For years, I rolled my eyes at the word gratitude. It felt too soft, cliche, like something people slapped on Instagram posts with pretty sunsets. Meanwhile, I was dealing with anxiety, panic attacks, and nights when I couldn’t stop crying. Gratitude, I thought, couldn’t possibly touch the heaviness I was carrying. However, I later discovered the transformative impact of understanding The power of gratitude in my life.
But here’s what I didn’t know then: gratitude doesn’t erase pain. It doesn’t wave a magic wand and make betrayal, heartbreak, or stress disappear. What it does do is remind you that even in the middle of it all, there’s still something worth holding onto. That’s what saved me, piece by piece.
Recognizing The power of gratitude has been a cornerstone of my healing process.
Here are the ways I’ve learned to practice gratitude, and how it’s changed my mental health.
I remember sitting on my bed, pen in hand, staring at a blank page. My chest felt heavy, my hand shaky, my head buzzing with too many thoughts. All I could manage to write was:
I almost laughed at how pathetic it looked. It felt almost childish. But when I read it back, I realized those tiny things were proof I wasn’t completely swallowed by darkness. Gratitude isn’t about grand gestures; it’s about little sparks of light that guide you back to yourself.
Gratitude taught me to slow down enough to see what was already around me. One morning. Rushing out the door, I caught myself stopping to watch the steam rise from my coffee cup as the sun hit it just right. Another time, while doing laundry, I noticed the familiar scent of fabric softener. It reminded me of home, of comfort, of being cared for.
These weren’t big, Instagram-worthy moments. They were fleeting, ordinary, almost invisible. But they grounded me. Gratitude showed me that beauty doesn’t need to be extraordinary to matter; it can live in the smallest pauses, waiting to be noticed.
At first, I treated gratitude like another task on my self-care checklist. I forced myself to write long, detailed entries as if someone would grade them. It drained me more than it helped.
These days, my list is sometimes just a single word: “coffee.” Other days, it’s a whole page. Both are enough. Gratitude doesn’t ask for perfection. It doesn’t care about the length of the list, it just asks you to show up, to notice, to name one good thing when your mind is screaming with everything that’s wrong.
Gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring the pain. I still had anxiety, still had panic attacks, still cried on the bathroom floor more nights than I can count. But I started pairing the pain with something small to hold onto.
One night, after a panic attack left me trembling, I opened my notebook with shaky hands. I couldn’t write a paragraph. All I managed was two words: “still here.” Those words didn’t erase the fear, but they reminded me that pain wasn’t the whole story. Gratitude gave me balance. It reminded me that survival itself was something to be thankful for.
I used to think gratitude had to look a certain way: pretty journals, perfect handwriting, and long poetic entries. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter how it looks. What matters is that it feels true to you.
For me, that sometimes means scribbling three messy words in a notebook by my bed. Other times, snapping a quick photo of a sunset on my phone, or whispering “thank you” before I fell asleep. I’ve even recorded voice memos on the days when writing felt impossible.
The point is, gratitude doesn’t have to be neat or formal; it just has to be yours. It can show up in the way you pause to savor your coffee, the way you smile at your pet curled up beside you, or the way you deep breathe after a long day.
Because gratitude doesn’t really live in a notebook, it lives in the way you notice your own life.
More: https://peonymagazine.com/mind-spirit/the-power-of-gratitude-mental-health/