I’ll be honest, I haven’t been the most grateful person lately, I seem to be put off by the toxic positivity messaging of “God deserves your gratitude.” And while I want my son to grow up giving thanks and not living under the yoke of entitlement, there are times I struggle to give thanks for what I have when life feels overwhelming. I long for the house to be finally renovated, for my son to finally listen to me, and those few extra pounds to be shed, for my husband to schedule a date night, for my career to be more successful, for a baby I know I can no long have, and for peace and justice in a broken world.
The older I get the more I’m convinced grief and gratitude can coexist.
We live in the dichotomy of being present in this moment with a full heart of gratitude for all that’s in front of us, while living with the longing of dreams unfulfilled.
This year, I had a series of traumas beginning with a miscarriage after IVF then was hospitalized for panic attacks and PTSD, my son was diagnosed with ADHD, and I lost my dog of 15 years. I also felt stuck after being rejected by several traditional publishers for my book Healing Her, which I’m self-publishing in May of 2024. To say the season was dark, and grief was poundingly loud, would be putting it mildly. I wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.
Last week I had a very bad experience where I was basically blind for 5 days. I made a misguided attempt to get false lashes (hello vanity.) I wanted to be one of those pretty women on Instagram who don’t have to wear mascara. But I had a severe allergic reaction (even though they were hypoallergenic) and I resembled Quasimodo, my eyes swelled to twice their size, were red, painful, and gritty like they were full of sand, and my vision was blurred to the point I could barely see.
Sometimes you’re only grateful for something when you’re forced to live without it.
When I finally recovered, I was incredibly grateful for the gift of sight—something I once took for granted.
So where do we look for gratitude when all around us is darkness and chaos? I find gratitude in simple things I like to call “glimmers” which are internal or external cues of sight, taste, touch, sound, which make us feel connected to ourselves, nature, and those around us. For me, I often notice them when I root myself in the stillness of the present moment—-the sun glinting off the ocean, a cool breeze, the way my new pup nuzzles her nose against my chest, the smell of my son’s hair after a day running in the sand, the feel of white shells in my palm, the crunch of fall leaves under my feet as I ground myself in the morning, a warm hug from my husband, the way my body feels after a Crossfit workout, a good laugh with a friend, the taste of red wine on my tongue, the cedar scent of my new Magnolia Christmas candle, the satisfaction of a well-written sentence flowing from my pen.
These tiny offerings remind me of the beauty all around me, even as I grieve what I no longer have.
Yes, God deserves our gratitude for all the gifts He’s poured out on us, but I believe he wants these to flow from the truth of our heart, not some made-up thanksgiving quote we mark on a piece of construction paper to hang on our gratitude tree. The art of noticing is where we find the heart of fullness, the one which can grapple with the realities of our grief-stricken circumstances, and still bear witness to the transcendence all around us.
We are body, soul, mind, and spirit, and we must engage with all to properly feel our grief, and engage with our gratitude. I am thankful for this body which has borne so many losses, so many surgeries, so many IVF’s to bear a child. And even though I didn’t get what my heart ached for, I am still thankful I survived it, and I didn’t let it break me. I am grateful for my growth, my evolution, my becoming, which says that all my darkest hours will somehow be transformed into redemption for me, and for others who need healing.
I am thankful that this year, I will leave behind the people pleasing and perfectionism, and press the easy button on Thanksgiving dinner (thank you Costco prepared meals) and I will sit around my beautifully decorated table in my far-from-perfect home, and play Canasta with my sister-in-law and husband, and somewhere around that table, the candles flickering, I know I’ll find it within myself to breathe a breath of thanks. And perhaps that is all I need.
Where is your grief and gratitude coexisting this year? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Happy Thanksgiving my loves
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