I think gratitude is one of the most underrated tools we have when it comes to our mental health. Not because it magically makes our problems disappear, but because it changes the way we experience them.
Gratitude can be found even in the hardest of circumstances. It doesn’t have to be for anything extraordinary, either. It can be for having family who support you, friends you can talk to, a job to go to, a roof over your head, food in your cupboards, clean drinking water, access to education or simply a safe place to sleep at night.
These are things many of us barely give a second thought to, yet they’re things millions of people around the world would give absolutely anything to have.
And I think sometimes, particularly when we’re struggling with our mental health, we can become so consumed by what is going wrong that we completely lose sight of everything that is going right.
This is particularly relevant when living with OCD.
OCD can be absolutely debilitating. I know that firsthand. It can make even the most ordinary parts of life feel unbearable. It can convince you that you’re in danger when you’re perfectly safe, rob you of your ability to enjoy the present moment and leave you feeling as though your entire existence revolves around your thoughts and feelings.
But consider something for a moment.
Imagine having OCD and having absolutely no idea what it is. No access to information, no understanding of intrusive thoughts, no resources to help you make sense of what’s happening in your mind.
Imagine having OCD while not knowing where your next meal is coming from.
Imagine experiencing relentless intrusive thoughts while desperately trying to work out how you’re going to feed or clothe your children.
Imagine having OCD while living in a war zone, where the dangers around you are very real, your home is no longer safe and your access to even the most basic necessities is uncertain.
For some people, these aren’t hypothetical situations. They’re their everyday reality.
And yet, here we are, with access to information, support, education and people who understand what we’re experiencing.
That alone is something worth recognising.
Our circumstances can almost always be worse. But more importantly, there can still be things worth appreciating within the circumstances we have.
Now, I want to make something very clear. Gratitude is not about dismissing your suffering. It’s not about telling yourself that you have no right to struggle because somebody else has it worse.
Two things can be true at once.
You can be experiencing something genuinely difficult, painful or frightening, and still recognise that there are beautiful things in your life.
You can wish your circumstances were different while appreciating what those circumstances have revealed to you.
You can feel sad, anxious, frustrated or overwhelmed without allowing those feelings to become the entire story of your life.
And that’s something I’ve been reflecting on a lot this past week.
As many of you know, I’ve recently undergone an adult tonsillectomy, and the recovery has been incredibly difficult. I’ve spent over a week almost entirely confined to my bed, in significant pain, struggling to eat, drink, swallow and even speak. I’ve been completely out of my normal routine and far more dependent on other people than I’m used to being.
There have been a couple of moments where I’ve started feeling a little sorry for myself.
And then, almost immediately, I’ve found myself laughing at the situation.
Because yes, I’ve been in pain. Yes, I’ve struggled. Yes, I’ve temporarily lost the ability to do many of the things I normally take for granted.
But look at everything I still have.
I have a job that brings me an enormous amount of joy. I’m incredibly passionate about what I do, and I get to spend my working days helping people through something that once nearly destroyed my own life. I work alongside people who genuinely care about me and have checked in on me every single day.
I’m recovering in my safe, warm home, tucked up in my comfortable bed.
I have family and friends who have helped me when I’ve needed them.
My daughter is healthy, happy and thriving.
I’m surrounded by books I can read, games I can play and television shows I can lose myself in.
I have access to medication when I’m in pain, clean water whenever I’m thirsty and food whenever I’m able to eat.
I don’t have to worry about whether I’ll be safe tonight. I don’t have to wonder whether my daughter will have something to eat tomorrow. I don’t have to fear losing my home while I’m recovering.
And when I really stop to consider all of that, I feel unbelievably fortunate.
My idea of a rough week would probably look like a bloody holiday camp to somebody living in entirely different circumstances.
That doesn’t mean my pain isn’t real. It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy being unwell or pretend that recovery has been easy.
It simply means my pain isn’t the only thing that’s real.
And I think that’s such an important distinction.
Because our minds have an extraordinary ability to narrow our attention when we’re suffering. We become hyperfocused on what we’ve lost, what we can’t do, what feels unfair and what we wish were different.
We start mentally collecting evidence for how difficult our lives are, often without realising that we’re doing it.
And the more we focus exclusively on those things, the bigger and more overwhelming they can begin to feel.
Gratitude gives us an opportunity to widen that perspective.
It encourages us to look beyond the immediate discomfort and recognise the bigger picture.
It reminds us that a difficult day doesn’t necessarily mean a difficult life. That an unpleasant experience doesn’t erase everything good around us. That we can be struggling in one area of our lives while being incredibly fortunate in others.
And this is where I think gratitude and rational thinking go hand in hand.
In REBT, we often talk about the difference between preferences and demands.
There’s a world of difference between saying:
“I really wish I wasn’t experiencing this. It’s difficult, uncomfortable and frustrating.”
And saying:
“This shouldn’t be happening to me. I can’t stand this. Everything is awful.”
The first acknowledges reality without turning it into something catastrophic.
The second adds an additional layer of suffering through the way we evaluate our circumstances.
Gratitude can help us challenge that second perspective. Not by forcing ourselves to feel positive, but by reminding ourselves that the difficult thing we’re experiencing is only one part of a much bigger picture.
And I think there’s something incredibly freeing about that.
Over the past week, I’ve genuinely felt richer than ever.
Not because anything particularly exciting has happened. Quite the opposite, actually.
But because being forced to stop has given me the opportunity to see just how beautiful my ordinary life really is.
The people who care about me. The home I’ve created. The relationship I have with my daughter. The work I love. The simple comforts I usually rush past without acknowledging.
Things that were already there, but that I wasn’t necessarily taking the time to appreciate.
And I think that’s one of the greatest gifts gratitude can give us.
It doesn’t necessarily change what we have.
It changes how much we recognise the value of what we already have.
Of course, gratitude isn’t a competition in suffering. You don’t have to compare your life to somebody experiencing unimaginable hardship to earn the right to appreciate it. And if you’re going through an incredibly dark period, struggling to feel grateful doesn’t make you ungrateful or mean you’re doing anything wrong.
Gratitude is something we can practise gently, without turning it into another obligation or another standard we have to meet.
Sometimes it’s simply asking ourselves:
What is still good in my life, even while this is difficult?
What am I taking for granted that somebody else might consider extraordinary?
What do I have today that a younger version of myself would have desperately wished for?
What can I appreciate without needing my circumstances to change first?
For me, particularly when I think back to the years I spent desperately unwell with OCD, that last question is incredibly powerful.
There was a time when I believed I needed my thoughts to disappear, my anxiety to stop and my mind to feel completely different before I could experience happiness or contentment.
Today, I understand that a meaningful life doesn’t require the absence of discomfort.
And this past week has been another beautiful reminder of that.
I’ve been in pain. I’ve been frustrated. I’ve been exhausted.
But I’ve also felt loved, supported, safe, fortunate and deeply grateful.
I don’t need every part of my life to be wonderful to recognise that my life, as a whole, is pretty wonderful.
And perhaps that’s the perspective we could all benefit from practising a little more often.
Not because our struggles don’t matter.
But because there’s so much more to our lives than the things we’re struggling with. ❤️