At some point in our lives, we’ve all been told to be grateful. For many in the United States, the observance of Thanksgiving serves as the most visible reminder to reflect on and celebrate gratitude. Indeed, the practice of setting aside specific days or times to give thanks for prosperity and wellbeing is a central custom in many societies and cultures. But why should we engage in this practice?
Given the uncertainty, injustice, and personal hardship we often face, prescriptions for gratitude can feel frustratingly out of touch. For those struggling with despair, being told to be thankful can seem like a directive to put a shallow veneer over real pain — one that avoids discomfiting others.
Does this mean that authentic gratitude is only possible in the absence of hardship? Not at all. As a feminist academic and social worker, I have seen firsthand how a grateful outlook can play a vital role in resilience and well-being. Figures like Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the Dalai Lama, and Thich Nhat Hanh exemplify this. Each of them bore witness to catastrophic violence inflicted upon their beloved communities, yet, without denying this suffering, they maintained a sense of gratitude in both their public and private lives.
The key element here is authenticity. True gratitude isn’t easy to emulate because more often than not, we are presented with poor models that distort its benefits. One of the most common misconceptions frames gratitude as an “expectation.” Consider the terms “ingrate” or “ungrateful,” often used to express disdain for those seen as entitled or unappreciative of another’s benevolence. Another inauthentic version is the manicured, overly sweet gratitude promoted by the wellness industry. These portrayals of gratitude are often hollow and can feel jarring, especially when we’re experiencing real physical, emotional, or financial distress.
Authentic gratitude doesn’t require us to ignore distress or to thank our executioners, as poet Solmaz Sharif acerbically notes in her poem Social Skills Training. Instead, it allows us to approach hardship with a quiet confidence that it is not all-consuming at all times. Authentic gratitude can be found in fleeting moments of relief or peace — those instances when, even in the midst of a fever, we savour the slight comfort of a sip of water or a cool spot on the pillow. It can infuse even the most quotidian of experiences like watching a plant, and transmuting it, opening our eyes to the wonder that even the smallest seed accomplishes so much with mere water, sunlight and soil.
A grateful outlook is simply a powerful attunement to these and other subtle moments of respite. Over time not only will we be surprised at the things that make us grateful but also the benefits compound tremendously as consistently taking a break from our mental churns to be fully present in a moment is rejuvenating. This, in turn, creates space in which we can choose to reflect deeply on our circumstances and core beliefs, understand how we can honor them, recognize what prevents us from doing so more often, and determine ways to address these barriers. This is perhaps why authentic gratitude is both powerful — it has the potential to open our eyes to what truly matters —and satisfying as it turns us away from all that does not. Such empowerment, to paraphrase Audre Lorde, is dangerous.
In this way, gratitude, at its best, leaves us feeling grounded and able to act in ways that lift ourselves and others without overlooking pain, discomfort, or inequality. Indeed, its purpose is to enable us to acknowledge these and help us work toward a better way forward. All of which is to say that gratitude shouldn’t be a checkbox on a wellness list but a grounding force that helps us become more compassionate human beings.