I've Got My Joy Back—But It Cost Me

You know that you have joy when you fall down your home stairs after a 12.5-hour shift and can't do anything but laugh at yourself.

No anger.

No frustration.

Just embarrassment and pure joy.

That's the best way to describe how much my life has shifted from survival to softness.

It was during this very season, five years ago, that I intentionally chose to live a fruitful life—for me. Oh, but it came at a cost.

I was thirty years old and determined to live freely. I stopped expecting other people to make me happy. I stopped justifying my passion through the pain of my past and chose instead to focus on healing. Healing in ways that did not require forgiveness or reconnection. Healing that allowed me to move forward without needing everyone else to come with me.

I began celebrating myself. I started asking what I needed to surrender in order to walk in my purpose instead of asking what everyone else needed from me.

For years, I had told the same testimony over and over. Eventually, I realized I was no longer a victim—I was a survivor who had become whole. God had already begun mending the places where I had been broken. The scars remained, but they no longer dictated my identity.

Five years later, I can finally see the fruit.

Joy isn't the absence of hardship. I still work long nights. I still carry responsibilities. I still have moments that could easily frustrate me. But somewhere between survival and softness, God changed my heart.

So today, I laughed after tumbling down my stairs.

Not because falling was funny.

But because peace had become more natural than panic.

And that may be one of the greatest miracles He has ever performed in me.

There is a real transformation that takes place when you submit to God.

After the fun.

After the fornication.

Even after the failure.

There is freedom in submission.

But this freedom came at a price. It cost me my old life.

After nearly fifteen years of being saved, backsliding, recommitting, and repeating the cycle, something about this season feels final. Not because I believe I'll never make another mistake, but because I have finally accepted God's love in a way that has left no room for shame.

Shame was what kept me in the trenches. It kept me attached to situationships, unhealthy friendships, and patterns of disobedience that disguised themselves as comfort. It convinced me that I was too broken to fully receive what God had already offered me. As long as I carried shame, I remained trapped in a cycle of striving, guilt, and discontentment.

But when I truly embraced His grace, the weight of shame began to fall away. I stopped trying to earn what had already been freely given. I stopped identifying with who I had been and started believing who He said I am.

Submission didn't make my life easier—it made me free.

There is a freedom that only comes when you finally stop running from God and start resting in Him.

While falling down the stairs may seem insignificant to someone who falls often, it wasn't the fall that revealed my joy. It was the laughter that followed. It was the peace of knowing that it was okay—and that I was okay.

It wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't another reason to criticize myself. It wasn't proof that I was failing. It was simply a moment, and even in that moment, I found something beautiful: an opportunity to reflect, laugh, and keep moving.

Now, when I mess up, I no longer spiral into shame. Instead, I rejoice in the opportunity to receive God's grace, let it go, and get back up again. The fall no longer defines me because His mercy is greater than my mistakes.

I have told my story. I have sat with the pain. I have done the work. I have allowed God to heal the places I once tried so desperately to hide.

And now, I get to live in the joy of the Lord.

Not the temporary happiness that depends on perfect circumstances, but the deep, abiding joy that comes after surrender. The kind of joy that is only discovered on the other side of healing. The kind of joy that reminds you that even when you fall, God's grace is still enough to help you rise.

Five years ago, I chose healing.

Today, I laughed after falling down my stairs.

Somewhere between those two moments, God gave me back my joy.

Be Blessed,

De'dria Louise Bynum