Gratitude Isn’t a Fucking Chore: Finding Thanks When Life Feels Like a Lot

Let’s be honest — “gratitude” has been over-marketed into something that can make even the most self-aware woman roll her eyes.

You’ve seen it: the pastel journals, the “good vibes only” posts, the influencers telling you to just be grateful when your nervous system is screaming.

Gratitude, for many anxious women, can start to feel like a performance — another item on the self-care checklist. Another way to prove you’re “handling it well.”

But what if gratitude isn’t supposed to be a daily performance?
What if it’s a quiet, unpolished practice — one that lives right alongside the exhaustion, the anger, and the not-knowing?

The Gratitude Trap

When life falls apart — the breakup, the job loss, the trauma, the complete dismantling of who you thought you were — gratitude is often the last thing that comes to mind.

You’re in survival mode, managing the logistics of pain.
Your brain is trying to make sense of what’s next while your body is still in shock from what just happened.

And then someone chirps, “At least you have so much to be grateful for.”
You might want to throw your gratitude journal through a window.

Here’s the truth: gratitude can’t be forced.
It’s not a moral obligation or a spiritual flex.
It’s something that grows naturally once the nervous system starts to settle — once the urgency fades enough to make room for reflection.

And when it’s real, gratitude isn’t about denying the hard shit. It’s about noticing what still exists alongside it.

The Messy Middle

Gratitude, in real life, doesn’t sound like a Hallmark card.
It sounds like:

“I’m still anxious as hell, but I’m grateful my body got me through today.”
“I’m grateful that even after everything fell apart, I still know how to laugh.”
“I’m grateful for the people who showed up, and I’m learning to bless the ones who didn’t.”

This is the kind of gratitude that doesn’t erase pain — it makes space for it.
It’s not neat, it’s not curated, and it doesn’t demand that you “look on the bright side.”

Instead, it says: both things can be true.
You can be grieving and grateful.
Lost and thankful.
Tired and still aware of small beauty.

For the Anxious Mind

If you live with anxiety, your brain isn’t wired to notice gratitude easily.
It’s wired to spot danger, anticipate loss, and manage control.

When you try to force gratitude in that state, it can feel fake — like you’re gaslighting yourself into calm.

But gratitude doesn’t need to be a lightning bolt of joy. It can be subtle — more like a low hum in the background than a choir of angels.

For example:

• You notice the way your coffee smells in the morning before your brain starts its chaos loop.

• You take a deep breath and it actually lands.

• You realize you didn’t need to overexplain your “no” today.

That’s gratitude too — the grounded, nervous-system version.

The Childfree Layer

For many childfree women, the holidays and “season of gratitude” can feel especially weird.
Every commercial, family gathering, and social feed screams about legacy, family, and giving back to the kids.

And yet, your life — the one you chose intentionally, the one you’re still shaping — doesn’t always fit those narratives.

So gratitude, for you, might look different.

It might sound like:

“I’m grateful that I get to rest when I need to.”
“I’m grateful that my time is my own.”
“I’m grateful that I can nurture without losing myself.”

There’s nothing selfish about that.
This is your version of gratitude — one that honors your boundaries, your energy, your peace.

You don’t have to contort it into a shape that looks like someone else’s idea of fulfillment.

Rebuilding Gratitude After Burnout

When burnout hits — that deep, soul-level depletion that goes beyond tired — gratitude often feels impossible.
You might even resent the idea of it.

That’s okay. You don’t owe anyone a positive spin on your exhaustion.

But eventually, as you rebuild, gratitude can become a kind of scaffolding.
Not a cure-all, but a way of re-grounding yourself in what’s still steady beneath the rubble.

Start small.
Not “I’m grateful for everything I’ve learned.” (that’s too big.)
Try:

• “I’m grateful that I survived this far.”

• “I’m grateful that I’m learning what I don’t want.”

• “I’m grateful for this tiny spark of curiosity that hasn’t gone out.”

Gratitude doesn’t have to be profound. It just has to be real.

The Trauma Lens

If you’ve been through something big — trauma, loss, sudden change — gratitude often gets tangled up in guilt.
You might think, I should be grateful it wasn’t worse.
Or, I should be thankful for the lessons.

But trauma doesn’t owe you meaning right away.
You don’t have to skip straight to gratitude to prove you’re healing.

What if gratitude could exist after the processing, not instead of it?
What if it’s what grows naturally in the cracks, once you’ve stopped forcing growth?

That’s what real post-traumatic growth looks like — not silver linings, but softening.
Gratitude as a byproduct of integration, not denial.

How to Practice Gratitude That Doesn’t Feel Fake

Forget morning lists and sticky notes. Try something quieter:

• Name the anchor, not the outcome.
  Instead of “I’m grateful I got the job,” try “I’m grateful I showed up for myself.”
  Gratitude for self-trust lasts longer than gratitude for circumstance.

• Let it live in your body.
  Gratitude isn’t just cognitive — it’s physical. Notice what it feels like when something good happens: your shoulders drop, your breath deepens, your chest softens. That’s the moment to pause.

• Stop forcing the good.
  You can’t gratitude your way out of discomfort.
  Let the hard stuff exist without rushing to fix it. That’s the paradox: the more permission you give for the messy emotions, the more naturally gratitude starts to surface.

The Real Point of Gratitude

Gratitude isn’t about being positive. It’s about being present.
It’s about noticing what hasn’t been taken, what’s still here, what’s quietly sustaining you even when nothing feels certain.

It’s about saying:

“This isn’t how I pictured it… but I’m still here.”

That’s enough. That’s grace.
That’s what rebuilding actually looks like.

So this season — whether you’re surrounded by noise or solitude — don’t force the thanks. Just notice what’s true.

Maybe it’s your morning coffee.
Maybe it’s your dog snoring.
Maybe it’s the fact that, after everything, you still believe in your own possibility.

That’s gratitude.
Not the kind that looks pretty on Instagram — the kind that rebuilds your soul from the inside out.

Holidays can be really fucking hard… be gentle with yourself and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need a little extra support.