“Maybe I just don’t want to be happy”
Maybe those are the harshest words I have ever said to myself.
They arrived unexpectedly — not planned, not rehearsed — spoken out loud during a walk while reflecting on my life. Objectively, good things are happening right now. Opportunities are emerging. Doors are opening. By all accounts, this should be a season of excitement.
And yet, I noticed something unsettling.
I wasn’t excited.
The joy I expected to feel simply wasn’t there.
And then the sentence came:
“Maybe I just don’t want to be happy.”
The words felt blunt. Almost uncomfortable to admit. But beneath the harshness was clarity.
Not because I truly don’t want happiness — but because this statement revealed a deeper pattern I had been gently naming for years without fully confronting.
I’ve called it self-sabotage.
I’ve spoken about comfort zones.
I’ve taught about how the brain resists change for good reason.
But this was different.
This was truth without cushioning.
So I began exploring it through multiple lenses — neuroscience, somatic memory, spirituality, and the deeper language of the soul.
The Neuroscience of Dulling Joy
From a brain perspective, this response makes perfect sense.
The nervous system is predictive. It uses past experiences as data to determine how safe something feels.
If moments of excitement were followed by disappointment, loss, or unexpected difficulty, the brain learns a powerful association:
Excitement equals risk.
So when something positive happens again, the brain doesn’t necessarily celebrate. Instead, it protects.
It lowers the emotional volume.
Not because you don’t deserve joy — but because your nervous system is trying to prevent pain.
Over time, this can look like:
Good news arrives.
The emotional response is muted.
Instead of celebration, there is a quiet vigilance — waiting for something to go wrong.
Many of us recognize this pattern.
When success has historically been followed by challenge, celebration can feel unsafe. The brain chooses caution over expansion.
And slowly, joy becomes quieter.
The Somatic Memory of Experience
The body remembers what the mind rationalizes.
Every moment when excitement was followed by hurt.
Every time joy was interrupted or misunderstood.
Every instance where openness met resistance.
These experiences live not just as thoughts, but as sensations stored within the nervous system.
I have written before about chrysalis moments and seed-sprouting phases — that feeling of being restricted without fully understanding why.
That restriction is often somatic.
The body says:
We have held a lot before.
Maybe don’t open too widely yet.
So instead of jumping for joy — something I deeply desire — the response becomes measured. Controlled. Guarded.
Not because joy is unwanted.
Because the body is protecting itself.
Spirituality and the Misunderstanding of Calm
Many spiritual teachings emphasize calmness or detachment.
But true spirituality is not numbness.
It is aliveness.
Peace does not remove joy — it deepens it.
Somewhere along the way, many of us internalize the idea that seriousness equals depth or that suffering equals growth. But authentic spiritual paths do not ask us to abandon joy.
They invite us into fuller experience.
If joy feels distant, it may not mean we are evolving spiritually.
It may simply mean we have learned to suppress our response to life.
The Soul’s Memory
There is also a deeper layer.
Whether understood through lineage, generational imprinting, or past-life experience, many of us sense that we carry more than just this lifetime’s experiences.
Inherited narratives.
Unfinished stories.
The soul’s remembering.
These layers shape how freely we allow ourselves to feel.
And yet, awareness brings choice.
Recognizing these patterns is not a limitation — it is liberation.
Maybe We Just Forgot How to Be Happy
Here is the truth that emerged for me:
Maybe it isn’t that we don’t want happiness.
Maybe we simply forgot how to allow it.
And that realization is not heavy.
It is freeing.
Because if dulling joy is a learned response, then it can also be unlearned.
It begins gently:
Allowing excitement without immediately bracing for loss.
Letting joy exist without asking it to justify itself.
Returning to the present moment — not as an idea, but as a lived experience.
If tomorrow brings challenge, we will meet it then.
But today is allowed to be fully lived.
If you recognize yourself here — watching life unfold without fully feeling it — you are not alone.
There may be nothing wrong with you.
Your brain may be protecting you.
Your body may be remembering.
Your spirit may be asking to come back into alignment.
And sometimes, all it takes is one honest moment — one sentence spoken aloud — to begin shifting the pattern.
If this resonates with you, I invite you to reach out.
My work supports individuals navigating transitions, reconnection with self, and the rediscovery of meaning, embodiment, and aliveness.
You don’t have to force happiness.
But you can learn to allow it again.