Gratitude has a way of reshaping the way we see the world.
Most of us are blessed beyond measure, though we rarely stop long enough to
truly feel it. We have food on our tables, a place to rest our heads, and
people who love us. Some live in abundance, others in simplicity—but all of us
have something to be thankful for. The real question is: how often do we pause
to notice?
Each day, I try to find at least one thing that fills me
with gratitude. Some days, it’s as big as the freedom I enjoy as an
American—the ability to speak my mind, to dream, to pursue what I love. Other
days, it’s as small and simple as a warm cup of coffee that brews in under two
minutes. Gratitude doesn’t ask for grandeur; it only asks for awareness.
When I first began reflecting on gratitude after my brain
injury, I struggled to find reasons to be thankful. But the deeper I looked,
the more blessings I uncovered. Before my injury, I had only a handful of close
friends. Now, I have a community so rich and full that my greatest challenge is
finding time to see everyone. That is a gift I do not take lightly.
My brain injury also gave me something unexpected—a new way
of seeing the world. Where others get tangled in the complexity of a problem, I
often see a simple, elegant solution hiding in plain sight. It’s as if life
slowed down just enough for me to notice what others miss. In a world addicted
to overthinking, that feels like a quiet superpower.
And then there’s the gift I never expected to be grateful
for: I don’t always catch sarcasm anymore. Once upon a time, I took everything
to heart—every offhand remark, every joke at my expense. Now, the sharp edges
of words often pass right over me, leaving me with peace instead of pain. What
once might have wounded me now simply floats away.
Don’t mistake me—there is nothing glamorous about a brain
injury. It comes with daily struggles, moments of deep frustration, and endless
lessons in patience and humility. But even in the midst of the hard days,
gratitude shines through. Because when I take the time to truly see what I
have—to count what’s right instead of what’s wrong—I realize I have far more
blessings than burdens.
Happiness, after all, isn’t found in the absence of
struggle. It’s found in the quiet decision to be thankful anyway.
And that, perhaps, is the most powerful healing of all.
