Today, I'm struggling.

The pausing of life-changing, life-saving federal assistance is cruel. It's dehumanizing. It’s painful. And it's unlawful. The ripple effects—on grants that fund programs and research to uplift humanity—are unimaginable. The weight of this is heavy, and today, my joy plan is shaken. But it’s not destroyed.

What I’m reminded of, in moments like this, is that honesty and vulnerability are critical anchors of any joy plan. Joy isn't always about feeling happy—it’s about allowing yourself to feel everything. Anger, confusion, sadness, despair—these emotions matter. They’re essential. They help us see clearly. They guide us to the next step. They remind us of what we need and who we need in moments like this.

The absence of joy doesn’t mean the plan has failed. Instead, it’s an invitation—a push—to create a joy plan that’s raw, authentic, and realistic.

Today, part of my joy plan is dreaming. It’s jumping on Zillow and imagining the rustic estate I’ll create one day—where joy and restoration will thrive. That dream might feel far away right now, but it’s mine. And I hold onto it.

So if you're struggling, too, remember this: it’s okay to sit with the hard stuff. It’s okay to let yourself feel the weight. But let those feelings guide you—not defeat you. Your joy plan might wobble, but it’s still standing. Let’s keep building it. Together.

We’ve got this.