I’m Grateful
I don’t always notice my blessings. Some days I complain without even hearing myself—like breathing out a truth I’ve rehearsed too long. Life feels heavy, and I move through it half-present, as if the edges of reality have blurred just enough to let me slip away. And if I’m being honest, disappearing is familiar. It’s a skill I learned young, long before I knew what to call it. Dissociation, drifting, zoning out—whatever word you choose, it’s the same sensation: I vanish while the world continues on, steady and unbothered. But then something unexpected happens. A moment pierces the moment. Maybe it’s sunlight hitting my face just right or laughter I didn’t plan to enjoy. And I gasp. It’s small, almost private—like my soul startled me by returning. I gasp, and then I grasp. I reach for the world, for myself, for the blessing I almost missed. Gratitude, for me, is not a polished habit. It’s not journaling in perfect handwriting or whispering thanks before bed. It’s mor...