(Un)learning gratitude
Often when I’m reading, I’ll come across a concept or a paragraph—or even a single thought—that on first pass, feels like it’s trying to tell me something important, but I’m not sure just what yet. So I go back and read it again. And then another time. And then I underline it. And then, it finally hits. And something in me shatters like an egg being dropped from a 30-story building. splattering my long-held beliefs into a little fragments of fragile shell, and leaving a gooey, runny mess on the sidewalk below.
I was shattered by of those at about 5:56am today.
“Gratitude is often talked about as a way to cover up what’s hard…The phrase “Be grateful!” can be dismissive of our real lived experience and our actual feelings. I think of this kind of gratitude as forced gratitude, which is neither real nor sustainable. In fact, forcing gratitude can disconnect us from our truth even more, further enhancing the stories we’re trying to release.”
— Excerpt from Already Enough, by Lisa Olivera, page 109
Forced gratitude. FORCED. GRATITUDE.
HOLY. SHIT.
It’s the paradox of all paradoxes.
Maybe this is why I have never been able to stick to a formal gratitude practice for more than a week?
I remember, as a kid, being told countless times to be grateful for the things we had in our lives:
Be grateful that you have food on the table—there are people starving in other places. (So you better eat everything that’s on your plate.)
Be grateful that you have all of these toys to play with—there are other kids who have nothing. (So you better stop asking for anything else.)
Be grateful that we let you go to any friends’ houses or parties. (So you better stop complaining about all the things we don’t let you do.)
Be grateful that you’re healthy and safe—there are other people who aren’t so lucky. (So you better be satisfied with what you have in life instead of always wanting more.)
Basically, what I learned about gratitude as a kid was that being grateful equalled feeling guilty. Gratefulness was a guilt trip that only served to remind you of how much worse things could be.
It’s no wonder I have such a hard time with it now.
My life coach, as well as many meditation teachers I’ve studied with, have tried to help me overcome my past gratitude trauma. Their advice is to approach the practice with much more specificity.
For example, instead of saying “I’m grateful for my husband,” which would instinctually lead me to the Forced Gratitude framing of “be grateful for your husband—there are other people who don’t have a partner to share things with, so don’t complain,” they encourage me to think about specific moments, qualities, or actions that evoke a feeling of warmth or appreciation.
So, something more along the lines of, “I’m grateful that my husband took the kids to their doctor’s appointments this morning because it meant that my day was less hectic, and I felt like I didn’t have to carry the parenting responsibilities all on my own.”
What they’re saying makes sense. The second gratitude approach does feel much warm and fuzzier. It’s harder to attach guilt to that.
But it’s also harder for me to access.
“Our brains are wired to see the negative—it helps us assess danger and survive. But life gets challenging when we’re constantly noticing the negative. The practice of gratitude allows us to train our brain to move out of that bias and into noticing the good, too.”
— Excerpt from Already Enough, by Lisa Olivera, page 110
I am going to try to be conscious of this today. But just today. I won’t commit to a whole week because that feels overwhelming, and like I’m just setting myself up for failure.
I am going to try to notice the good, and not just the absence of the bad.
I am going to start where I am, right now, sitting in my bed:
I am grateful for the warmth of my Tobe-cat nuzzled next to me, the soft vibrations of his purring humming against my leg.
I am grateful for my morning routine—coffee, reading, writing, walking—which keeps me grounded and starts my day off on the right foot.
I am grateful for anyone who reads this, because you help me carry hard things, and I hope I’m able to do the same for you.
One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Maybe I can learn to do this gratitude thing in a healthier way, after all. And if I can’t, that’s OK too.
I will try be grateful to myself for at least having tried.