Family
The Unexpected Way to Find Joy in Tough Times
It all boils down to Mindstagram.
Islenia Mil
After my mom’s third ER visit and hospital admission in a matter of weeks, I joked that she qualified for a frequent shopper card. Finding the funny was becoming increasingly difficult, but she was delighted when I scouted the hospital for free packets of mayo, mustard and pickle relish to doctor her food. When I’d return with pockets stuffed full of condiments, she flashed her most mischievous grin, and I felt a wave of relief knowing she was still present and accounted for.
Our plans to share new experiences together, something we hadn’t been able to do much of after decades living on opposite coasts, were unraveling. I didn’t count staying overnight on the hospital couch as one of those shared experiences, but if the couch didn’t help me sleep, it did get me scrolling through Instagram and thinking about how I needed to find a way to lighten my mood that didn’t involve eating giant chocolate chip cookies or getting lost for hours in puppy videos.
I wasn’t feeling like myself after months of caregiving and being on high alert. My role as daughter had shifted to become chief medical detective, and I was still getting used to the change. Mostly, though, I was bone tired and needed a distraction, a jolt of goodness — or maybe to feel suspended in space, but in the best possible way. With the holidays looming, I couldn’t imagine having the energy to celebrate or pretend to.
Rather than reaching for my phone, I tried closing my eyes and intentionally searching for my happiest moments. They came as flutters at first, like images from an old home movie. The more I concentrated, the deeper I went, exploring a personal highlight reel rather than watching someone else’s curated life online.
Ha, I thought. I’ve created Instagram inside my own mind: Mindstagram.
I let the sounds around me guide whatever surfaced. The beeping monitors, the murmur of medical staff in the hallway — they carried me to memories of my parents talking quietly while I lay on the couch pretending to sleep. Then came the soft static the television made late at night when the station signed off.
Each memory seemed to restore a little of what caregiving had quietly taken away. I challenged myself to conjure my earliest recollections. Unlike Instagram, I had nobody to impress. There was no competition, no one to please other than myself.
Again, I let my mind wander until another image became clear. I was in kindergarten on a field trip — it was the first time I had been on a train. I wore a dress, and the train windows became a moving picture book, swaying to the rhythm of the tracks. It was peaceful. Beautiful. Another memory followed: running through a large grassy field with my brother, beneath sunny skies — a warm breeze helping me feel free, happy and impossibly light.
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What surprised me most wasn’t that these snapshots lifted my mood. It was realizing that joy doesn’t disappear when life becomes difficult. It waits to be remembered. The process was a way to help myself, yes, but the feel-good aspect ended up trickling down to my mother as well. I felt less like I was on high alert, and that seemed to calm her too. It’s a lot easier to deal with reality when you aren’t in a fight-or-flight response.
Truthfully, if we don’t work to recall happy memories, they just fade into the background like old photos hanging in the hallway we no longer notice. What started as a way to survive long hospital nights became something deeper: an unexpected lesson about resilience. We often think it comes from pushing ourselves forward. But sometimes, it comes from looking back at who we’ve been, who we’ve loved and what we are still capable of feeling.
The practice of conjuring good memories is not just for caregivers — it’s for anyone navigating life’s inevitable seasons of loss and transition. The holidays especially have a way of magnifying whatever load we are carrying: loneliness, financial stress and complicated family dynamics. During those times, it’s easy to believe the difficult chapter we are facing is the whole story.
But it isn’t. If we can draw from the more joyous snapshots of our lives, we’re reminded that hardships aren’t our only truth and, most importantly, that we have a way forward.
I still automatically reach for my phone when life feels heavy, but I redirect to Mindstagram. No, the memories themselves don’t erase reality, but they do have a longer shelf life than grief. They also help me show up for my mom with more patience, humor and, no doubt, a copious supply of stolen condiments.
How do YOU keep going when life gets rough? Let us know in the comments below.
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