Gratitude, Even Here

Holding gratitude in the midst of heartbreak and healing

It’s taken me a minute to return to what brings me peace and joy.

Writing has always been my balm—my safe place. I remember, even as a little girl, gravitating toward writing and praying on the page when things felt uneasy. I still have journals and journals filled with reflections, connections, and pleas for clarity and direction. Reading them now breaks my heart a little—but in those moments, writing brought me calm.
It brought me peace.

After sharing one of the most horrifying experiences our family has ever endured, I found myself in what I can only describe as a vulnerability hangover. You know the feeling—like the time you overshared personal drama with a colleague at the coffee machine, or accidentally revealed far too much about your last date to a stranger on the other side of a dating app.

We’ve all been there, right?

After that, I needed space.

For over a week, I pondered how to follow those posts. I had a running list of essay ideas—fifteen, maybe twenty deep—but none of them felt right.
Nothing settled.
Nothing stayed.

And then, this morning, the next step became crystal clear:

Gratitude.

Over the past few years—through divorce, healing, and the humbling experience of midlife—I’ve become deeply, unexpectedly grateful.
Grateful in ways I never could have accessed before.

I’m grateful for a marriage that fell apart.
For selling my house.
For the time my boys spend with their dad, giving me space to rediscover myself.

And I’m especially grateful for the quiet moments with my boys—when it’s just the three of us, navigating uncertainty and chaos together, doing the best we can with what we have.

This past week, I’ve felt the dark fangs of depression trying to pull me under. That wouldn’t surprise anyone. It would make perfect sense. But instead of letting it take the wheel, I’ve been choosing gratitude—sometimes intentionally, sometimes moment by moment.

I’m thankful for every chance I get to connect with Carter, even when it never feels like enough.
I’m grateful for a supportive partner who loves me deeply in the throes of life’s unexpected chaos.
I’m grateful that Carter is safe—and that we’ve all had time to breathe, to steady ourselves, to begin healing.

Gratitude doesn’t erase the hard things.
It doesn’t pretend everything is okay.

But it does change how my mind and body hold them.
It grounds me.
It softens the edges.
It gives my mental health something solid to land on when everything else feels uncertain.

I’m grateful for the next steps—whatever they may be—trusting they’ll carry us into an unknown future.

And somehow, I’m grateful for that, too.

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What about you?
What moments have sparked gratitude in your life lately?
How do you make room for both joy and pain to exist side by side?

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-Maria