My theory is, if you force yourself to smile enough, then you

The words of Erika Christensen rise like a gentle torch in the darkness: “My theory is, if you force yourself to smile enough, then you start to feel it. Which comes in handy all the time.” At first glance, they seem light, perhaps playful, but within them lies an ancient truth about the bond between body and spirit, between the outward gesture and the inward flame. For what the soul feels can shape the face, but likewise, what the face declares can shape the soul.

To smile, even when it does not spring from joy, is not hypocrisy—it is discipline. It is the act of choosing light before light appears. When the countenance bends upward, even if by will alone, it sends a message to the heart: “Rise, do not despair.” Over time, the heart obeys. The ancients understood this well. The Stoics taught that virtue was not always born from emotion but from action. If one acted with courage, courage would follow. If one acted with kindness, kindness would take root. So too with joy: if one smiles, joy may come after.

History bears witness to this principle. Consider the tale of Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for decades under cruel conditions. Those who saw him behind bars spoke of how he carried himself with dignity, and often, with a smile. Was it always born of happiness? Surely not. Yet by choosing to show strength and warmth outwardly, he preserved his spirit inwardly. His forced smile was not false—it was fuel, sustaining his hope until freedom came. Thus, Christensen’s words echo a truth proven by the endurance of the greatest hearts.

The power of habit also lies within this teaching. The body, when trained, teaches the soul. Just as the warrior trains his sword-arm until it moves without thought, so too can the spirit be trained by small gestures, repeated often, until they become truth. A smile may begin as effort, but repeated enough, it becomes reflex, and from reflex, it becomes reality. This is why the saying declares that such practice “comes in handy all the time”—for life brings countless trials where joy is scarce, yet the need for strength remains.

There is a deeper wisdom as well. The smile is not only for the self but for others. When one forces a smile, even in hardship, it brings comfort to those around. The tired companion, the anxious friend, the weary stranger—all may draw strength from the sight of calmness and light. Thus, the act of forcing a smile is not selfish, but generous. It plants seeds of hope in the hearts of others, and often, in giving hope, one finds it return to oneself.

The lesson is clear: do not wait for joy to descend like a gift from the heavens. Instead, practice joy as you would any other discipline. Force the smile when darkness presses down, not as a mask to hide despair, but as a spark to ignite courage. Over time, the spark will grow into flame, and what was once forced will become genuine. This is not deception but mastery—the mastery of one’s own spirit.

Therefore, let us act with intention. In the moments of trial, when sorrow sits heavy and the will feels faint, lift your face and smile, even if the heart resists. Do it again, and again, until the heart remembers what the face has declared. Let this be your shield against despair and your offering to those around you. For in smiling, even unwillingly, you summon strength, and in summoning strength, you invite joy.

Carry forward this wisdom of Erika Christensen: “If you force yourself to smile enough, then you start to feel it.” Let it remind you that will can shape feeling, and that joy is not always stumbled upon but cultivated, trained, and claimed. This is a teaching for warriors of the spirit, for all who seek to endure: smile until the heart believes, and let that belief guide you through both storm and sun.