The Weight of Gratitude

As I move deeper into the unknown—into seasons that require more trust than I’ve ever had to give—I’ve found myself strangely annoyed by gratitude. It seems to wrap itself around everything I do, showing up in the most unexpected places, especially when I think I’m too tired or too overwhelmed to feel anything.

This week, as I prepared to host Thanksgiving, I pulled out the china my friends carefully wrapped and boxed the day I left the place I called home for over sixteen years. Piece by piece, I unwrapped it—the plates held by three generations of women before me, protected by the women who showed up for me in one of the most chaotic, vulnerable moments of my life.

I remember moving… and I don’t, all at once.

It was a blur. A panic. A rush to pack after receiving news that shifted everything I thought I was trying to salvage. When I left, I wasn’t leaving forever. I still believed that rehab, counseling, and intention might heal a marriage that had been unraveling for years.

But then came the message the night before. The one that turned my move into a take everything right now because you can’t come back kind of move.

Four women. Four hours. Three cars.

My entire life in boxes, bags, and front seats.

And through the chaos, all I felt was the generosity. The devotion. The quiet strength of women who didn’t let me apologize, who didn’t let me shrink, who worked nonstop without making me feel like a burden.

Today, as I unpacked pieces of that day, preparing my home for people I love, gratitude hit me again—but this time, it felt softer. It felt like a small step in my healing journey. 

And then I thought of my grandma, G-Thang (her nickname). 

Would she be proud of me? I ask myself that often. I can feel her with me in everything I do—her presence woven into my choices, my courage, my voice. She wasn’t as brave as me, not because she couldn’t be, but because she lived in a different time with different expectations. She never put her needs first.

So in some ways, the gratitude I feel for her is unlike anything else. Honoring my voice, my needs, my wants… it feels like honoring her too. Healing a cycle she never had permission to break.

I look around my home and feel overwhelmed—not just by what I left behind, but by what I was given. Nearly everything here was gifted to me by people who wanted me to feel supported, grounded, and safe as I rebuilt  —an unexpected form of inner healing that I didn’t yet have words for. 

Leaving the familiar isn’t easy. It’s a specific kind of grief—a grief your mind can’t logic its way out of. My brain still panics sometimes, wondering if I made the wrong choice, wanting to run back simply because “back” is what it knows.

But my heart…
my heart knows I’m exactly where I need to be.

I’m using a voice generations of women before me never could.

I’m choosing myself in ways they weren’t allowed to.

I’m creating a life they couldn’t even dream of—and I refuse to believe we are limited by anything.

And yet… my hands shake as I type this. Tears fall as I write these words. Because believing all of this is true doesn’t remove the unknowns. It doesn’t remove the fear. It just asks me to let my heart lead more often than my mind.

Sometimes I get mad at how soft I am. How forgiving. How gracious. How easily I love. Anger would be simpler. Bitterness would be easier.

But that isn’t who I am.

I am not anger.

I am love.

I am not despair.

I am peace.

I am not complacency.

I am creation.

Gratitude—annoying as it can be—is our most powerful resource. It shifts energy in rooms we haven’t even stepped into yet. It softens the edges of even the hardest seasons. It reminds us that small things matter. Tiny things matter. A ladybug in a storm matters.

Because those tiny things add up.
And suddenly, everywhere you look, you find love.
Support.
Appreciation.
A reason to keep going.

Just existing is enough sometimes.
Just breathing is enough.
Just starting again is enough.

Today, I am grateful.
I am thankful.
I am blessed.

And even though this year has asked more of me than I ever wanted to give, I’m closing it knowing I honored my voice—finally. And because of that, I know I’m being guided toward a life that’s meant for me. A life that can’t miss me.

Because for the first time in a very long time…
I am not missing myself.