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How Gratitude Transformed My Life
Gratitude has transformed my life. It shifted my negative thinking and allowed me to see beyond my own struggles. If you’ve experienced—or know someone who has dealt with—depression or other mental health challenges, you know how hard it can be to regulate emotions, form thoughts, or see the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. For me, gratitude became that tiny glimmer of hope I needed to keep moving forward.
I’ve always valued authenticity, and I refused to fake it. I wasn’t about to say, “I’m grateful for the sun because it brings warmth to the earth,” when, deep down, I didn’t care. There were days when the world could’ve frozen over, and it wouldn’t have mattered to me. That’s the reality of struggling with mental health—it’s hard to feel anything when everything feels bleak and lifeless.
I remember conversations about “just going through the motions” or “faking it until you make it.” Gratitude didn’t feel real to me, and I struggled to believe I could ever develop an “attitude of gratitude.” But I was challenged to just start—even if it felt fake.
When I began practicing gratitude, I was skeptical. I remember pouring my morning coffee and muttering sarcastically, “I’m grateful for my coffee, I guess.” It felt forced and insincere, like just another buzzword everyone was throwing around. It took weeks—weeks—before I could name one thing I genuinely felt thankful for.
I’m sharing this not to discourage anyone who already practices gratitude but to acknowledge those who feel like it’s out of reach. Maybe you’re someone who smiles on the outside while feeling lonely and lost inside. Maybe life feels overwhelming, and gratitude seems like just another “quick fix.” If this is you, please know you’re not alone.
This space is peer-led, meaning I’ve been there too. I understand the darkness, the doubts, and the frustration. Healing doesn’t happen by forcing yourself to be grateful; it begins with acknowledging where you are right now. There’s no shame in struggling or in finding gratitude hard to grasp.
The amazing thing about gratitude, though, is that the more you practice, the easier it becomes to find those little glimmers of hope. That sarcastic “thank you” for my coffee seven years ago? It was the start of a journey that has since led to moments of genuine connection and appreciation.
Just the other day, I stopped by a coworker’s office to thank them for their energy and consistency. I told them how much I appreciated the way they care for others and show up every day. Did it make their day? I don’t know. But I hope my words reminded them they are seen, valued, and making a difference.
Gratitude is powerful. It starts small and grows in unexpected ways. So if you’re curious about gratitude but don’t know where to begin, just start where you are. Be curious about what gratitude might look like for you. You never know how those small moments might shift your perspective and bring light into your life.
Your Turn:
What does gratitude mean to you? Is there something you’re curious about or want to explore further? If you’re hesitant, that’s okay. Start small and allow yourself the grace to grow into it. Who knows where the journey might take you?
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Winter’s Whispers
While out in the frozen tundra, I captured this scene over Lake Superior, overtaken by sea smoke. The entire area was shrouded in an eerie whiteout, with visibility severely limited—a hauntingly quiet and surreal landscape. At -20 degrees, the only sounds were the crunch of snow beneath my feet and the shifting ice on the lake.
Amid this frozen stillness, I stumbled upon this hill formation with trees and rocks encased in layers of ice. What struck me most was the blue hue of the ice—a color that only forms when ice becomes dense over time. It made me think about endurance. These rocks and trees, coated in ice through countless storms and harsh conditions, became more beautiful as the ice thickened and deepened its color.
It’s a reminder of how challenges, while difficult, can shape something resilient and stunning over time.
What I love most about this image is the way the ice has taken on a blue hue, a natural phenomenon that adds an almost ethereal quality to the scene. Despite the torturous cold and slippery terrain, I’m grateful I ventured out that day. This capture, with its quiet strength and ethereal quality, has become one of my favorite winter images from the frozen northland.
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Curious Discoveries
This week’s Through the Lens piece captures a moment that intrigued me. I noticed several butterflies fluttering around and then landing on dirt. It piqued my curiosity because I had always thought butterflies get their nutrients solely from the nectar of flowers. After capturing several images, I continued to watch them for a while.
It reminded me that nourishment can come from unexpected places. These creatures, usually associated with flowers, found sustenance in something I learned about called puddling—where butterflies absorb minerals from mud or dirt. It shows us that sustenance doesn’t have to come from the “pretty” places we expect.
This moment reminded me how noticing can reveal the hidden potential in every moment. No matter where nutrients come from—whether from the beauty of flowers or the simplicity of dirt—they can all be transformed into something magnificent. To illustrate this, I edited the butterflies to have purple, galaxy wings, symbolizing how even the most unexpected sources of nourishment can lead to something beautiful and transformative.
Reflection: What unexpected sources of nourishment or growth have you discovered in your own life?
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Gratitude: A Glimmer of Hope
Before The Glimmer
Several years ago, I met with a therapist shortly after being discharged from the hospital’s mental health ward. This appointment was part of the safety plan established upon my release—a plan that felt like a daunting step into the unknown. During the session, the therapist shared several diagnoses that shook me to my core. I was in my late 30s, and hearing these words for the first time left me reeling. How could I have lived so long without understanding the struggles that had been shaping my life? Looking back, I realize this lack of awareness had led to years of numbing myself to the pain—something I’ll delve into another time.
That session, however, became a significant turning point—not because of the therapist’s suggestion, but because of the decision I made afterward. When she brought up the idea of attending a day treatment program, I interpreted her words as judgmental and condescending, as though I was being passed off to someone else who could “handle me.” Her tone lingered in my mind, sharp and cold, making me feel like a burden rather than a person in need of help. It wasn’t framed as an opportunity for healing but rather a solution for someone who was “too much.” I left feeling small, broken, and resistant.
But somewhere deep inside, a spark of courage ignited. I realized I had a choice: I could let her tone discourage me, or I could focus on the possibility that day treatment might actually help. Deciding to look into the program—and eventually enrolling—took incredible bravery. That decision became the true turning point. It was me, not her, choosing to take control of my healing and seek support in an environment that felt more suitable for where I was at the time.
When I started the program, I was required to meet with one of the therapists leading it. From the very first interaction, I was made to feel like a human—something I hadn’t felt in a long time. There were no masks, no toxic positivity, no blaming. Instead, I was met where I was: broken but welcomed, guided but never judged. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could see the faint outline of a path forward.
The Day Treatment Program
I can vividly recall the first day I attended the program. I walked into a large meeting room. Windows lined the back wall, letting in soft, natural light. Words of encouragement and posters about feelings hung on the walls. The chairs were arranged in a large circle. Other participants filed in, choosing seats and engaging in small talk. I sat alone, nervous and ready to leave the moment I arrived.
Each morning in day treatment started with a round robin of three questions, one of which was, “What’s one thing you’re thankful for?” When my turn came, my mind went blank. I wasn’t the first to answer, but each response—gratefulness for food, being in treatment—felt hollow to me. I didn’t relate. I wasn’t thankful for anything. Deep down, I felt empty, just a shell of a person sitting there.
I could have passed or repeated something generic, but that wasn’t me. I’ve always valued authenticity, and if I don’t feel it, I won’t fake it. So, when my turn came, I said, “I’m grateful for nothing.” Surprisingly, some nodded, admitting they’d felt the same way before.
I instantly felt welcomed. I was in a place where others understood me. I wasn’t judged for my non-answer. I wasn’t cast aside for speaking my truth, and it was liberating. It was at that moment that my outer shell, hardened by mental illness, began to soften. I could finally hear what others shared about the reasons behind gratitude—and I started to believe that practicing gratitude might be worth my time and effort.
Invitation To Notice With Curiosity
We are all walking unique paths through life, and I won’t pretend to know exactly where you are on yours. Maybe you’ve just been released from the hospital. Maybe you’re feeling stuck, repeating old patterns. Or maybe you’re looking for a small nudge forward. Wherever you find yourself, ask yourself this: Where are you on your gratitude journey?
Is it hard to think of even one thing to be thankful for, as it once was for me? Or are you beginning to notice glimmers of gratitude in your day-to-day life?
Here’s my invitation: Take a moment to reflect. Where are you now? No judgment. No need to act yet. Just notice with curiosity. Make a mental note—or share in the comments below if you feel comfortable.
As this blog unfolds, we’ll explore gratitude and other skills step by step. For now, let’s begin with this simple practice: just notice.
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