We all have those little things that brighten our days—ordinary moments that carry extraordinary joy. Whether it’s a furry friend, a cherished ritual, or a place that feels like home, these everyday anchors remind us of who we are and what matters most.
In this post, I’m sharing five everyday sources of happiness that mean the world to me. Each one reflects a different part of my journey—from resilience to creativity, connection to growth—and I hope they inspire you to reflect on your own anchors of joy
1. My Service Dog and My Cat: Guardians of My Soul
When I think about happiness, it always leads back to my animal companions—my service dog, Peace, and her cat, who she insisted we adopt after a visit to the rez. Peace entered my life at a moment of unimaginable loss, just weeks after my daughter passed away. I wasn’t looking for anyone to rely on me; I was barely holding myself together. But fate, and a certain dog’s gentle persistence, had other plans.
I’ll never forget the day I met her. Her previous owners insisted she was special, but I was firm in my refusal—until they mentioned she was great with kids. It was like someone had struck a raw nerve, and I found myself in a storm of emotions I couldn’t handle. Then Peace stepped in. She performed what I now know as pressure and barrier, leaning into me and keeping everyone else at bay until I calmed down. That moment changed everything, and I found myself saying, “When can I pick her up to bring home?”
Peace didn’t just come into my life—she saved it. Her instincts as a service dog were natural and profound; all she needed was training to hone those gifts. In those dark days, when eating, sleeping, or even getting out of bed felt impossible, Peace’s needs became my lifeline. She gave me purpose, a reason to step outside and feel the world again. Her gentle presence brought solace during nightmares, flashbacks, and meltdowns. When I would spiral into a memory, Peace performed interrupt by licking my face and grounding me back to the present—with paws on my chest, her breath breaking through the haze of tears.
One of the most remarkable things about Peace is a marking on her fur in the shape of the number 7. For me, that number carries deep significance as someone who is Plains Cree. The number 7 ties to the Seven Grandfather Teachings, which embody values like love, respect, and courage—principles I strive to live by every day. It feels like Peace’s presence was guided by something greater, her marking a reminder of the connection to my culture and the teachings that ground me.
Peace was also there when I learned I was autistic, helping me navigate the complexities of that discovery. One moment stands out vividly: during my first adult meltdown that was recognized, her calm presence guided me to safety. Looking back, I can see other times that might have been meltdowns as well, but this one was impossible to miss. She brought me to the dean at my school, who recognized what was happening and helped me find a quiet space. Huddled under a desk, clinging to my girl, I slowly found my footing again. It wasn’t long after that I received my official ASD diagnosis, and Peace—true to form—helped me through that journey, too.
She stood by me through a car accident, life-threatening challenges, and every storm I’ve weathered. And she’s not just my service dog; she’s my confidant, my friend, my lifeline.
As for her cat, she chose that tiny kitten herself, refusing to leave without the little one after a visit to the rez. It turns out Peace was right: the cat has been a blessing, bringing mischief and joy into our lives. More than that, she’s become an extension of Peace’s work, learning to perform service tasks around the house by following Peace’s lead. I call her my “at-home service dog aide,” and she takes her role seriously—while still adding her own touch of feline charm. Her unconditional love shows in her purring “kitty baths”—a ritual I’ve come to cherish, even when she uses her claws to hold me in place.
Together, my girls remind me every day what it means to be loved unconditionally, to find strength in vulnerability, and to embrace joy even in the hardest moments. They’re not just animals; they’re family.
2. My Books: Portals to Infinite Worlds
For as long as I can remember, books have been my sanctuary. They’re more than just pages bound together—they’re lifelines during storms and constant companions in solitude.
Growing up in an abusive home and enduring dark relationships in my past, my life has had its share of chaos. Let’s face it—my past is nasty as hell. But books were the one constant in those times, my refuge when everything else felt unbearable. They allowed me to step away from my own reality, into something better—worlds where heroes triumphed, mysteries unraveled, and hope always seemed within reach.
I’ll always treasure the books that kept me afloat during those years. The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks transported me to epic landscapes of bravery and adventure, reminding me that resilience and hope could prevail, even in the face of darkness. The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner offered tales of resourcefulness and found family, while Nancy Drew by Carolyn Keene gave me a sharp, clever heroine to admire. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton brought the struggles of identity, loyalty, and belonging into sharp focus, with characters who felt achingly real. The Giver by Lois Lowry challenged me to think deeply about choice, freedom, and the value of human connection. These stories weren’t just an escape—they were a reminder that there was light somewhere out there, even if I couldn’t see it in my own life at the time.
Even now, books remain a source of comfort and growth, offering both grounding and inspiration. They connect me to others through shared stories and remind me of the power of words to heal, inspire, and unite.
3. My Website: A Space for Creativity, Healing, and Growth
My website isn’t a hobby; it’s a reflection of my journey, my creativity, and my resilience. When I first started, the focus was on how my disabilities affected my writing. But as I quickly realized, everything in life affects your writing. What began with a narrow lens soon grew into something much larger—a canvas where I share my poems, my knowledge, my memories, and even glimpses into my Cree heritage and spiritual beliefs.
One of the most meaningful parts of this space is a section I call Personal Journey. Using a journal format, I let my thoughts flow freely, discovering my topics as I write. When my fingers hit the keyboard, the words come to life, often surprising me with what surfaces. Initially, I thought I’d stick to one focus, but Personal Journey has evolved into a hub of exploration where anything meaningful—be it my experiences, learning, or reflections—finds a home.
What makes my website truly special, though, is the profound impact it has had on my mental health. Life on government disability brings constant stress, especially around essentials like food—figuring out how much I can get and how to ration it feels like an unending weight. This website has become my escape from that downward spiral. It gives me something productive to do, a sense of contribution and purpose that lifts me from the pit of worry and despair. Instead of being consumed by stress, I have a way to channel my energy into creating, sharing, and connecting.
It hasn’t erased the challenges of life, but it’s given me a powerful tool to cope, to express, and to thrive. In just a few months, my website has helped me discover new layers of myself and transformed how I approach my well-being.
4. The Rez: A Place That Feels Like Home
The rez is more than just a physical location—it’s my sanctuary, my grounding space, and the essence of where I truly belong. The moment my car hits the land, I feel a wave of peace wash over me, a deep sense of this is home. By the time I see the dirt roads branching off, I rarely make it past five or six of them before I need to stop and go into the bushes. It’s not unusual to see someone else doing the same, even if I’ve just stopped at the truck stop a few minutes earlier.
Life on the rez is built on kindness and mutual support. Whether it’s a blown tire with no tools in sight or being stuck in snow, help is never far away. What begins as a call for assistance often turns into a gathering—a mini celebration where nobody leaves until the problem is solved. You don’t have to know anyone to feel like family here. If you need medicines or guidance, someone will always lend a hand.
When life feels overwhelming, when everything is too much and I’m completely out of balance, the rez has a way of pulling the heaviness away. Simply being on the land, even at three in the morning without stopping to visit anyone, restores peace and balance to my spirit. It’s impossible to describe how freeing it feels to let go of everything and reconnect with the earth, the air, and the life surrounding me.
And then there are the horses. With no fence laws, it’s not unusual to find one or two roaming freely. Riding bareback is my favorite—I hate saddles—so I often seek out a willing horse to take me on a ride. The wind in my hair, the power of the animal beneath me, and the freedom of the land make it all so restorative. Somehow, they always bring me back to where I started, which is fortunate given the rez’s vast size.
The rez is also where I can be fully myself. My ASD isn’t seen as a disability—it’s a gift, valued and treasured. That acceptance is so genuine that I actually get in trouble if I’m caught masking who I really am. It’s funny in a way, given that outside the rez, society often demands you hide behind that mask. But here, my true self is not only welcomed but celebrated.
This feeling of home didn’t come to me until I was a young adult—the first time I set foot on the rez. Experiencing what life was like before finding this peace, compared to having it so accessible now, is a night-and-day difference for my mind, body, and spirit. It all began that first time I set foot on the land, and the bond grew even stronger the first time my barefoot touched the soil. Now, even in the dead of winter, I continue to nurture that connection by letting bare skin touch the land as often as I safely can. The rez renews me in every way—mind, heart, and spirit—bringing me back to a place of peace and balance that feels whole and true.
What makes it even more special are the animals that greet me. Brother raven and the eagle are always the first to appear, like sentinels or guides welcoming me home. Their presence feels symbolic, reminding me of wisdom, freedom, and transformation. Only after seeing them do I begin to notice other animals, as though they’re heralds of the life and vitality that the rez holds.
Though I may live in the city now, my home has always been my rez. That connection grows deeper with every visit, each time I return to the place where my spirit feels most alive.
5. Learning My Culture and Honoring Spiritual Practices
Every day, I find happiness in learning more about my culture and integrating spiritual practices into my life. As someone who is Plains Cree, my heritage is an integral part of who I am, and reconnecting with it brings me a profound sense of fulfillment and purpose.
I call them the Seven Grandfather Teachings, and they are a cornerstone of my journey. These teachings, embodying values like love, courage, and respect, guide me not only in how I view the world but also in how I navigate it. Just yesterday, I began sharing what I’ve learned through weekly posts on my website, offering insights into our traditions and practices. I want others to see who we are—not the distorted version written in textbooks that so desperately need rewriting, but the truth of our values, resilience, and spirit.
Of course, I only share what I can due to the importance of respecting traditions. Some teachings require protocols, while others are meant to be learned only during ceremonies or specific settings. It’s essential to honor these boundaries and approach the sharing of culture with integrity.
I am often told that I’m one of the lost children come home—a phrase that carries both sorrow and hope. Reclaiming my identity and reconnecting with my culture has been a deeply transformative journey. One of the most profound parts of this journey has been participating in sweats. I truly believe that sweats are the reason I have more mobility than can be medically explained.
I’ll never forget my first sweat, where I earned the nickname “sweat hawk” for staying in the lodge even during breaks. There is a power within a sweat that is undeniable—a profound, indescribable energy that fills your entire being. Of course, what happens in a sweat is sacred and not for me to share without permission, but I will say this: the authenticity of the experience makes all the difference. When a sweat is led by someone true to the teachings, the feelings it evokes are life-changing. For anyone wanting to attend a sweat, my advice is to approach a rez and ask for guidance. Sadly, there are many pretenders out there who exploit these traditions for profit, and those experiences lack the transformative power of an authentic sweat.
Through these teachings and practices, I find peace and balance, especially during difficult times. When my mind is weary, my body drained, and my spirit yearning for renewal, I turn to the Seven Grandfather Teachings, the land, and the ceremonies to guide me back to myself. These practices ground me, offering clarity and resilience when life feels overwhelming.
Learning and sharing my culture isn’t just about my own growth—it’s about helping others see the truth of who we are, beyond the misconceptions and omissions of history. It’s a way to honor my ancestors and build a bridge for those who, like me, are reclaiming their place as lost children coming home.
Happiness often hides in the simplest of places, and sharing it helps us see the beauty in each other’s lives. What brings you happiness in your everyday life? Whether it’s a person, a passion, or a practice, I’d love to hear about it. Drop your thoughts in the comments below and let’s celebrate the moments that make life meaningful together.
Who am I? 
I would love to hear from you!