Ko-fi helps me keep going
There are days when everything feels heavy. When your body or mind won’t cooperate. When the to-do list sits untouched and your energy is nowhere to be found. On those days, joy can feel like a faraway place—something reserved for a version of you who isn’t burned out, sick, anxious, or simply overwhelmed by life.
But what if joy didn’t have to be a destination?
What if it was already here, tucked into the smallest, softest corners of your day?
Romanticizing the little things isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect. It’s about learning to see magic in the mundane. It’s about reclaiming wonder in a world that often rushes past it. And it’s something I started doing—not because life got easier—but because I needed a reason to keep showing up when things felt hard.
To “romanticize” something is to view it with affection, attention, and appreciation—even if it’s simple. It means slowing down enough to notice beauty in places others overlook.
Romanticizing your life doesn’t mean ignoring your struggles. It means creating pockets of softness within them. It’s making a cup of tea and letting yourself savor it. It’s lighting a candle during your morning routine—even if your routine is just sitting in bed trying to breathe through fatigue. It’s letting the warm laundry hug your skin. It’s noticing how the sunlight dances on your wall.
It’s finding joy on purpose—not because everything is okay, but because your soul deserves moments of sweetness anyway.
When you're chronically ill, neurodivergent, emotionally exhausted—or just human in a demanding world—you often don’t get to experience the big joys that others might take for granted. Travel, adventures, spontaneity… sometimes they’re out of reach.
But the small joys? They’re right here. They’re in the details. They’re in the moments you choose to pause, soften, and see.
Finding joy in the small things gives you something to look forward to—not someday, but now. It anchors you to the present in a gentle, sensory way. It gives your mind and body something to lean into that isn’t pressure, pain, or performance.
And best of all? You don’t have to earn these moments. You don’t have to prove you’re “productive enough” or “happy enough” to deserve them. You just get to have them. Simply because you’re here.
You don’t need extra time, energy, or money to start romanticizing your life. These aren’t tasks or aesthetic goals. They’re tiny invitations to slow down and soften—exactly where you are.
Here are some gentle ideas to help you begin:
Whether it’s tea, coffee, or even water with lemon—make your drink feel special. Use your favorite mug. Stir slowly. Smell the steam. Take that first sip like it’s a poem.
Even if you’re just curling up with your phone, light a candle. Dim the lights. Use a soft blanket. Put on calming music or ambient sounds. Let it feel like a retreat instead of just the end of a hard day.
Notice how the morning sun filters through the curtains. Or how the sky turns golden at sunset. Take a moment to just watch. Let it remind you that time is still moving—and so are you.
Each day, write down one beautiful thing you noticed: the way your pet blinked at you, the smell of rain, a sentence from a book, a kind comment online. These tiny observations create a record of hope.
Light a candle before folding laundry. Play lo-fi music while doing dishes. Spray your pillow with lavender. These are everyday acts—but they can be softened, made gentler, made beautiful.
Pick a wildflower. Rearrange a corner of your space. Use the good lotion. Paint your nails slowly. Draw in your planner. Let yourself have tiny luxuries—just because.
Send a voice note to a friend just to say, “I’m thinking of you.” Write a letter you don’t plan to send. Compliment someone’s laugh. Connection doesn’t have to be big to be real.
Play soft background music during your routine—instrumental, jazz, piano, nature sounds. Create your own little soundtrack. Let it shift the mood gently, like a blanket for your atmosphere.
On the surface, romanticizing life can look like a social media trend. Soft filters. Cozy aesthetics. Little snapshots of curated calm. But for those of us living with chronic pain, mental fatigue, or emotional heaviness, romanticizing the little things isn’t a trend—it’s a lifeline.
It’s not about pretending your life is easier than it is. It’s not about covering pain with pretty things. It’s about choosing to make room for beauty in the middle of it. When everything feels like too much, a small act of beauty—a candle, a breeze, a soft blanket—can bring you back to yourself. It can say, “You’re still here. You still get to feel joy. This day is still yours.”
Romanticizing your life is a rebellion against burnout culture. It’s a quiet protest against the idea that joy must be earned or scheduled or deserved. And in its gentlest form, it becomes self-rescue—one soft moment at a time. For me, romanticizing the little things isn’t just about feeling better. It’s about staying connected to myself when the world feels distant. It’s about creating small rituals that whisper, “You’re worth taking care of.”
Even on days when I feel low, tired, messy, or out of sync—these small joys remind me there’s still light to be found in the cracks.
You don’t need to transform your entire life to experience something beautiful. You don’t have to be fully healed, highly productive, or endlessly optimistic to feel peace in this moment. Beauty isn’t a reward for being “better.” It’s something you’re allowed to have—right now—no matter how messy, uncertain, or low-energy the day feels.
Some days, beauty looks like freshly washed sheets or the way sunlight stretches across your floor. Some days, it’s a cup of tea that hits just right, a quiet song that softens your edges, or the comfort of a favorite hoodie that still smells like home. These aren’t insignificant. They’re small, sacred reminders that your life can still hold softness—even when it’s hard.
When the world feels loud, or your body feels tired, or your mind feels scattered, let yourself come back to these moments. Let them anchor you. Let them remind you that presence—not perfection—is what matters most. So go ahead. Light the candle you’ve been saving. Make your favorite drink. Open the window and listen to the wind. You don’t need a special reason to treat this moment with tenderness. You are the reason.
Let today be beautiful—not because everything is perfect, but because you showed up anyway. And that, in itself, is something worth honoring.
💜 One Spoon at a Time, Alice 💜
May 13, 2025