There’s all kinds of self-help things out there I have found. There’s journals to teach you to practice gratitude, to learn to love yourself, books that are supposed to somehow have changed everything for you by the end.

But it’s not a magic switch, not at all.

More times than I can count, I have gotten annoyed at the phrase “choose joy” or “choose to be happy” or “choose whatever at the moment.” These phrases always come off as demeaning and degrading to me. I don’t think that is how they are meant, but the way they are said? Yeah, it’s annoying.

Nothing will piss me off faster than some well-meaning therapist telling me to “just choose to be happy” when I’m in the midst of a severe low, for example. Or a doctor who tells my husband to “just choose to be positive” when things are bad and he’s drowning.

See, it’s not just the overly happy, “why can’t you just do this” way that it’s said. It’s the lack of any kind of explanation.

“Choose joy.” Okay…but how? When life is attempting to drown you, how do you suddenly go, okay, I’m joyful! Or whatever. And yet no one seems to actually want to explain what is really meant.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I don’t think there’s ill intention behind the sentiment, as I’ve said. But I do think people forget that not everyone can simply go, “okay, I’ll be happy today” and boom, they are. I doubt most believe that it works that way even.

The problem is that no one explains what they actually mean. Nor do they explain the immense willpower that is required to make that choice.

When you fall down the well, as we depressants say, it’s not easy to see good anywhere. All you see and all you feel is that well – dark, cold, lonely. It takes an immense effort to even attempt to try and find that sliver of light. Telling someone in the bottom of the well they need to choose to be happy with no other help is like tossing a drowning man an anchor.

No, instead, when things are good, we must get into a habit of choosing to see the good. And that’s hard too! It’s easy to float through our days, easy to get lost in the shuffle of everyday life. Mount Washmore that the cats are holding onto, Mount Dishmore since everyone is allergic to dish washing, the dog needs walked, there’s bills to pay, a kitten who needs it’s eyes washed, and so on.

The key is to make a habit. I’ve been big on making habits lately and I suck at it but I’m trying. So in the evening I’m working on finding three things that were good in the day – no matter how much it sucked.

Wednesday was a terrible, terrible day. My sweet old Nisha apparently decided it was time to cross the Rainbow Bridge and left on her own, pushing out her kennel door and letting herself out for the first time in her life. And she’s going on 15. No sign of her. And that was just one thing.

But amidst the dark, I’ve been trying hard to find those slivers of light. It’s a conscious effort and it is hard but I’m managing.

During meditation, I saw both my Nisha and Bean, safe and sound and whole, standing with one of Hecate’s Hounds. A clear sign they have joined the Wild Hunt, something they would love, and that they are fine now. She was young and strong, he was healthy and they clearly were at peace. Some would call that wishful thinking – I call it an answer to a request and peace.

In the same session, I was told my grandparents were alright and when I got up, smelled both her favorite brand of cigs and his favorite tea. Confirmation.

Four healthy kittens playing in the carport and getting brave enough to pounce my feet. A woodpecker who has lost his fear and doesn’t mind munching the suet while I’m nearby. Spiders and rolypolys making themselves at home in the greenhouse with lovely plants who seem as cheerful as pansies.

A butterfly – a red-spotted, purple admiral – that couldn’t find its way out of the greenhouse and chose to sit on my hand so I could take it out (the whole three inches it needed to go, the silly little thing.) A fuzzy caterpillar in the carport – and my son’s immediate rush to grab something to not only rescue it from the cats and move it to safety, but desire to immediately ask me to ID it.

The Eastern box turtle that showed up and forgave us for moving it out of the driveway and closer to its destination only after it got a lettuce leaf. The doe that stared in the window. The raccoon that folded its paws and seemed to listen when reminded to mind its manners. And has since.

If one looked for signs and oracles – the turtle is a reminder to slow down and ground yourself, the caterpillar and butterfly (especially on the same day!) that change is inevitable but can be beautiful in the end – you can find these everywhere.

But it’s not just that. There are other things to find.

My mother is close by. I don’t think she realizes just how happy that makes the three of us – including the ones who aren’t as clear with their emotions.

My son is becoming the kind of person I’d want to know if I wasn’t related to him. That’s something I think is important. You can be related to someone and not like them. You can love someone and not particularly like them. But he’s someone to like. And I’m seeing a lot of growth in him – in his concern for his own health, in wanting to help around the home, in wanting to find ways to shine a light in the shadows of the world. But there’s other bits of growth – his concern when we ordered from a new restaurant that there might be gluten that would make his daddy sick, for example.

By state standards (what good are those exactly when so many graduate without being able to balance a budget or even read above a fourth-grade level?) he might be behind – but he can make some amazingly complex art with deep meaning that can make one think for hours. He can come up with captivating stories, create them using ragdoll characters in a computer game, act them out, and give me a complete story from beginning to end in serial format. He’s loving, honest, smart, and that’s more than I can say for a lot of grownups.

Recognizing the good doesn’t mean the shadows are gone. Or that suddenly one feels better. It takes effort to even see it – but what it does do is act as a reminder that there is light in the dark. It’s a gradual shift in the mindset and a difficult one, but it’s a start.

En Erebos, Phos!

That is the Greek phrase written in the stone at the entrance of Temple of Hecate. It means simply, “In Darkness, Light!”

In the darkest depths, there is always the flicker of light – even if it is only a whisper in the spirit. So long as that whisper is there, the darkness can never fully win. Sometimes, the darkness is so strong that light becomes the dark’s shadow, instead of the way it normally is, but light is still there.

The flame burns so long as we refuse to let it go out.