Hygge and Being ʔiyəs

In one of our morning classes this week, my group was exploring hygge and what it might mean in education. Hygge is a Danish term often translated as coziness, but we quickly learned it is much more than comfort or atmosphere. As a group, we talked about why people in countries like Denmark often report high levels of happiness. We shared research, stories, and perspectives, and kept returning to the same idea: a strong sense of community over individualism, and a commitment to collective well-being, seem to matter deeply. A sense of belonging.

When I came home, I found two academic articles on hygge and reading them confirmed that our instincts in class were not off at all. Larsen (2019) argues that neoliberal universities, shaped by competition, efficiency, and performance metrics, often produce fear, anxiety, and isolation rather than hope. In contrast, hygge creates spaces of care, safety, and belonging, and these spaces make real learning possible. Education needs hope, not just efficiency. Hygge, then, is not just about comfort. It is about deeper social values: care, giving, equality, and togetherness, values that can help multicultural education move beyond surface-level inclusion toward real relational learning.

In another article Nielsen and Ma describe two kinds of happiness. Hedonic happiness is pleasure-based and short-term, it feels good, but fades quickly and can slide into consumerism. Eudaimonic happiness, on the other hand, is meaning-based. It comes from purpose, from being something for others, and from belonging. It builds resilience and strengthens communities. The authors argue that real hygge belongs to this second kind. This matters because people who experience meaningful happiness are better able to sit with discomfort, conflict, and uncertainty.

Which brings me to the rest of my day.

In my Indigenous education course that afternoon, something different, but deeply connected, happened. The class created a space where sharing feelings was invited, even though emotions are not always naturally welcomed in academic settings. Two classmates opened the space by inviting us to think about our emotions, introducing the word t̓ət̓éyəq̓ (“angry, mad”). Those who spoke before me made it feel possible to share something real.

When it was my turn, I spoke about the worry, anger, and pain I have been carrying because of the unrest, violence, and danger facing my family and my people back in Iran. I had been holding my tears back for almost a week, and I should have known better than to risk speaking publicly about it. I did, and almost immediately, I regretted it. I felt disoriented, as though I had betrayed my own image of myself as strong, resilient, and rational. I wasn’t prepared for how destabilizing it would feel to let go of that image, even briefly. That moment, when something foundational is pulled from under your feet, is where the learning began. I have been practicing vulnerability, and loosening my attachment to pure rationality, for a few years now. It shows. I cry more easily. Emotion surfaces more quickly. And when it does, it feels like falling from a height, reaching for something, anything, to hold onto, followed by relief.

What surprised me most was what came next from my classmates: care. Hugs. Warmth. Presence. With each one, I felt love and guilt. I am so practiced at being the one who gives care that receiving it felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I told myself my pain was not worthy of this much attention, that I was taking up space unnecessarily. In that moment, I saw how much judgment I still carry toward vulnerability, especially my own. Eventually, I let go enough to return to the rhythm of the class, hoping that everyone had already forgotten about me. The old habit of blending in, staying hidden, protecting the image.

And yet, we were in an Indigenous education class, surrounded by invitations to practice relationship and wholeness. I kept whispering to myself: if anywhere is a place to practice, or even to make mistakes, it is here. Indigenous education understands learning as relational, holistic, and embodied. Safety, in this view, is not procedural, built from workshops or slides, but relational. Learning begins when people feel held enough to be unsettled. Discomfort is not failure; it is often the beginning of transformation.

Maybe the change we are craving is not possible without this discomfort. Hygge becomes possible only when we accept that a fundamental shift in perspective is required, not as a personal failure, but as a collective practice. It takes courage. It takes intention. It takes practice, often awkward, often doubted, sometimes resisted. It looks like imagining classrooms that are slower, less frightening, and more humane. Teachers, too, allowed to be whole, even when that means slowing down. People often say this requires money. And maybe it does. But Denmark was not always the richest country in the world. It was the practice of eudaimonic happiness, and a shared belief that such a shift was necessary, that made change possible. That belief is paying off, not perfectly, but meaningfully.

By the end of the day, regardless of how unsettled I felt, I knew I had learned something important.

For me, Indigenous ways of being, ʔiyəs (meaning “happy”), and hygge met that day. Neither promises perfection. But both offer models, practices, and examples that remind me that collective healing requires stepping out of ourselves and into relationship. That sharing, ideas, resources, emotions, matters. And that we do not need to carry so much discomfort and anxiety on our own. As a student, I learned that it is possible to be challenged and to make mistakes in a classroom without worrying about how I will be assessed. As a future teacher, I learned that it is possible to create spaces where people can try something new, something different, something uncomfortable, and be held while doing so. Knowing they will not be left alone. Knowing there is time to pause, to breathe, to hug, and to practice what we already know.

References

Larsen, M. A. (2019). Hygge, Hope and Higher Education: A Case Study of Denmark. In P. Gibbs & A. Peterson (Eds.), Higher Education and Hope (pp. 71–89). Springer International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-13566-9_4
Nielsen, T. W., & Ma, J. S. (2021). Examining the social characteristics underpinning Danish “hygge” and their implications for promoting togetherness in multicultural education. Multicultural Education Review (Online), 13(2), 179–189. https://doi.org/10.1080/2005615X.2021.1919964