Let’s talk about gratitude. That word. That well-meaning, overly polished, sunbeam-through-the-clouds kind of word that makes some of us want to scream into a pillow. Or throw that pillow out the window. Especially when life feels like a chaotic Netflix drama, and someone chirps, “Just be grateful!”
Ugh.
If your internal response when you hear people talking about gratitude is a sudden and inexplicable rage, you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re not a bad person. You’re just human. And you might be—just possibly—in the middle of a very real, very raw season of life where things are falling apart like a badly made IKEA shelf. Been there. Cried there. Got the soggy tissues to prove it.
Gratitude Isn’t a Bypass for Real Emotions
There was a time in my life when every room I walked into had some sort of gratitude sign staring at me—on the walls, cushions, mugs. At first, I thought I was being all intentional and mindful. And sometimes, yes, I’d pause, take a deep breath, and appreciate the roof over my head, the steam from my chai, my dog Samosa snoring on the sofa. But other days?
I’d glare at those signs and think: Grateful for what, exactly? The chaos? The chronic pain? The way my heart feels like it’s been through a blender? Nah mate. Not today.
Let me be blunt: you do not have to be grateful for the crap. You don’t have to write, “I’m grateful my back hurts and my adult children are ignoring me” in a pastel bullet journal. That’s toxic positivity in a glittery outfit.
And still… somehow, almost annoyingly, the science is right. Gratitude does help. It rewires the brain, soothes the nervous system, and nudges us out of spirals of despair. Even if it’s just a tiny shift—a flicker in the gloom.
When Gratitude Creeps in Uninvited
Gratitude doesn’t always arrive with fairy lights and inspirational quotes. Sometimes, it sneaks up like a quiet house guest. I’m not talking about being thankful for big, life-changing stuff. I’m talking about the noticing.
The sharp, sweet smell of mangoes from the kitchen. The flicker of sunlight through rain-splattered windows. The warmth of the shawl I picked up in Simla, wrapping around my shoulders on a damp morning in London.
Gratitude is in the details. Not the grand gestures. Not the Instagram captions.
I remember one especially grey weekend—emotionally, hormonally, and literally grey—I was scribbling in my journal. I wasn’t writing anything deep or poetic. I was just rambling about how crap I felt. But halfway down the page, I found myself writing: I’m glad I still write. I’m glad I still care enough to write.
It wasn’t forced. It was a tiny sliver of honesty in a sea of self-pity. And that, my darlings, was gratitude.
When Life Gives You Sawdust (Or Something Like It)
Speaking of less-than-glamorous gratitude… let’s chat about last weekend.
It was my bestie Jaishree’s birthday, so we met up in Sloane Square to do what three food-obsessed adults do best: eat. The farmer’s market was buzzing, smells wafting from every direction, each more delicious than the last. Honestly, it took us nearly an hour just to pick what to eat (don’t judge)
We finally settled on something amazing and tucked ourselves under a lovely big tree to eat. Pure joy. Until…
Cue the allergy apocalypse.
Suddenly, my throat felt like it had been sandpapered. My eyes? So itchy I wanted to pop them out and dunk them in cold milk. Jaishree and Rakesh were both spluttering beside me. It was like some invisible pollen monster had dropped a glitter bomb of allergens from the heavens.
Turns out this happens every spring, like clockwork for a week. I’ve lived in London how long? And no one warned me?
We still managed to have a cracking day. The Saatchi & Saatchi Gallery was stunning, seriously magical. One of the rooms had dried flowers hanging from the ceiling like some sort of enchanted woodland. We met fascinating people, had deep chats, laughed till our ribs hurt. It was lush.
Was I grateful for the pollen? No. Still not. Never will be. But I was grateful for the whole messy, hilarious, itchy experience. That blend of connection, art, laughter—and even a little suffering, makes a memory stick. I spent four days recovering from the aftermath. Migraines where I wore a scarf like a turban wrapped so tightly to stop my head from exploding and my eyes from popping out of my head.
Practising Gratitude Without Pretending
If you’ve ever sat in a self-help workshop or read a wellness blog that said, “List three things you’re grateful for every day and your life will change”, and rolled your eyes, same.
I’m not here to sell you that. (Although it’s a good practice to get into.)
But what I do suggest is this: notice. That’s it. Noticing is the doorway. Notice how the chai tastes today. Notice the sensation of your feet touching the ground. Notice that your neighbour smiled at you or that the bus arrived on time.
The noticing turns down the volume on everything screaming for your attention; bills, heartbreak, unfinished laundry and gently reminds you that you’re alive. Noticing isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s about realising that even in the muck, there’s still texture, still colour, still you.
Gratitude for the Grumpiest Days
There are days I feel like a walking contradiction. Life coach who tells people to journal, breathe, meditate… while also muttering “piss off” at a motivational quote stuck to my mirror. But guess what?
That’s honest. That’s real life.
Gratitude isn’t about being cheerful all the time. It’s about holding space for the full messy human experience. It’s crying in your car and still noticing how good the seat warmers feel. It’s swearing at the injustice and then watching a dog chase its tail and laughing like a loon.
It’s realising, “I’m still here. I’m still feeling. I’m still me.”
And that, my loves, is a quiet kind of miracle.
A Gentle Invitation for Your Weekend
As we head into the weekend, I invite you, not command you, to gently notice. Not to force gratitude like it’s homework, but to let it find you where you already are.
Maybe it’s the smell of fresh toast. The taste of your mum’s dal. The hug you didn’t know you needed. The sound of laughter echoing down the street.
You don’t have to feel grateful for everything. But you might find something to be grateful for within everything.
Even the sneezes. Even the scratchy throat. Even the chaos.
That’s not toxic positivity. That’s resilient, messy, deeply human gratitude.
Happy sneezing—I mean, happy weekend ?
With love, noticing, and a little side of antihistamines,
Bhupi x
