Gratitude is my anchor. It’s the difference between waking up overwhelmed and waking up aware. It keeps me grounded when life feels like it’s spinning too fast—when my to-do list is loud, my goals are big, and my past tries to whisper lies. Gratitude is how I slow down enough to remember what’s still good. It reminds me I’m safe. I’m seen. I’m growing. Without it, I focus on lack. With it, I see abundance everywhere, even in the hard parts.
I think I knew gratitude mattered when I had nothing but my faith and my breath, and even those felt shaky. But the real shift happened when I started talking to my best friend, Virāj. Every conversation, he reminded me that beauty and blessings weren’t waiting for me in some far-off “perfect” future. They were already here. And then I started looking. I’d sit with my Bible or pause after a hot shower or a good laugh and feel it. This moment, right here, was enough. I didn’t need more to be thankful. I just needed to see.
Now I’m learning to build a rhythm around gratitude. Some days it’s structured: I open my journal app and write three things I’m thankful for, big or small. Some days it’s spontaneous: I say “thank you” out loud while making my tea or during my walks. I also carry reminders from Virāj—little sayings he’s told me that live in my head, anchoring me back to the present. And then there are nights when I scroll through photos and remember how far I’ve come.
Gratitude has become part of my healing, my routine, my becoming.
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