Love is not naive. Gratitude in not denial. And, joy is not disengagement.

February refused to come in gently. Here in Colorado, winter has been as evasive as a good news story. Still, we love.

And yet, loving ourselves in uncertain times can feel complicated.

Many families, caregivers, and advocates are carrying a quiet tension this year. Funding landscapes are shifting. Policies are changing. Systems feel fragile. The future, in some corners, feels wobbly. It takes intention to soften our shoulders. It takes courage to breathe deeply. It takes discipline to remain tender.

Mikelle, Maryann, and I just finished our Valentine’s Day podcast. We intentionally are disciplined, loving ourselves—and each other—right now; it is not indulgent.

Recording our mid-month podcast this morning as we sat around the kitchen table, we asked a simple question:

What do you love right now?

Not in a Hallmark-card way.
Not in a pretend-everything-is-fine way.
But in a steady, honest, grounded way.

And Mikelle smiled.

She loves purses — because every outfit deserves the right one.
She loves strong coffee and coffee dates.
She loves the sparkle and optimism of Minnie Mouse.
She loves cheering for the Denver Broncos, no matter the season.

There was no irony in her voice.
No defensiveness.
Just clarity.

To love your life — even while advocating to protect it — is not foolish.
To love your community while working to strengthen it is not simplistic.
To love your work while pushing for reform is not blind loyalty.

Love is fuel.
Love is orientation.
Love is a strategy.

Then we talked about gratitude.

Maryann reflected on what she appreciates about stepping into leadership in disability and rehabilitation work — her mentors, Mikelle and I, taught her the deeper layers of the waiver system, the values of inclusion and self-determination, and the long view of systems change.

Gratitude is not denial.

Being thankful for the progress we have made does not mean we ignore the work ahead.
Honoring the systems that have allowed people with disabilities to live, work, and thrive in community does not mean we refuse to improve them.

Gratitude gives us context.
It reminds us of what is worth protecting.
It keeps cynicism from becoming our identity.

Joy, especially now, can feel almost rebellious.

Joy in coffee conversations.
Joy in friendship that lasts decades.
Joy in creative work.
Joy in a well-chosen purse.
Joy in setting up the seven-foot Miles the mascot team in her living room on game day.

Joy does not mean we are unaware.
Joy does not mean we are detached.
Joy does not mean we are complacent.

For families who have navigated complex systems for decades…
For caregivers who rise each morning to sustain meaningful lives…
For professionals mentoring the next generation…
For individuals like Mikelle, building businesses, friendships, and community presence…

Joy is how we stay in the work.

We have lived long enough to know this:

The world has always shifted.
Policy has always evolved.
Budgets have always tightened and expanded in cycles.

It is love.
It is gratitude.
It is joy.

So this Valentine’s Day, we are not choosing denial.
We are choosing grounding.

We love fiercely.
We appreciate intentionally.
We celebrate small joys without apology.

Because these are not distractions from the work.

They are how we endure it.
They are how we lead it.
They are how we pass it on.