Peer Reflections

Nurturing Wellness through Creativity and Compassion
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Category: Peer Support

  • Getting to Know: Happiness

    Happiness: A Fleeting Feeling or a Piece of the Puzzle?

    Happiness is one of the most sought-after emotions, yet it remains one of the most misunderstood. Unlike fear, which keeps us safe, or sadness, which allows us to process loss, happiness doesn’t seem to have a survival function. It often feels fleeting, appearing in bursts—when we hear our favorite song, experience an exciting moment, or spend time in a place that feels magical.

    Think about it—many of our most “happy” moments come from vacations, theme parks, concerts, or special events, places designed to pull us out of our daily routines. A trip to Disneyland, for example, is crafted to create a sense of magic, nostalgia, and joy. It’s an environment free from stressors like bills, deadlines, or the unpredictability of daily life. And yet, the moment we leave, reality settles back in. If happiness only exists in spaces detached from real life, then it can’t be the goal—it’s not sustainable.

    What is Happiness?

    Happiness is commonly defined as a state of pleasure, joy, or satisfaction. It can be triggered by external events, such as a fun trip, a delicious meal, or an accomplishment. However, happiness is not a permanent state—it comes and goes like any other emotion. The way society portrays happiness often makes it seem like an ultimate destination, something we must strive for and hold onto, but in reality, happiness is momentary, just like sadness, anger, or fear.

    What Does Happiness Feel Like in the Body?

    Happiness manifests physically in many ways:

    • A lightness in the chest
    • Relaxed muscles
    • A genuine smile or laughter
    • Increased energy
    • A sense of warmth or excitement
    • A release of stress or tension

    Just as we notice the tension of anxiety or the heaviness of sadness, recognizing happiness in the body can help us appreciate it when it arises, even if only briefly.

    How to Cultivate Happiness

    Since happiness is fleeting, the focus shouldn’t be on trying to make it last forever, but rather on creating space for it to naturally occur. Some ways to invite happiness into daily life include:

    • Gratitude: Acknowledging small joys, like a warm cup of coffee or a kind conversation.
    • Mindfulness: Being present in the moment rather than waiting for happiness to come later.
    • Connection: Spending time with loved ones and engaging in meaningful conversations.
    • Engaging in Enjoyable Activities: Doing things that bring natural enjoyment, such as hobbies, music, or nature walks.

    Rethinking Happiness: The Role of Contentment

    Happiness is often presented as the ultimate goal, yet it remains fleeting—arriving in bursts, then fading. Unlike emotions like fear or anger, which serve clear survival purposes, happiness doesn’t seem essential for protection or problem-solving. So, what is its purpose?

    Perhaps happiness isn’t meant to be constant. Instead, it is the peak of an emotional wave, while contentment is the steady ground beneath it. Instead of chasing happiness as an all-or-nothing state, we might focus on cultivating contentment—a lasting sense of peace and balance. Contentment doesn’t mean life is perfect; it means we are okay even in the midst of challenges. It allows us to experience happiness when it comes, without the pressure to make it stay.

    Happiness can be big and loud—laughter, excitement, joyful energy. But it can also be small and quiet—a smirk, the warmth of the sun after a storm, the first sip of coffee. Happiness, in any form, is valid. Instead of asking, “Am I happy?” maybe the real question is, “Am I content?” Because contentment can carry us through even the hardest moments, making space for happiness to visit—without needing it to stay.

    *As a side note, I feel a conversation on joy might need to come into play eventually, but for now, we can begin to notice these few main emotions and investigate them with curiosity.

  • My Walk with Fear

    The Old Me

    As a child, I hated being scared. My brothers used to hide in my room or sneak up behind me. They would jump out and say, “Boo.” I would fall to the floor in tears. I know it was all in good fun, and I’m sure my big reaction kept them coming back for more. Fast forward several decades, and now I have kids of my own. One of my darling children attempted a jump scare at me, and boy, did it work.

    My big reaction to fear has always been just that—I scream, I cry, I freeze. While working through day treatment, I came to understand that my body was basically always in fight-or-flight mode. At times, the normal sounds of the house would make me jump—the air turning on, a sudden noise from another room. I absolutely hated it, but learning the why behind it forced me to see that my heightened startle response made perfect sense.

    Learning a New Skill

    During treatment, I was introduced to the mantra: “I am safe.” I was encouraged to repeat it whenever my body went into fight-or-flight mode, helping to rewire my brain and calm my nervous system. At first, it felt ridiculous—like I was lying to myself. My mind fought against it. Of course, you’re not safe. No one is 100% safe all the time. I would scoff, You’re lying to yourself. But over time, as I practiced, something interesting happened. My body began to respond. It didn’t mean I never felt fear, but my reactions started to shift.

    Once my kids reached elementary age, I finally found my voice. After one particularly bad jump scare, I gathered my children and my husband and calmly explained that I did not like being scared. I shared that it was not a fun emotion for me and that my body reacted strongly to fear. My brilliant little humans, as curious as ever, asked why my body reacted this way and what had happened to me as a child.

    Holding back tears, I told them, Mommy’s life was hard. My childhood was full of angry people, and it made me live on edge. I’m working with my body to remind myself that I am safe now.

    My life Now

    It took years, but I remember the day I was sitting on the deck, reading a book in the sunshine. The air conditioner unit clicked on. I heard it—but I didn’t jump. I noticed the sound, but my body stayed calm. It was a small moment, yet it was proof that something had changed. My body no longer treated a harmless noise as a threat.

    Why do I share these stories with strangers on the internet? Because I know I’m not the only one who struggles with fear and feeling “jumpy.” I know others have lived through similar experiences, and these are not easy things to talk about. It’s not like you can casually tell a friend, “The air conditioner didn’t make me jump today!” without them looking at you strangely. Vulnerability on this level isn’t always met with compassion and understanding.

    I want others to know—they are not alone in their walk with fear. Small victories are worth celebrating. Every time we notice progress, our brain rewires a little more. I used to think I was alone and weird. But looking back, it all makes sense. And I want to empower others to know that in time, things can and do get better. Slowly, with practice, patience, and self-compassion, we heal.

    To this day, I still mute my television when a scary advertisement pops up—and I’m not embarrassed by it. Because I am doing what I need to do to protect my own body and mind.

  • My Walk with Anger

    The Old Me

    You might not believe this, but, I was known for my temper—the smallest things used to set me off. Once, while enjoying a beach day with a friend, words were exchanged, and the tension between us escalated. Back then, I didn’t understand the power of emotions or how to calm myself down so I could respond instead of react. And my reactions? They were explosive.

    As we left the beach, the argument continued in the car. I felt trapped and furious. We were both yelling, and I lost control. In a moment of pure emotional chaos, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door, fully intending to jump out of the moving vehicle.

    Looking back, I see that this reckless decision was my desperate attempt to remove myself from the situation. I didn’t have the skills or the understanding of anger—I only knew that when I was upset, my emotions took over, and I said and did things I never truly meant. I was reacting, not thinking.

    This wasn’t an isolated incident. When anger consumed me, I threw things, kicked things, and said horrible words that couldn’t be taken back. It wasn’t until I started learning about emotions that I began peeling back the layers of my anger.

    For the longest time, when the rage monster appeared, I didn’t even recognize the warning signs. I wasn’t aware of what made me angry or how my body reacted until the fight was already over. I didn’t notice my blood pressure rising or my muscles tensing—anger was so ingrained in me that I assumed those sensations were just part of who I was.

    The Change

    That changed when I started working with my therapist. I learned to recognize the subtle signs: my heart beating faster, my muscles tightening, that slow burn of frustration bubbling inside me. I was taught tools—how to walk away, how to remove myself from the situation, how to disengage before things spiraled out of control. Deep breaths, brisk walks, choosing not to see the other person as an enemy.

    I’ll never forget the first time I put these tools into action. In the middle of a heated argument, I paused and said, “I’m feeling elevated. Let’s take a walk and continue this conversation after.”

    The person I was speaking to didn’t take it well. They told me I was avoiding the conversation, abandoning their needs, and that taking a walk was a stupid idea. But in reality, they were angry because they couldn’t control my emotions or my actions like they had expected.

    So I stood up, listened to my body, and took the walk alone.

    When I returned, I felt calmer—ready to continue the hard conversation. But the other person escalated again, raising their voice and growing angrier. That’s when I realized: taking a break worked. I was in control of my emotions, and they weren’t.

    That moment was a turning point. The more I practiced, the more I noticed anger’s presence before it took over. I wasn’t perfect, but over time, the emotional explosions faded. I built healthier patterns.

    The New Me

    And then came the day I knew—without a doubt—that I had control over my anger. A loved one, struggling with deep insecurities, projected their pain onto me. In the past, I would have snapped, lashed out, or fed into the fight. But this time, something shifted. I felt the anger rise… and then it subsided before I even responded.

    I saw the situation for what it was—their pain, not mine. I remained calm, stood up for myself multiple times, and ultimately set a boundary: I needed space to process. That was the breaking point for them. They ended the relationship because they weren’t willing to respect my need for space.

    Losing that relationship hurt. The grief was real. But at the same time, I was so damn proud of myself. I hadn’t gotten defensive. I hadn’t engaged in their anger. I had given them my time, my patience, and multiple chances to work through it. Asking for space wasn’t unreasonable—anyone in my life today would understand and respect that.

    I handled it with clarity, self-respect, and emotional control.

    That friendship ended, but I walked away knowing my worth. Knowing that all the internal work I had done was real. That I managed my anger like a pro.

    And that? That was a victory.

  • Box Office Gratitude

    I’m going to be a bit vulnerable today. When it comes to TV shows and movies, I tend to stick with old favorites. Even my kids can predict the general order of what I’ll choose to watch—Gilmore Girls, How I Met Your Mother, Friends, New Girl, and documentaries on Earth, wildlife, Egypt, and space. It’s a familiar cycle.

    I re-watch these shows because I know exactly what’s coming. There are no unexpected triggers, no emotional landmines. This is also why I absolutely detest going to the movie theater. My movie choices follow the same pattern—I cycle through The Mummy (1-3), Harry Potter (1-7), and Jurassic Park (all of them).

    I avoid movies that make me cry. The Croods, almost anything Disney, and Inside Out—I can’t do it. Don’t get me wrong, they’re beautifully made, but they hit too close to home. The emotions they stir up aren’t just about sadness; they bring up grief, loss, and truths that are hard to face.

    Recently, I made the mistake of going to see Inside Out 2 with my family. I had told them I didn’t want to go. I even suggested my husband take them instead. But they were sweet, encouraging me to come along. And so, I did.

    I bawled.

    Not just a few tears—I sobbed. The movie hit me hard, forcing me to confront emotions I wasn’t ready for. By the time the credits rolled and the lights came on, my kids turned to me and said, “Yup, you were right. You cried.”

    My kids are at the age where they ask hard questions. They’re curious, thoughtful, and I’ve done a good job raising them to be unafraid of emotions. They wanted to understand—What part made you cry?

    It was difficult to explain. I shared a little about my past, just enough to help them make sense of my reaction. But their questions lingered throughout the week, popping up at random moments. I wanted to meet their curiosity with honesty, but I also wanted to protect them.

    And then, a realization hit me.

    Their inability to fully understand my grief is a good thing. They’ve never had to hide under a parked car to protect themselves from someone chasing them. They don’t have to fear that when their dad and I get upset, we’ll break their bedroom door in half.

    They don’t carry that kind of fear because they are safe. They are loved.

    And that fills me with pride.

    At the same time, grief sneaks in—because I didn’t get that same childhood. I didn’t grow up in a home where emotions were handled with care. But instead of letting that consume me, I remind myself: I am breaking cycles. I am giving them what I never had.

    And for that, I am grateful.

  • Love/Hate Relationship with Emotions

    I continue to have a love/hate relationship with emotions. Logically, I know that emotions help us figure out our needs, and I love that. It’s something I am continually learning, as each emotion and situation has its own nuances. Emotions are complex, and I often find myself lost in them. But I’m grateful that I can take a curious approach to them. Over time, I’ve learned not to fight my emotions but to sit with them and ask: What does this mean? How can I support myself?

    The frustrating part—the part I still struggle to flow with—is when a random emotion hits out of nowhere.

    I wake up in a good mood, feeling rested, going about my day, and then BAM! Like a rogue wave crashing over me, an emotion floods in suddenly and intensely. I’m not always graceful or accepting in moments like this. I get frustrated and overwhelmed. But living with PTSD means this will be a continual battle, and the best way I know to thrive through emotional or physical flashbacks is to give my emotions space.

    The hardest part for me is not knowing what triggered the rogue wave of emotions. I’ve spent hours—even days—trying to figure it out, digging for the root cause. But my best success comes when I acknowledge and validate the emotion rather than interrogate it. Instead of chasing the “why,” I focus on supporting myself through it.

    Sometimes, that support looks like allowing myself to cry. Other times, it’s reaching out to a trusted person who won’t make the emotion worse. It’s giving myself space and time to take care of myself.

    Sometimes, this interferes with my plans—because the emotions feel too big to function. Other times, I can box them up and carry on, dealing with the gnawing annoyance of them in the back of my mind.

    But no matter what, I will carry on.

    I will take the time to address things as they arise and remind myself that taking care of me is not just important—it’s necessary.

  • Gratitude Through Vulnerability

    Relearning Emotions

    During my recovery and fight against mental illness, I had to break down my version and definition of what emotions were. They were labeled poorly—shaped by unhealthy core beliefs and the lessons imprinted on me as a young child. My understanding of emotions, molded by these flawed beliefs, was fundamentally broken. The beliefs I carried about emotions weren’t truly my own; they were absorbed from the people and environments around me.

    Life Before

    As a child, when I cried, I was told to stop or risk being given something to cry about. When I was angry, I heard, “It’s not that big of a deal,” or, “You’re being unreasonable.” Over time, I internalized these messages: certain emotions were unacceptable. Feeling sadness, anger, or frustration meant I was wrong, unreasonable, or dramatic. These beliefs became roadblocks that made it nearly impossible to express or process my emotions in healthy ways.

    Reconstructing my understanding of emotions during recovery was humbling and uncomfortable. At times, I felt like a toddler learning to walk—clumsy, unsure, and frustrated by my lack of control. I had to learn to pause, look inward, and identify what I was feeling. I had to give myself permission to feel emotions I had long been told were unacceptable.

    Life Now

    But even now, the process isn’t easy. Sharing my feelings with others often makes me feel vulnerable, like I’m navigating unsteady terrain. It’s especially difficult when someone responds harshly or tells me I’m being dramatic. In those moments, I remind myself of an important truth: their reaction is often a reflection of their own struggles with emotional awareness, not mine.

    I’ve learned to take a step back and ask myself a simple but profound question: Is this mine to carry? More often than not, the answer is no. Their judgment is a sign of their discomfort with emotions, not a reflection of my worth. I’ve learned to approach these moments with gratitude—for the clarity to discern what’s mine and the strength to let go of what isn’t.

    Powerful Realization

    Through this process, I came to a powerful realization: there are no good or bad emotions. They’re all part of the human experience, each one offering us valuable insight if we’re willing to listen. Ironically, the emotions most people consider “easy,” like joy and happiness, were—and still are—the hardest for me to embrace.

    I had spent so much of my life feeling anger, frustration, neglect, and abandonment that those emotions felt familiar—even comfortable in a strange way. But joy? Love? Happiness? Those were foreign to me. I didn’t know what they felt like, and I didn’t know how to let myself fully experience them.

    Relearning my emotions has been one of the hardest and most rewarding parts of my recovery. It’s taught me to sit with discomfort, embrace vulnerability, and, most importantly, find gratitude—not just for the easy moments, but for the strength to keep going when joy feels out of reach.

    Gratitude became my anchor. It allowed me to shift my focus from what I couldn’t control to the small, meaningful moments of growth and healing I could celebrate. With time, I began to see my emotions not as burdens but as guides—tools that help me navigate life and connect more deeply with myself and others. I welcomed the vulnerability needed to address and share my emotions.

    Have you ever found certain emotions harder to embrace? What beliefs about emotions are you carrying, and are they serving you?

    Remember: there are no “wrong” emotions. They are all valid, and they all matter. The courage to feel them, even when it’s hard, is something to be proud of.

  • Thankful For Day Treatment

    Grateful for the Day Treatment Program

    I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but attending the day treatment program truly changed my life, and I’m deeply grateful for the nudge to attend—even though at the time it made me feel broken. The truth was, I was struggling with serious and persistent mental health issues. At first, attending was something I had to do. But at some point in the middle, I decided to fully commit and try the skills and suggestions being offered.

    It was through the trial-and-error phase that I learned the most about myself and experienced the most growth. The cool thing is, I can now see both sides of the coin. It would have been amazing to write a letter to my past self, to let her know that things would get better, that there would come a day when I would be proud of myself and have compassion for myself.

    Hindsight is a powerful place to observe, but it reignites a fire within me to continue sharing these stories of hardship and struggle. The world is full of people who suffer and struggle, and having been there, my heart breaks for both the pain of others and the old me.

    It makes sense now why I did things the way I did and made the choices I made back then. Being on this side of healing doesn’t make life any less challenging or problem-free, but I am grateful that I’ve learned to use the skills I gained to not only survive—but to thrive.

    And now, I feel called to share my journey with others—those just beginning their own paths or those currently in the depths of pain. There’s always room for the hard and ugly moments in life, and down the road, those struggles can actually become your superpower.

  • Gratitude Reflections: Pet Peeve

    If you’ve ever struggled with mental health and been fortunate enough to have someone to talk to during depression or hard days, you might have heard the phrase, “But you have so much to be thankful for.” While the intention behind these words is likely to offer comfort and support, for someone in the midst of a struggle, they can feel more like a slap in the face.

    The first time someone said this to me during my struggle, I felt like the smallest human in the world. I was already drowning in harmful, endless mind chatter: You’re a burden. No one understands you. You’re completely alone. These words, meant to comfort, only pushed me further into the hole of darkness I was trying to escape.

    In moments like these, gratitude felt impossible. I wasn’t thankful for anything because my focus was consumed by just wanting the suffering to end. Hearing about all the things I “should” be grateful for only made it worse, because I wasn’t thankful for them—and that felt like yet another failure on my part.

    In fact, the things I should have felt gratitude for were the very things I felt worst about. Being a mom felt impossible because I had nothing left to give. I felt like I was disappointing my husband by not keeping up with my marital duties. I convinced myself that my family would be better off without me. In the depths of that darkness, those words of “encouragement” only deepened my pain.

    What Would Have Helped Instead

    Down the road, I discovered phrases that were far more helpful. Simple, validating statements like:

    • “That’s a hard place to be in.”
    • “I know life feels heavy right now, but it can get better. What’s one thing you can do today for self-care?”
    • “How can I help?”

    Validation is such an underused superpower. It was exactly what I needed more of. For someone on the outside, it might have seemed like my misery was self-induced, but depression is a mental illness—my brain was fighting against my heart, and it was winning. The dark, distorted thoughts felt so real that I accepted them as truth. The only way out for me was professional and medical support.

    What to Avoid

    It’s hard for many people to understand that depression and mental illness aren’t about willpower or lack of faith. Telling someone they just need to pray more, or that they’re struggling because they’ve fallen away from God, isn’t helpful—it’s harmful.

    Pointing out someone’s struggles with addiction, drinking, or other coping mechanisms as the root of their problem also isn’t the answer. For someone deep in depression’s grip, drinking or other numbing behaviors might be the only way they know to shut off the overwhelming thoughts. These moments aren’t the time for interventions or lectures.

    What We Really Need

    In the darkest times, what we need most is someone to sit with us. To listen. To remind us that we are not alone. That our load is heavy, but we don’t have to carry it by ourselves.

    We need someone to cover us with love, to remind us that we are worthy, and to support us in seeking the help we need. PTSD research shows that those who struggle often experience real, physical changes in their brain. This isn’t a fault or a failure.

    We need to feel like we’re not a burden or an inconvenience. Sometimes, simply having someone acknowledge that truth can make all the difference. Together, we can lighten the load, and step by step, find a way to win the battle over the mind

    .

  • My Practice of Gratitude

    When I first began practicing gratitude, I didn’t have any grand plans or lofty expectations. My intention was simple: to just try it and see what would happen. At first, I found joy in random, seemingly insignificant things—a piece of grass on the stairs that looked like a smile, or a cloud shaped like a turtle.

    This practice unexpectedly transformed my life. As I began noticing and being grateful for small, quirky things, my focus started to shift. I found myself laughing more, often at things others might consider silly—like a rock that resembled a meatball from last night’s dinner. That laughter, though, became a cornerstone of my mental health recovery.

    Experimenting With Gratitude

    I’ll admit, my gratitude journal attempts were a bit of a rollercoaster. I started one about a million times, only for my entries to trail off after a couple of weeks. Instead of judging myself for not sticking to it, I decided to explore other methods.

    One day, I stumbled upon an old hobby from my school days: collaging. I flipped through magazines, cutting out words, phrases, flowers, and birds that brought me joy, and glued them onto paper. It was fun, creative, and personal. For a while, this became my go-to practice until self-doubt crept in. “I’m a grown adult making collages,” I thought, and I stopped.

    But the joy of that practice stayed with me. Later, I discovered mixed media art and found a way to combine my love of words and creativity. This practice allowed me to explore gratitude in a way that felt authentic and fulfilling.

    A Word Nerd’s Approach

    Being a self-proclaimed word nerd, I’ve always turned to words to make sense of the world. As part of my gratitude journey, I looked up the word grateful in the dictionary and wrote down its definition. Then, I dug into the thesaurus for synonyms and antonyms.

    This exercise became a meaningful ritual. Synonyms helped me see gratitude from new angles, while antonyms reminded me of what gratitude is not—helping me focus on the positivity I wanted to cultivate in my life. This practice of exploring words gave me a deeper connection to gratitude and became a way to ground myself during tough times.

    Gratitude Through Connection

    Most recently, my gratitude practice has evolved into something more outward-focused. I’ve started expressing gratitude directly to others, letting them know how they’ve inspired or impacted me. Whether it’s a simple thank-you or a heartfelt note, I hope to remind people that they matter. Even if they shrug it off, my intention is to show them how much of a difference they’re making just by being themselves.

    Finding Your Own Path

    Gratitude looks different for everyone, and that’s what makes it so special. My journey has been filled with trial and error, moments of joy, and even a few laughs along the way. Whether it’s journaling, creating art, exploring words, or connecting with others, I encourage you to find the practice that resonates most with you.

    What about you? How do you practice gratitude? Share your intentions, your favorite methods, or even the funny, quirky things you’ve noticed along the way.

  • 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?