I used to think gratitude was something you felt only when life handed you a big, beautiful moment. Something rare. Special. Something that arrived like a tidal wave — overwhelming for a split second before disappearing again.
For years, the only moments I remembered feeling “truly grateful” were the epic ones. The big wins. The high-emotion peaks. The fireworks.
Anything smaller? My system barely registered them.
Part of it was cultural wiring. I grew up in a world where humility wasn’t a virtue — it was a requirement. Praise was something you brushed off at lightning speed, like catching a hot coal. You didn’t bask in appreciation; you dodged it. You dimmed your light so you wouldn’t “call in the wind.” You hid your gifts so you wouldn’t stand out. You deflected kind words because taking them in felt almost… dangerous.
My gratitude muscle was there, of course. I knew what gratitude meant. I felt appreciation. I just didn’t know how to let it land.
And so, in my younger years, gratitude showed up like a rare guest — someone who knocked loudly, stayed for a moment, then left before I could even sit them down.
The decade-long rewiring I didn’t realise was happening
Somewhere between 10 and 15 years ago, I started a gratitude journal. Like most people, it began as a self-improvement habit. A discipline. A box to tick.
I kept going. Not perfectly, but faithfully enough that a rhythm formed.
And slowly — so slowly I didn’t notice — something began to shift.
What started as discipline became devotion. What started as a list became a doorway. What started as a practice became part of how I meet myself every day.
The biggest transformation wasn’t in what I wrote down… It was in my body. My nervous system. My capacity to receive.
From “I’m grateful for what happened today” → “I’m grateful before anything even begins.”
This was the moment I realised something big had happened inside me.
I no longer needed a dramatic event to feel grateful.
I could wake up and feel it immediately — before my mind said anything logical.
Grateful for a restorative sleep. Grateful for the warmth of my tea. Grateful for sunshine pouring into the kitchen. Grateful for breath. Grateful for the subtle sensation of being alive.
And the more I let these tiny moments matter, the bigger they felt.
They stopped being “small things” and started feeling like the pillars of a beautiful life.
The amplitude of gratitude expanded — from sharp spikes into long, steady waves that carried me throughout the day.
The unexpected by-product: learning to receive
This still surprises me.
As gratitude expanded, so did my ability to receive praise, appreciation, kindness — from myself and from others.
The shame disappeared. The guilt dissolved. That reflexive shrinking stopped.
I stopped dodging compliments. Stopped minimizing my gifts. Stopped playing small to make others comfortable.
And without forcing anything… I became more generous.
More giving, more open-hearted, more me.
People started reflecting that back to me: “You make me feel seen.” “You’re so generous with your presence.” “Your work is such a gift.”
And this time… I didn’t run from the spotlight. I let their words land.
That was my full-circle moment.
Gratitude didn’t just make me appreciative. It made me receptive. It made me expansive. It made me capable of being the generous, wholehearted person I always knew I was.
Looking back, I realise something simple and profound
Gratitude wasn’t a moral practice. It wasn’t a good-vibes habit. It wasn’t a mindset technique.
It was nervous system re-patterning. It was identity evolution. It was the quietest undoing of generations of “stay humble, don’t shine, don’t receive too much.”
It taught me that the biggest moments in life aren’t always the loud ones. Sometimes they’re the way you breathe in the morning. The way you receive a compliment. The way you notice the sun on your skin. The way you let yourself feel loved.
And if I’m grateful for anything this season — it’s this:
That gratitude has moved from a list… to a lens… to a way of being.
