Joy Is Part of the Work: Learning to Receive
- Lauren Koch
- Jun 29
- 7 min read
Updated: Jul 17
Yesterday, a friend asked me a simple question.
“So… what are you doing that’s magical for the Full Strawberry Moon?”
Without thinking, I immediately started telling her about the workings I’d begun the night before to support a friend.
She laughed. “No…” she replied. “What are you doing for YOU under the Strawberry Moon?”
I stopped.
How had I completely missed that?
I’d spent days reflecting on the Capricorn Full Moon, Mercury Retrograde, and the way this season of the year has always invited me into deeper reflection.
Ever since I first began paying even more attention to the rhythm of the seasons and cycles of the moon, I’ve noticed that Summer—perhaps surprisingly to some—has become one of my deepest seasons of shadow work.
Not because of darkness.
But because of light.
As we move through the Summer Solstice, the days stretch long and bright. The shadows that once tucked themselves neatly into winter’s corners have fewer places left to hide. What was easy to avoid suddenly becomes illuminated.
I’d been writing about taking inventory.
About tending the inner garden.
About looking honestly at what we’ve built, what we’ve learned, and what we’re still carrying. And yet… I’d completely forgotten the sweetness of the Strawberry Moon. I’d forgotten that I was meant to receive its medicine, too.
I often become so focused on what is unfolding and staying rooted in the present moment, that I forget to pause long enough to appreciate what has already shifted or is starting to bare fruit. I think that is fairly relatable for most of you.
Perhaps that’s what happens when you’ve spent years surviving.
When you’ve been the people-pleaser.
The overachiever.
The one who learned to keep moving because stopping never quite felt safe. Your attention becomes trained on what needs fixing. Who needs you. What’s next on the list. What still isn’t finished.
You become so practiced at tending everyone else’s gardens that you forget to wander through your own.
And yet… This is exactly what I teach - yet I still forget at times to…
Pause.
Notice.
Be here.
(Because I’m still trying to make my rest productive? Idk you tell me rofl)
Appreciate the season you’re actually living, celebrate the abundance around you instead of constantly preparing for the next one.
That’s why this is a practice… even if you have to take time to pause along the path or take a slight detour… all you have to do take a deep breath - start again with fresh eyes and new tools.
Tending the Inner Garden
As the gardens around us begin producing—berries ripening, herbs stretching toward the sun, flowers on the tomato plants slowly forming despite our unusually cool spring—I can’t help but notice the invitation they offer.
Gardens aren’t only places of labor.
They’re places of enjoyment.
Yes, we weed them.
We water them.
We mulch them.
We protect them from storms and hungry insects.
But eventually… The whole point is to sit beneath the trees. To smell the herbs brushing against your fingertips. To pick the strawberries warm from the sun. To savor what you’ve spent months tending.
Why don’t we offer ourselves that same kindness?
So much of the inner work we do focuses on what still needs healing.
The shadows.
The wounds.
The patterns.
The habits asking to be released.
Those things matter. Deeply. But if we spend all of our time pulling weeds… We miss the flowers blooming quietly beside them.
Shifting Your Perspective
This week I found myself pet sitting for friends.
It’s become one of my favorite unexpected rhythms that has developed this past year.
Every few weeks—or sometimes months depending on the season—I find myself caring for dogs, cats, fish, or whatever collection of beloved creatures needs looking after.
I love animals.
I love helping people I care about.
But perhaps most of all…
I love what it does for my perspective.
Yesterday morning, I finally talked myself into easing into the hot tub after my hips and back had been reminding me just how much I’d asked of them these past few weeks. Between festival season, restocking the apothecary, teaching, and performing over Summer Solstice weekend, my body had quietly been asking me to slow down. Plus the conversation I had with my friend, had me reflecting on how I was practicing self-care and indulging myself through this Strawberry Moon.
I’d made some wonderful French press coffee and topped it with frothed milk, which is an oddity these days, since I have to watch my caffeine intake. There was Tillamook Hazelnut Chocolate ice cream tucked away in the freezer for later.
The dogs had eaten breakfast and settled in, except for one enthusiastic soul who kept dropping a ball into the hot tub, expecting waiting for me to toss it, before bounding after it with absolute delight. Only to come back immediately to wash and repeat.
The Appalachian Mountains stretched across the horizon.
Steam drifted upward. The jets loosened muscles I hadn’t realized I’d been holding so tightly.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that… I realized this was the practice. Not because anything extraordinary was happening. But because I had stopped trying to make the moment productive.
I wasn’t planning.
Teaching.
Writing.
Fixing.
Holding space.
I was simply allowing myself to receive the life I’d been quietly building.
Sometimes We Simply Need a Different Landscape
One of the reasons I love pet sitting is that it gently changes my ecology.
Different views.
Different rhythms.
Different sounds.
Different light.
And with it…
A different perspective.
The healing process doesn’t always require us to become someone different. Sometimes it simply asks us to look at it from a different perspective.
Now, I also want to acknowledge something important. Stepping away for a few days isn’t accessible for everyone.
Believe me, I know. There were many years when my work and other responsibilities made something like this impossible. This rhythm works beautifully for my creative cycle and my body’s need for nervous system regulation, but it isn’t the only way to experience a shift. And I’ve been actively working on making this a viable part of my life for a while now - taking retreats from reality or at least changing the pace a little bit ever once and a while.
Sometimes changing your perspective doesn’t require a vacation or expensive self-care.
Sometimes it looks like taking a different route home.
Stopping at a park for ten minutes to watch the ducks or listen to birdsong.
Walking a labyrinth.
Taking your morning tea onto the porch.
Standing barefoot in the grass.
Letting your feet rest in a creek.
Visiting the library.
Taking your journal or sketchbook somewhere you’ve never written before.
Watching the sunset without feeling the need to photograph it.
These aren’t grand gestures. They’re gentle interruptions. Pattern disruptors. Small invitations that remind our nervous systems there are other ways of moving through the world.
Because we become accustomed to familiar roads.
Familiar responsibilities.
Familiar worries.
Sometimes all we need is enough distance to remember that life has many more facets than whatever currently has our full attention.
Zooming Out
I often remind people that we become so focused on the zoomed-in version of our lives.
The email that needs sending.
The dishes waiting to be put away.
The pain flare.
The deadline.
The thing demanding our immediate attention.
We forget to zoom out. To look from above. To notice the winding path we’ve already walked. The seasons we’ve survived. The boundaries we’ve learned to place and hold. The relationships that have deepened. The ways our bodies are beginning to trust us again.
And the garden is there, quietly producing fruit while we’re still staring at yesterday’s weeds.
Perhaps this is why labyrinths have always spoken so deeply to me.
When you’re walking one, it often feels like you’re moving away from the center. Doubling back. Repeating yourself.
But from above… The path makes perfect sense.
Sometimes we simply need enough distance to recognize how far we’ve already come.
Joy Is Part of the Work
Lately I’ve been wondering how often we treat joy as something we earn…after… As though we’ll finally allow ourselves to enjoy life once everything is fixed.
Once our bodies hurt less.
Once we’re more productive.
More successful.
More healed.
But what if joy isn’t the reward waiting at the end?
What if joy is part of the medicine?
What if savoring the sweetness of life is one of the ways we remind our nervous systems that we are safe enough to receive—not someday, but today?
In a world that profits from our exhaustion, urgency, and constant productivity, choosing to notice beauty becomes its own quiet form of resistance.
Rest becomes resistance.
Wonder becomes resistance.
Presence becomes resistance.
Joy becomes resistance.
We often forget that tending the inner garden was never only… about pulling weeds.
It has always been about remembering to taste the strawberries along the path.
To pause beneath the trees.
To notice the herbs you’ve been nurturing all season.
To laugh when a dog joyfully drops a ball into the hot tub for the tenth time.
To savor your morning coffee before it grows cold.
To look toward the mountains and remember why you chose this path in the first place.
Because healing is not simply about writing the next chapter. It is about becoming present enough to receive the life you’ve been quietly building all along.
Joy is not what waits for us once all the work is finished.
Joy is part of the work.
It nourishes us.
It reminds our nervous systems that we are safe enough to soften. It reconnects us to wonder, gratitude, and belonging.
And perhaps that is the sweetest lesson the Strawberry Moon has to offer.
That there is NOT always more work to do.
But that there is sweetness here, too.
Already growing.
Already waiting.
Already enough.
Did you enjoy this post - Joy Is Part of the Work: Learning to Receive - head over to the Keeper of the Old Ways Patreon to dive deeper into this topic with somatic practice prompts.
This is part of the weekly Pause along the Path Series: we’re following the energy of what is being called to experience, process, and share the seasons. Join us some time here
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