Joy Armor

This February, I had the awesome opportunity to spend a weekend with Abraham Hicks.

If you're not familiar, Abraham Hicks is a spiritual and personal development teacher primarily focused on the Law of Attraction. Years ago, the idea was popularized through the book and then Netflix movie - The Secret, a version that became commodified and watered down. The core of the teaching, however, is both simple and profound:

What we focus on grows.

Yes, it’s spiritual. Yes, it can sound a little woo-woo. But it’s also pretty basic physics. Like, actual science. Energy organizes around attention. Like attracts like. What we repeatedly focus on expands.

As inevitably happens when I immerse myself in someone else's wisdom, my own work started talking back to me.

A phrase surfaced that has stayed with me ever since.

Joy armor.

At first, I wasn't sure I liked it.

Armor conjures images of violence. Hardness. Protection. Battle. Separation.

But the longer I sat with it, the more the image softened. What I found myself imagining wasn't armor that keeps life out. It was something much more permeable. A steadiness that comes from tending to joy so intentionally that it becomes part of the fabric of who we are. A layer of actual shock protection that allows us to move through the world without absorbing every ounce of fear, anger, urgency, or chaos we encounter.

Anyone who knows me or has worked with me knows I have very little interest in bypassing hard things. Grief belongs. Fear belongs. Anger belongs. Heartbreak belongs. They are all a huge part of being human, and often they become the very portals through which we grow.

So when I talk about cultivating joy, I am not talking about pretending everything is great or striving to feel good all the time. This is not toxic positivity, it is real substance.

I'm talking about remembering that we have more agency than we often realize over where we place our attention.

As a practice, one of the simplest invitations Abraham offers is this: when we notice ourselves caught in thoughts that leave us contracted, resentful, fearful, hurt or discouraged, we don't have to stay there indefinitely. We can gently ask:

What feels just a little more alive than this?

Not perfect.

Not euphoric.

Not denying, but adjusting for slightly more comfort.

Just a small turn toward what brings even the slightest sense of openness.

A small gratitude. A deep breath. Noticing something beautiful nearby. Remembering a moment that made you smile. Sometimes, for me, a tiny turn to stepping outside and letting the air hit my skin, somehow, feels nourishing.

In this practice, we are not seeking to erase pain, only to be reminded that pain is never the whole story. In these micro practices, we can shift our physiology in measurable ways, turning down the volume on the hard and opening us to something a little yummier.

As I continued sitting with the idea of joy armor, I realized it isn’t only about redirecting attention when struggling.

It was also about becoming a collector of joy.

Treating joy as a resource.

Lingering in beautiful moments instead of rushing past them.

Planning life in ways that intentionally make room for awe, creativity, beauty, laughter, rest, play, and meaningful connection.

Investing time, energy, and yes, sometimes money, in experiences that nourish our spirit rather than simply fill the calendar. It's a strategic practice of filling the well before we desperately need it. So when the proverbial, inevitable shit hits the fan, we have somewhere to reach.

We are remarkably intentional about saving for emergencies, planning for retirement, and preparing for worst-case scenarios.

What if we became just as intentional about building our capacity for joy?

That question led me back to Brené Brown's work.

Brown describes something she calls foreboding joy, our tendency to step away from joyful moments because they make us feel vulnerable. We are laughing with people we love, watching our children sleep, sitting around a dinner table that somehow feels complete, and before we know it, our minds are rehearsing loss.

She writes:

"Joy is the most vulnerable emotion we experience. And inside our culture, we dress-rehearse tragedy so we can beat vulnerability to the punch."

I have always loved that idea because it explains something so many of us experience without having language for it.

We don't just struggle to find joy.

Sometimes we struggle to let ourselves have it.

We interrupt it with worry.

We dilute it with "productivity." (Don't get me started. That's an entirely different newsletter.)

We convince ourselves that staying vigilant somehow prepares us for what might come next.

Brown's invitation is beautifully simple. Rather than turning away from joy because it won't last forever, she encourages us to lean further into it. To meet those fleeting moments with attention and immersion instead of rehearsing their ending.

And so very beautifully and mercifully -

Joy has no hierarchy.

From the first sip of coffee on a quiet morning to the potential euphoria of dancing at your child's wedding.

It all counts.

Over time, there is an accumulation and an inner reservoir fills that is there when life asks more of us than we imagined we could give.

Maybe that is what joy armor really is.

Not protection from pain.

Nothing can offer that.

It is the quiet strength that comes from knowing, deep in your bones, that even in the hardest seasons there is still beauty to notice, love to receive, laughter to share, and meaning to make.

And a groundedness that assures us that when the inevitable heartbreaks arrive, we won't be drawing from emptiness.