How darkness leads to happiness

In 2012 we moved to Estonia, a northern country with only a few hours of daylight during the winter. And it was that first year we learned that darkness, even in all its loneliness and pain, can be a gift. Because when you experience darkness that lasts for a long time, when the light finally comes, you appreciate it so much more.

In the book Dopamine Nation: Finding Balance in the Age of Indulgence , the author explains that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin in our brain and are intrinsically connected. The more we do stuff we think will make us feel good, the worse we feel. For example, getting MORE dopamine — like scrolling more on social media on our phones — makes us LESS happy. An addict knows that the more they indulge in their addiction of choice, the less pleasure it brings them and the more they need it in order to just feel normal. Even fasting from your favorite speciality coffee drink for a few weeks will actually make it taste better the next time you drink it, rather than getting it every day.

The relentless pursuit of pleasure and avoidance of pain leads to pain.

“Dopamine Nation” by Anna Lembke

Our brains were wired to need pain and darkness in order to feel happiness. If we didn’t have awfully dark and long winters in Estonia then the summers here wouldn’t feel nearly as magical.

Crazy, right?

It’s brain science.

Our 1.5 years of darkness with Eloise

We’ve been in a season of heavy darkness with Eloise for a long time. Back in the spring of 2023, when I was still pregnant with Baby K, our happy Eloise became increasingly more unhappy for reasons we didn’t understand. In the summer she barely slept most nights. By autumntime that year, she was screaming for hours each evening, spitting up strange balls of phlegm, and was unable to be left unattended for 60 seconds, even overnight. When winter arrived in 2024, Eloise’s seizures came back more brutal than before. By May, Eloise had mysterious vomiting and stomach problems and had been hospitalized for 25% of 2024. Even as I write this year comes to a close, Eloise has had diarrhea for most of the last 8 months.

While the medical issues may sound daunting (although each magically resolved themselves, often without intervention), for Brian and I, without a doubt, the hardest part was the screaming, the crying, and the constant hum of mysterious pain that our precious daughter was in. By early 2024, I was routinely bursting into tears because it felt like we’d lost our baby girl. We’d lost her smiles. We’d lost her playing with toys. We’d lost her enjoyment of life. We’d lost what made Eloise who she was.

By early spring, the stress and pressure was so enormous and had gone on for so long that Brian and I were likely experiencing the beginnings of PTSD and/or caregiver burnout. We both felt our bodies tense, our cortisol levels spike, and our emotions begin to disconnect any time Eloise began to wince in pain — which was often. The darkness was vast. We felt lost and adrift and without hope. For so long, we’d been waiting and hoping and praying for a time of relative calm when most of her major issues would be resolved and we could finally have that normal, simple life with her that we’d always wanted.

One day that spring was particularly brutal. Eloise was making sounds that my body told me was the prelude to some of her worst pain and crying. Suddenly, I panicked because I realized I was afraid of being around her, afraid of what trauma may come next. Brian watched the kids while I got out of the house, called a few friends, and then had a very long cry.

It was around that time when I suddenly realized that it was possible that Eloise was never going to be “okay” again. I came to the conclusion that it was entirely possible that her life — and, by extension, ours — might always be full of sorrow and pain and screaming and mysterious medical issues we’d never be able to resolve. Once I accepted that fate — our fate — I knew we needed to find a way to be okay, even if Eloise never was.

Learning to be okay, even if Eloise never is

When we reached that place of acceptance, Brian and I started a new journey.

This past summer, as Brian worked, I began using Baby K’s naptimes to listen to podcasts, audiobooks, and reach out to people who might be able to help us. As I digested the research and advice, I began making some changes.

In July, much to my surprise as a very non-athletic human, I began to exercise and was shocked to find it actually did help increase my capacity for hard moments. Onto that I added mindfulness practices, checking in with and naming my emotions, and a weekly Zumba class. Brian found huge stress relief when he began playing his bass at night again. Eventually he started playing disc golf outside and then also fitting in daily workouts, as well. We found an emotions coach that has great wisdom. We started trying to take evening walks outside as a family. Oh, and we both turned our phone screens to grayscale to help reduce any mindless scrolling and to help Baby K be far less interested in our cellphones.

Slowly but surely, Brian and I started learning — and are still learning — what it means to take care of our bodies and our mental health in a way that’s sustainable in the longterm. I feel so incredibly proud of how far we’ve come these past few months.

And, irony of ironies, now that we have an action plans on how to reduce our mental stress so that we can be okay even when Eloise isn’t, Eloise is actually okay for the first time in a long time.

By the way, if you like audiobooks and want some ways to address your own family’s stress and anxieties, here are several books I listened to these last months that I highly recommend

1. Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle a book geared towards everyday women struggling to make it — explaining why that is, and giving very practical info on what to do to help with that.
2. Dopamine Nation: Finding Balance in the Age of Indulgence the book I mentioned in the intro of this blog which explains how trying to find happiness is making people more miserable, but by embracing and pursuing hard things, we can find more contentment.
3. The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood caused an Epidemic of Mental Illness which is a book written for parents and grandparents of today which talks about how cellphones have been the largest contributor to depression and anxiety of kids born after 1995, and what we can all do about it. (And, by extension, what it also does to us as adults.)
4. Oh, and a podcast I especially like is Feel Better, Live more with Rangan Chatterjee which is a great place to discover amazing books and authors talking about mental and physical health and de-stressing topics.

Our season of light

I mentioned darkness makes light so much brighter. And that’s exactly what right now feels like. Every day I wake up and many times a day I feel my heart is full to bursting with so much happiness and gratitude. Though the weather here in Estonia is getting darker and darker each day, my soul is feeling lighter and lighter.

Sure, Eloise still has diarrhea. Sure, Eloise is on her third virus in 60 days. Sure, she hasn’t really eaten orally for a few months now. Sure, her sleep still isn’t amazing.

But for around a month now, during the day and even into the evenings, she’s now usually happy. That’s a claim we haven’t been able to make for a long time. Which is why it feels so surreal that right now is a season of light with her — a season of warmth and brightness and joy.

We still don’t know what helped. Our best guess right now is that as we stopped feeding her foods she was now allergic to, that helped this summer some. And then when we added a weighted sleep sack in September, her sleep quality got a lot better — maybe her newfound happiness is because she’s far less tired and cranky by the end of the day. (Apparently non-neurotypical kids often have restless leg syndrome, so the weighted sleep sacks or blankets help their legs settle and sleep better.)

Our entrance full of boxes and room full of stuff we need to move to a room that hasn’t been fully renovated yet. But Eloise full of joy, happily enjoying just sitting by herself.

Despite our to-do lists getting longer and longer and our home renovation and clutter still in full swing, right now, our life feels so simple and so beautiful. Eloise is filling our home with happy sounds again. She has been on a development streak –now able to go from lying down to sitting, and practicing getting on all fours every day by herself. Baby K is growing and developing so fast it takes our breath away, and it’s clear that had we not had the experience with raising Eloise first, I doubt we would be nearly as captivated.

I wish I could bottle up this feeling, this feeling where my heart is so full and so happy it feels like it’s going to burst. I wish I could reach through the computer screen and pass on some of that feeling to you. Sadly, I cannot.

So what I will do instead is just enjoy this time. Savor it, if you will.

Because, when we went on our evening walk a few weeks ago and a card asked, “Do you remember the happiest time in your life?”

I answered without hesitation, “Right now.”

Because that’s one gift of darkness. When life is hollow and hard and full of pain and it looks like there may be no end to suffering, then it can make even the mundane beautiful. And right now, this mundane is beautiful.

I, for one, am so grateful.

We know dark times will come again. We know seizures will come again. We know unplanned hospital visits will happen again. We know mysterious medical issues that stump every doctor will return again. But, hopefully, we will be more ready for those dark times when they arrive.

And, hopefully, those dark times will then make the other bright times that come later all the sweeter.

All our love from this unusually wonderful time of our lives.

Mallory, Brian, Eloise, and Baby K