The thing I am most grateful for in life
is life itself
my life. this life. me.
this may seem obvious, mundane, oversimplified
but not for me
I have anxiety,
depression,
complex PTSD,
and BPD
I always sort of shrugged at the anxiety;
worry is my natural state
and it always has been
it’s all I’ve ever known
but the depression, the PTSD, the BPD-
those came with time and unfortunate circumstances
the way they blend together and feed off of each other;
the fight is three against one and seems unfair

The little me in the photographs
she stares back at me so innocently
so timid and scared, so wholesome
she has no idea about all of the trauma that’s coming her way
she is going to face abuse and neglect
everyday for the next couple of decades
and this will shape her forever
I am grateful for this version of myself
because she got me through the hardest time of my life
I talk about her in the third person
because I never felt connected to past versions of myself
but especially the littlest version
I had to cope with too much back then;
I repressed so much of it
now I can’t remember huge chunks of my life
but they were too painful to experience the first time around
without having to carry the burden of memory, too

I neglected myself for most of my life,
never stopping to ask what I wanted or needed,
only concerned with pleasing others so I could survive
my default setting was a blank slate
ready to be molded into whatever the other person expected from me
this was conditioned in me
I was groomed to be the perfect victim
for anyone who wanted to control someone else;
a plague that would follow me well into my adult years
ignoring myself became so normal that I forgot who I am,
or maybe I never knew at all,
I was never given the space to find out
(hence the BPD)

I looked death in the eyes that summer
depression dared me to
BPD agreed
PTSD instigated
and I gave in
they convinced me that my life is worthless
and that I am a burden
how are they so good at that?
the overdose felt like a slow death
eventually I passed out
I don’t know how long I was unconscious for
definitely hours, maybe days
when I woke up and realized I was still alive
I was fucking pissed
I was immediately prepared to try again
I can’t really explain exactly what changed, or when, or why
recovery was a slow, excruciating process that I didn’t want to participate in
I guess I learned how to participate anyways
little by little, one step at a time
and the pain started to feel a little less intense, a little less often
so to be able to say today that I am grateful for this life
it is an accomplishment,
one that only came after a long and gruesome recovery process

I am grateful for the version of myself
that packed up all of my things
and moved out of my toxic environment
not once, not twice, but three times
in order to save myself
I am grateful for the version of me
that went to therapy for six years;
the version that took the time
to stare at all of my trauma,
find its roots,
and pour love into them
the way I always deserved
I unlearned a lifetime of self hatred
and as a 23 year old woman
I began to learn how to take care of myself
and maybe even grow to love myself

It has been a long, tiresome journey to this place of gratitude
I could never see a future for myself before
but now I’m starting to
so this is what I mean when I say I am grateful for my life
and I am grateful for myself
I’m grateful for all the different versions of me
that had to exist in order to carry me through
a lifetime of trauma and neglect
I got myself through everything
the world had to throw at me
without ever letting it take away my softness
or my hope for the possibility of something better
the fact that I am alive today is a privilege
and that is what I am most grateful for
I am grateful to simply be alive and to be me

A Thankless Act

I contemplate—
in a grateful state—
where to give thanks.

And it’s not long before
little me
is all I can hear and see.

Bursting with glee,
she decrees:

Wendy and Peter Pan,
Neverland,
those who lend a helping hand,
those not afraid
to take a stand.

Pen in hand,
flow-state
is where I land—
filled with child-liked wonder,
and free of fears I’ve shunned her.

A poem—
this poem—

slowly begins to take its form.
Its words are ones of warmth
that lull her,
hug her—
keep her safe from all-the-world’s thunder.

And it’s reading
better than planned.

But in truth,
I’m grateful for it all—
the planned and unplanned.

For every version of me
I’ve met firsthand.

Me when I’m mad,
but what I really am is sad.
Me when I’m glad
that someone tried to understand

rather than write me off
as “bad.”

The ability to feel—
a chance to heal
and give to myself
the gift of being real.

Grateful,

for the voice inside my head—
the one I used to dread.

Oh, we’d go head-to-head.
And if you asked my heart
to tell you the worst part,

it’d say
that there was nowhere to hide.

Hard to believe that nowadays,
that voice is on my side.
So, I’m happy-er inside.

Because grateful is what I am
for the will to survive,
thrive,
and come alive
that it’s instilled in ‘we’.

Today,
it supports the best version of me—
wants for me to get ahead,
does things like remind me when it’s time for bed.

Swoops in on a rope
when I’m short on hope,
when I’m hanging by a thread.

But most of all…

what I’m most grateful for…
is every decision
I can call mine—
those made by me
and me
Alone.

The ones I own.

For to them,
I owe this home—
the home
that is
she.

The only place I’m truly, finally
free.

What am I grateful for?
Often I feel shameful for not feeling more grateful for my disability
I am grateful to the Higher Power
For instilling the motivation and strength
Recognizing how I can use my disability
Sometimes I make myself feel dizzy
Trying to figure out why me
he chose to be looked at differently
I never think I will fully love my disability
Because I do wish my disability wasn’t something you can see
But when I look at my life now
I am trying to see something new
The good in why he chose me
Being one of the people whose disability you can see
So you see
There is a responsibility
To encourage others to see
We all have a “disability”
I don’t want self-pity
I just want people to understand that
“Your disability” just maybe
Your greatest ability
Thank you higher power
And everyone that supports me!

When I first started attending alcoholics anonymous (AA) meetings, something I heard a lot of people say in their introduction was that they were a grateful alcoholic. I couldn’t understand why someone would be grateful to be cursed with this disease. It destroyed my life, my relationships, my will to live. Why on earth would anyone be grateful to go through life with this sickness? It wasn’t until I had a relapse that sent me to such a deep rock bottom, that I had to fully surrender myself to the program. Once I did so I started to push myself out of my comfort zone, making friends, showing up consistently to the same meetings, developing a relationship with my higher power and giving my all to the twelve steps. This is when I started to see the promises of the program coming true. My fear of the world, failure, rejection and judgement started dissipating. My heart started opening up again and it made space for true connection. I learned how to be vulnerable and share the things I held in so deeply with shame in the past. I have developed so much gratitude for this life of recovery. I understand now what it means to be a grateful recovering alcoholic. If I never had this disease I would never have met the beautiful souls I have in my life today. I would never have gone to the depths of my soul and discovering who I truly am underneath all of my fears and pain. I would never have felt the connection of such a powerful, loving and accepting community. AA is my family and I am so grateful to have been led here through my struggles.

To the songs that soothe our souls—
Birds, who give voice to the dust on butterfly wings,
that set flight to hearts that weigh more, in life,
than this human body can bring

To the women, who hold me in their arms—
Mothers whose love gives birth to all others,
their lips, dripping with truths we crave to read
in the lies of men that can’t, who weren’t made to, bleed.

To the love rising from the ashes within me,
turning dust to nectar, nourishing
petals that sprout, even through fallen leaves.

To the mind, that relentless dynamo,
that wonders, even as I slumber.

To these hips I haven’t mastered
how to shake, that I call home.

To these hardy bones
I fear to break, that I know one day
will wither away.

To these eyes, I know
take me deeper
inside

To the true me, myself, and I,
I’ve always known.

To the one who reads these words,
a reflection, a shadow

That, beneath a fruit tree
already lived and died
longer than

You, or me,
an extension of interconnection,
sparks that lead us back to one eternal flame
from which we all light, and delight,
in one another.

To the hands that type, these words
into a device that may one day enslave me

To pen and paper that cramps my hand,
an addictive catharsis that gives semblance to

This life, this foreign concept,
a system my brain can’t think itself free from,
a headache, a heartache, all at once
felt and embraced,
yet unbound.

For all of this,
I am grateful.

It was hard to be appreciative this year.
It is always hard to appreciate things in life when everything else becomes so heavy.
I think maybe gratitude is just a way to remain hopeful through despair;
to remind us that we should be glad that we even have the opportunity to feel those feelings and have experiences in the first place.

Over the past year I was thankful for a few things;
I was thankful that I got a new job,
that my mom let me move home,
that I am safe and healthy,
and I can confidently say I was and am thankful for my cat.
At the very least, I should probably be thankful that I am afforded the luxury of being able to not be super grateful.
I suppose every day that I am alive, living and breathing, I should be glad.

Although, I wasn’t the one that chose to be here.
I have to face responsibility that I did not ask for.
Truth be told, I don’t even choose to show up every day; some days I stay in bed and do nothing for myself.
A while ago I just decided that I have to keep myself alive and learn the lessons of life.

I wish I was more grateful.

Maybe if I was more gracious of the good things, I would also react better to the negatives.

This year I tried to force myself to be thankful even through the things that made me most uncomfortable:
the things that made my stomach churn, my heart ache, and left the corners of my eyes stained red.

I cannot be thankful for all of the negative things; I cannot be thankful for unkindness, pain, hardship, loss, and grief.
I do not want to find the good in every situation because sometimes things just suck.
I do not want to appreciate these things because I do not want to accept them.
Sure I wouldn’t feel so sad right now if I was able to trust the process.

How could I be glad that I don’t feel strong enough to accomplish any goals or that my family members are spending their nights sinking into depression?
I felt weak a lot.

If I was thankful for every obstacle I have faced, I fear that I might get used to living life in this way.
I don’t think I would learn as much.
I need to be uncomfortable.
I need to wonder ‘Why me?’

Apparently there is no good or bad way to live-
there are only our feelings, decisions, and lessons we leave with.

I am not grateful for the lessons I learn as I am experiencing them.

A person is not grateful for air when they are being held underwater.
Sure they want to breathe, but it is about the action, not the object.
It is about figuring out how to take a successful breath,
and only once a person is back above water, are they thankful for the air itself.
When a person is left underwater panic instills and the individual is only thinking about the fact that they need to get above the water, not about why.

I can’t imagine anyone in the middle of a crisis thinking ‘Wow I’m so glad to be here.’
So what is one to do when constantly living in a state of dysregulation?

I am suspicious that perhaps I am not finding pleasure or contentment because I am in the midst of one of those big life lessons;
the kind that you look back upon later and see the change it forced you to experience.
Am I supposed to be grateful now for the what’s to come later or am I allowed to be sad?
Can I pity the world and still oblige to gratitude and hope?

To be grateful is to express thanks and appreciate the benefits received.
I was not very grateful this year,
but I am thankful that I am able to grow;
grateful that I get to try again.
I am indebted to the world, but I have an obligation to myself.

‘She does not have to always be thankful for what has happened because sometimes she knows she deserves more, or at least she’s trying to,’ I often think.

I don’t want to be grateful just because I am told that I have to be.
I don’t want the people around me to think that their actions are okay because things can always be worse.
I might be cynical, but I know that life can be a little lighter.
I don’t want to be glad with what I do have just because some people have less than me,
I want everyone to have more.

My arms; they’re scrunched up to my sides as I thumb my way through this thought. We sleep in one big bed now. Our bed, we call it. As it turns out, sleepovers aren’t just for when you have company.

It’s a feeling.
It’s a spot.
It was a time.
It’s yet to come.
It’s in my daydreams.
It’s in my breath- coming in and out of my lungs.
It lives in a poem my heart rewrites every trip around the sun.
It lives at my grandmother’s kitchen table and in the hourly sounds her clock made.

Sometimes it’s my feet in the dirt.
Others it’s in low lighting, having tea with a friend.
It finds me when I’m well.
It guides me when I’m unwell.
It’s what I didn’t know I needed.
It’s what I don’t know how to ask for.
It is peace, when I’ve surrendered.
It is joy, after sorrow.
It is laughter, while I’m crying.
It is closing my eyes, then getting to open them again.

It is in the seasons.
Coming with the sun rising in the East
And going with the sun setting in the West.
It is fleeting.
It is ever so slow.
It is all of the seasons bound together.
It is my life.

That’s it!
I found it.
What am I most grateful for?
My life.
Their lives.
Your life.
All bound together-
All of our experiences.
It’s in the mundane.
It burrows itself in my sorrow, just to bloom again with time.

It is my fear unmasked.
It is the ebb and flow.
It’s every year wiser.
It is slowing down, just to speed up.
It’s in my friendships.
My jobs.
My family.
My passions.
My failures.
My pain.
It is worth all of it, all over again just to feel it again.
It is in who I was when I entered this world.
It is in who I am tucked into our family bed writing this poem.
It is me, alive.

It is D.) All of the above

A sweltering Florida night
A room full of twinkling starry lights
The blonde in the little black dress
In a crowd of strangers, looking to impress
A year of joy merged into one
That day my life had just begun
On August 28, 2021

Against all odds standing here
In the face of doubt, mistakes, and fears
Then suddenly my pain made worthwhile
By ocean eyes and a benevolent smile
The one who all the world shunned
In that moment became second to none
On August 28, 2021

Out of that kindness came a vow
To be something greater than I am now
To rise from the doldrums of my malaise
And become worthy of that glowing praise
A promise burns brighter than the sun
And I’ll remember until my life is done
That day, August 28, 2021

The sun sets and my heart floods
Colors of reds purples and blues
It breaks for the broken
And celebrates for the joyous
As I unwind from the deluge of the day

Little squeals of delight
echo from bedrooms down the hall
Pitter patter of feet
Carry loud laughter of little boys
into the living room where I sit

Laughter;
It’s a cashmere sweater cradling a broken heart
And for a moment it turns shoulder rocks into feathers
It’s a glimpse of light lessening the dark

It can be heard amongst happiness
And even grief.
Memories and regrets
Reminding us of the duality of the human experience

Without laughter, I could not endure this shattered world
So It is laughter for which I am grateful.

I know on paper I am your least favorable candidate to love your son, let alone marry him
Yet I can promise you, no one will ever love your son the way I did
I am white, with just a Bachelor’s degree working in the same medical practice as him
Yet I have studied every eyelash, laugh line, and beauty mark your son has
The way his energetic eyes are laser focused when he is listening to help heal someone else
The way his whole face brightens when he greets his patients
How his laugh fills up every room he is in and how it feels like a big hug to me
I know exactly where he is most ticklish and where to hold him when he needs support
I am not a part of your culture, I don’t speak your language and I am not religious
Yet, I worshiped and adored the ground your son walked on and not because an ancient holy text told me to but because I saw the way he worked miracles everyday
Even and especially on his worst days
How he cared for people so deeply and fully and taught me to do the same

I have so many unanswered questions for you
When was the first time he made you proud?
When was the first time he made you really angry?
Does his mischievous side, while driving you crazy, also help keep life exciting like it always did for me?
Who does he get his big, lively, beautiful, wondrous brown eyes from?
And does it warm your soul to see the way they widen when he speaks about something he’s passionate about?
And that he only ever gets angry on behalf of others and those less fortunate than him?
Did the first time you saw him cry make your whole body stiffen and realize just how much you really love him?
And that you would do anything to protect him from any kind of hurt? Even if it meant hurting yourself?
Did the first time you heard his laugh melt your heart like butter?
And make you wonder how you went your whole life and just now finding the most perfect sound?
Did it make you a lighter person because nothing feels as good as laughing with him?
Does it make you proud that he never lost that childish sense of humor?
How does it feel to know you created my favorite sound?
How does it feel to know you made my favorite everything in human form?

I don’t speak your language, celebrate the same religious holidays, or have the same lived experiences as you due the difference in our skin tones
Yet, I share so much of your son values that we swore we were soulmates

Our strong sense of family- how much we are both loved by family and how important it is to return that love
To remain idealistic and hopeful despite the difficulties of the world
Our ability to laugh nonstop at the same inside joke for 10 minutes that we cannot even look at each other without another bout of laughter powering through
Having felt the darkest depths of human emotion possible making us strive to be better humans everyday and to service others
To be a good person even and especially when no one is looking
That the person you think you have nothing to learn from, actually may have the most valuable wisdom
Being hopelessly indecisive yet still being sure we were in healthcare as a life calling for a reason- and we were meant to meet to each other
That nothing felt as good as when we first lay eyes on each other and saw the other person’s whole face light up
The naughty risk of eating chips and salsa in white bedding
Yearning for the simplest dream of having each other to come home to and take the day off with, to make a home within each other
How could such a simple dream be so forbidden?

We were both so fucking cruelly lucky and unlucky at the same time to have befriended each other and then fall deeply in love
At first a slow burn from colleague, to friendship, to companionship to falling deeply in love
Like a head on collision
We saw it coming but neither of us knew how to stop it or wanted to
I’ll never love someone as wholly and unconditionally as I love him- yes, in present tense

My world shattered when I laid in the same bed as him, the same bed we had just made love in and he said “you’re just not part of my world”

I instinctively grabbed his hand and we just laid there in silence
Looking at the same ceiling, laying in the same sheets
Hearing the same buzz of the city outside and feeling the same coolness from the window being propped open
We were both covered in goosebumps, our palm sweat was seeping into each other’s skin
My heart was pounding because I knew what he said was the truth
And he knew how painful it was for me to hear and he could never take it back
Because it was true
I was not a part of his world

It didn’t matter that every countertop, night stand, and mirror was littered with sticky notes of affectionate reminders of how much I adored him
Or that his fridge was full of healthy snacks and ice cream I had bought him
Or that he always had my favorite shirt of his, with all the beaches of Brazil, cleaned and the first shirt in his pajama drawer for me to run in and change into as soon as we were home for the night
Or that the steamer he uses everyday for his scrubs I got him
Or his favorite letter I ever wrote him which was one from Trader Joe’s and had the quote “You can’t stop the waves but you can learn to surf” lay in his nightstand underneath his “The Holy Geeta”
Or all the hopes and dreams and laughs and tears and more laughs and more hugging and embracing that we had
Nothing would change that I was not a part of his world

To you, I may have never been enough
Not educated enough
Not religious enough
Not cultured enough
Not well traveled enough
But I can promise you one thing, I loved your son with every fiber of my being
And I painstakingly always will
Even as he was telling me how it could never be me I was praying and illustrating the woman who it would be
Because as heart broken as I am the only thing more unimaginable is him never being fully happy and still being alone

He’s the cause of my biggest heartbreak, but he’s also one of the best things that ever happened to me
I am a fundamentally changed and better woman because I knew and loved him
I still pray for him everyday
I pray he finds his happiness and peace

More than anything else, I want to thank you
Thank you for choosing to bring him into this world, so if nothing else, even the chance of loving him was made possible because of you
I’ll never know you; but you made my favorite person
And that’s an even sadder love story
That despite this heartache I carry everyday, I’ll never be able to explain to you how grateful I am for him
How lucky I felt to know and love him

And even more than creating my favorite person
Being heartbroken by him has made me even more enamored with my own father
Who never told me who, what or why I had to pick a certain path
Who refused to see me cry, not because he felt I was too weak but because he refused to see his little hopeful, loving, unafraid girl be beaten down by this world
Who even as he saw me break apart to love your son, still had empathy for him because he, as a father, could not imagine telling his own children to walk away from someone who truly loved them just because they’re from a different culture
Thank you for reminding me how lucky I am to have a father who makes me feel exquisitely seen

A toast to the ones
Who attempted to crush my
Heart of diamonds.

A toast to the one
Who left me hanging without
A single answer.

A toast to the one
Who made me cry for sharing
A giggle or two.

A toast to the one
Who told me to know my place
And left me to drown.

A toast to the one
Who put their reputation
Before a best friend.

A toast to the one
Who loved me up to a point
And not forever.

A toast to the ones
Who’ve made me the toughest gem
Here on Planet Earth.