Rediscovering Joy: Why Asterix & Obelix Became My Unexpected Chronic Illness Therapy

There I was, supposed to be productive—writing, editing, or doing something vaguely adult—but instead, I was deep in the sacred ritual of scrolling through Netflix. You know the one: “Just a quick peek,” you say, like that’s ever true. Maybe I’ll find a documentary I’ll never finish, or a movie I’ll fall asleep to halfway through. But then it happened. A flash of color, a familiar grin, and suddenly I was eight years old again.

There on my screen stood Asterix and Obelix. My childhood heroes. The original dynamic duo of rebellion and ridiculousness. I didn’t just smile; I squealed. An actual squeal. The kind that’s somewhere between joy and mild hysteria. And no, I’m not embarrassed about it.

Back when other kids were idolizing He-Man or Transformers, I was nose-deep in those French comics about two stubborn Gauls taking on the Roman Empire. They weren’t just cartoons to me—they were an escape hatch. While the world outside could be chaotic, inside those pages everything was hilariously simple: clever underdogs outsmarting the powerful, laughter winning over tyranny, and an endless supply of roasted wild boar. Honestly, who needs therapy when you’ve got that kind of joy packed into ink and paper?

Fast forward a few decades, several medical diagnoses, a couple of surgeries, and more hospital visits than I care to count, and here they are again—on Netflix, in English, practically calling my name. It’s like the universe handed me a tiny, animated time machine. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I pressed play.

Of course, I told myself I’d only watch one episode. You know, self-control and all that. But then the credits rolled and… I watched it again. Twice. It’s fine. It’s self-care. These days, managing sarcoidosis and heart failure means finding small joys wherever I can—because let’s face it, the “big joys” take too much stamina. So now, after every blood draw or doctor’s appointment, I reward myself with an episode of Asterix & Obelix. My inner child cheers, my adult self breathes easier, and for 25 glorious minutes, I’m not a patient—I’m a kid again, laughing at Roman soldiers getting flung into the sky.

Nostalgia has this weird magic to it. It’s like a warm blanket made of memory and serotonin. It reminds you that joy isn’t gone—it’s just been waiting for you to remember it. Chronic illness teaches you to hold on to those moments, no matter how silly or small. So if you ever catch me grinning like an idiot, Band-Aid still on my arm from a blood test, know that somewhere in my head, Asterix just punched a Roman into next week—and everything feels a little lighter because of it.

Maybe you’ve got your own version of that comfort show—the one that wraps you up when life gets too sharp around the edges. Maybe it’s Golden Girls or Friends or that one obscure cartoon you swore only you remember. Either way, I hope you let yourself revisit it. Sometimes healing looks less like medication and more like laughter that hits you right in the nostalgia.

So tell me—what’s your go-to comfort show? Did Asterix and Obelix ever steal your heart too, or am I the only one who thought reading French comics made me cultured? Drop a comment below, share your favorite, and if you want more stories about finding humor and heart in the middle of chronic chaos, hit that subscribe button. We’ll laugh, reminisce, and survive this wild ride together—one nostalgic episode at a time.