Can I Have Acceptance and Hope in Withdrawal?

Hi friends—
Today I’m coming to you from Cape May, where I’m spending time with my husband and my kids. I’ve had some moments here that I honestly couldn’t have imagined being possible when I was in the thick of psychiatric drug withdrawal.

I’m feeling joy. Real joy. Not just the kind I had to coach myself into, but genuine feelings of gratitude and enjoyment. I’ve laughed. I’ve played. I’ve smiled and biked and felt… well. Not all the time, not constantly - but it’s happening. And that’s what I want to talk about today: how we can hold both acceptance and hope at the same time.

The Return of Joy

If I could’ve looked into the future and seen myself here - enjoying my family, biking with my girls, drawing sidewalk chalk with them and laughing at my terrible stick figures - I would’ve been amazed. These moments of laughter, warmth, and connection were completely out of reach during my worst months.

But they’re coming back. And if you’re still in that darkness, I want to remind you: your sense of wellbeing will return.

You’ll laugh again. You’ll feel joy again. You’ll enjoy your people again. You’ll be able to be present and feel like yourself.

Can I Accept This Pain and Still Have Hope?

I used to wonder this all the time:

If I accept this, am I giving up hope?

Because to accept withdrawal means accepting a lot of suffering. It means acknowledging how dark things are. And sometimes that acceptance felt like saying, “Maybe this will be horrible forever.”

But that’s not true.
You can have acceptance and hope at the same time.

Acceptance means understanding that you don’t know the timeline. That healing may not come today or tomorrow - but it is coming. And hope is choosing to believe that your story is still unfolding, and there’s beauty ahead.

Grieving What Withdrawal Takes

Withdrawal can take so much. Plans, work, finances, dreams, relationships, even your ability to be present with your loved ones. It can feel like the rug has been ripped out from under you.

For me, I couldn’t even talk about finances for a long time - it was too triggering. I couldn’t think about work or future plans. Even caring for my family felt unreachable.

But I want you to hear this: that doesn’t last forever.
I’m slowly returning to those responsibilities. I’m beginning to plan again, to care for my family in new ways. Work will come. It’s just happening on a different timeline.

And none of this is your fault.

This Isn’t Your Fault

Let me say it again:
This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.

It’s not your fault this happened.
It’s not your fault it’s taking this long.
It’s not your fault you can’t function the way you used to.

So much of withdrawal loops back to the past. “What if I’d never taken the meds?” or “Why didn’t I taper slower?” But please know: you didn’t cause this. You’re surviving something that’s incredibly hard - and doing an amazing job just by being here.

What Acceptance Looks Like

Right now, your job is to accept your limits.
That might mean:

• Resting more than you’re used to
• Letting go of your old definition of productivity
• Practicing self-care that looks completely different than it used to

This takes so much endurance. But that endurance is building something beautiful in you. You're learning skills you never asked to learn - but they will serve you for the rest of your life.

Holding on to Hope

Hope might look small some days. A flicker. A whisper. A walk in the sun. A moment of laughter with your child.

But those glimmers grow.
They accumulate.

Today, I biked with my daughters in Cape May. I laughed with them while we played with sidewalk chalk. We threw a ball around the yard. I watched them run on the beach, get sandy and soaked, and ask to be buried in the sand. These moments felt precious - because they were gone for a while. But they’ve come back.

And yours will too.

A Reminder for Today

Right now it might be really hard.
Right now you might have a lot of limits.
Right now, you might be grieving what this illness has taken from you.

But this is not your forever state.
This is temporary - even if it’s taking longer than you hoped.

Your healing is emerging.
You will laugh again.
You will work again.
You will focus, and plan, and enjoy life again.

So that’s what I wanted to share today:
Yes, you can have acceptance and hope at the same time.

You can say, “This is hard,” and also say, “I’m going to heal.”
You can cry today and laugh tomorrow.
You can be broken and healing at the same time.

I’m here on a trip with my family, smiling, laughing, biking, shopping - and not feeling like I need to run to the bathroom and cry. And if I can get here, so can you.

Keep going, friend.
You’re going to make it.

💛 Joanna