling Bugsy close to meBright colours in my saladBurst of colours in the flowersGoing feral on my jeansA coffee given to me while in hospital
It’s 2:47 a.m. and I’m scrolling through Instagram, watching strangers toast champagne in Santorini, cuddle golden retrievers, and post “raw” captions that somehow still feel filtered. I’m not sad, exactly. But I’m not okay, either. I’m lonely. And I know I’m not alone in that.
In a world where we can FaceTime across oceans and “like” a hundred photos before breakfast, why do so many of us feel so disconnected? The answer is messy, layered, and deeply human if we’re brave enough to look.
The Digital Age: More Screens, Fewer Souls
We were promised connection. Instead, we got curated highlight reels and dopamine loops. A 2025 Baylor University study found that both passive scrolling and active posting on social media were linked to increased feelings of loneliness over time. Even when we’re engaging, we’re often left feeling emptier than before.
It’s not just the quantity of our interactions that’s changed, it’s the quality. We’ve traded deep conversations for comment threads, shared silences for typing indicators. And in doing so, we’ve lost something vital.
The Health Toll: Loneliness as a Silent Epidemic
Loneliness isn’t just a feeling; it’s a health crisis. The U.S. Surgeon General has equated the health risks of chronic loneliness to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. It increases the risk of heart disease, stroke, dementia, and premature death.
Mental health suffers, too. Lonely individuals are more prone to depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. The emotional pain of isolation can be as real and as damaging as physical pain.
The Vicious Cycle: Social Media and Loneliness
It’s a cruel irony: we turn to social media to feel connected, but it often leaves us feeling more isolated. A longitudinal study among Chinese college students found a bidirectional relationship between loneliness and problematic social media use—each feeding into the other over time.
The more we scroll, the lonelier we feel. And the lonelier we feel, the more we scroll. Breaking this cycle requires conscious effort and, often, a reevaluation of our digital habits.
The Generational Divide: Gen Z and the Loneliness Surge
Gen Z, the first generation to grow up entirely in the digital age, is experiencing unprecedented levels of loneliness. A 2025 report revealed that one in four young Australians reports loneliness as a daily stressor. Social media, while offering avenues for connection, often exacerbates feelings of isolation among youth.
The constant exposure to others’ curated lives can lead to feelings of inadequacy and exclusion, further deepening the chasm of loneliness.
The Illusion of AI Companionship
In an attempt to address the loneliness epidemic, tech leaders like Mark Zuckerberg have proposed AI companions as a solution. While AI can offer temporary comfort, it cannot replace the depth and complexity of human relationships. Overreliance on AI risks diminishing the value of genuine human interaction and may lead society to neglect essential social infrastructure.
True connection requires vulnerability, empathy, and shared experiences—qualities that AI, no matter how advanced, cannot authentically replicate.
Reclaiming Connection: Steps Toward Healing
Addressing loneliness in the digital age requires intentional action:
Digital Detox: Set boundaries for screen time. Designate tech-free zones and times to foster real-world interactions.
Community Engagement: Participate in local events, volunteer, or join clubs to build meaningful relationships.
Mindful Technology Use: Use social media intentionally. Engage in content that uplifts and connects rather than isolates.
Seek Support: If loneliness becomes overwhelming, reach out to mental health professionals or support groups.
By taking these steps, we can begin to rebuild the social fabric that technology has, in some ways, unraveled.
A Personal Reflection
I remember a time when I felt truly connected—not through likes or comments, but through shared laughter and unfiltered conversations. It was messy, imperfect, and real. In our pursuit of digital perfection, we’ve lost sight of the beauty in imperfection.
Let’s choose to be present. To look up from our screens and into each other’s eyes. To embrace the awkward silences and the unfiltered moments. Because in those spaces, true connection thrives.
