Gratitude When It’s Tough

There’s something about being at the beach that makes gratitude feel easy.

Watching the sun melt into the ocean at the end of the day. Waking up to the sound of waves outside the window. Feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin and realizing, for a moment, how beautiful life can feel when you slow down enough to notice it.

During vacation, gratitude seemed to come naturally.

It felt light. Simple. Almost effortless.

I would do the traditional 'check in with my mood' and the levels were always positive.

(sigh) the beach life...

And then we came home.

Not long after, we took our sweet Luna to the vet because something didn’t seem right.

As we waited for answers, I held tightly to hope.

I prayed and bargained with God. Certainly he would hear me.

I imagined the relief I would feel hearing: “It’s nothing. She’s going to be okay.”

In my mind, I thought of what gratitude looked in like that moment.

The kind that comes after fear passes. After the hard news turns into good news. After life unfolds the way we desperately want it to.

I had the blog all in my head, waiting to be written out. Maybe it would be about how prayers are answered, or even positive thoughts create positive outcomes....all triple dipped in sugar coating......

But that’s not the news we received.

Instead, we learned, Luna has multiple masses in her body.

And suddenly gratitude, just two weeks after that family beach vacation, feels harder to find.

Tears are rolling...as they should....and this doesn't feel 'good' at all.

I think many of us associate gratitude with happy outcomes.

With healing. Relief. Good endings. Answered prayers.

But what happens when life doesn’t unfold the way we hoped?

What happens when your heart hurts and uncertainty settles in?

That’s the kind of gratitude I’ve been thinking about today.

Not the loud kind. Not the picture-perfect kind.

But the quieter kind that exists alongside grief.

The kind that says: This hurts… and I’m still grateful for the love.

Because even in heartbreak, there are still things to hold gently.

I’m grateful for every moment Luna and I have spent together from the day we rescued her and her sister. For every morning she greeted me. Every comfort she gave without saying a word. Every ordinary moment that now feels sacred because we, as a family, know how deeply she is loved.

Sometimes gratitude isn’t overflowing joy.

Sometimes it’s simply recognizing the beauty of something while also knowing it is fragile.

Maybe that’s what love really is.

Not avoiding pain…but allowing yourself to fully cherish someone anyway.

Life is tender that way.

The beach sunsets were beautiful. But so is this quiet moment beside Luna while she rests peacefully at home. Thank you God for this blessing and opportunity.

Different kinds of gratitude. Different kinds of love.

Both real.

And maybe gratitude when it’s tough isn’t about pretending everything is okay.

Maybe it’s about softening enough to still notice what matters, even in the middle of heartbreak.

That my friend, is the grace; grace with gratitude.

Our Luna💗

'Perfectly Imperfect'

So, Christmas of 2016, it seemed that things were just 'off'. Cookies didn't turn out. Lights were flickering. The Christmas tree actually fell over in the living room.

We jokingly said the holiday was "perfectly imperfect". Honoring the fact that nothing always goes as planned all of the time.

And, ironically enough, that was the New Years my sister was killed in a car accident.

It was like the universe was preparing us for the worst; bits at a time, until life came crashing down.....I'll hold that blog for another time.....💗

But, this last week, while we were at the beach, this phrase came back to me while spending time collecting shells along the shoreline.

Some were smooth and whole, shaped perfectly by the ocean. Others were worn, chipped, faded, or cracked in places from years of being tossed by the waves.

At one point, my husband picked up a shell with a noticeable chip in it and was about to throw it back.

And without even thinking, I said:

“No, why would you toss that down… it’s perfect. Perfectly imperfect.”

Later, I kept thinking about that moment.

How often do we do the exact opposite with ourselves?

We notice the worn places first. The cracks. The things we wish were different.

We carry so much pressure to hold everything together, to look 'good', hide the belly that the years may have brought on, stand taller, to be productive, to keep up. And somewhere along the way, many of us quietly begin believing that unless we are whole, polished, or “fixed,” we are somehow less valuable.

But the truth is…

The shell was still beautiful.

It's chip didn’t take away its worth. If anything, it told part of its story.

And maybe we’re not so different.

As humans, we all carry marks from life: loss, heartbreak, stress, disappointment, change, disease, grief, fear, survival.

None of us. None. Of. Us. I want to emphasize this. None of us move through life untouched by the waves. Let that sink in.

And yet we spend so much energy trying to hide the very things that make us human.

What if our imperfections are not proof that we are broken?

What if they are evidence that we have lived, adapted, endured, and continued on?🥹

There is something deeply healing about letting go of the idea that we have to become perfect before we are worthy of rest, love, joy, or healing.

Because maybe healing isn’t about becoming flawless.

Maybe it’s about learning to see ourselves with more compassion.

The chipped places. The tired places. The tender places.

All still worthy. All still beautiful.

Perfectly imperfect.

Food For Thought:

Maybe the parts of yourself you’ve been trying hardest to hide are the very parts that deserve the most compassion.

What if you stopped seeing yourself as broken and not enough… and started seeing yourself as human? You are perfect; perfectly imperfect. 🐚

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A Gentler Return

I got back from a beach vacation recently, and every time I come home from a trip like that, I notice the same thing:

Part of me wants to hold onto the slower pace a little longer.

The quiet mornings.

The walks without rushing.

The feeling of breathing more deeply without even realizing it.

And then “real life” comes back in.

The laundry. The emails. The pressure to catch up on everything immediately.

It’s so easy to slip right back into pushing ourselves.

But this time, I’m trying something different.

Instead of rushing back into productivity, I’m choosing a gentler return.

Not because I’m lazy. Not because I’m unmotivated.

But because I’ve realized that constantly forcing ourselves back into overdrive doesn’t actually create balance ~it creates exhaustion.

Sometimes we need a moment to transition.

To carry a little of that softness back home with us.

Maybe that looks like:

• starting the morning more slowly 🧘‍♀️

• saying no to unnecessary pressure 🚫

• drinking your coffee before grabbing your phone ☕

• letting yourself ease back into routine instead of attacking it 🌄

  
  

Small things.

And, those small things, shape how we feel.

I think many women are carrying more than they even realize. And because we’re so used to functioning at a high level, we often don’t notice how depleted we are until we finally slow down.

Then the contrast becomes obvious.

That doesn’t mean we need to escape our lives.

It may simply mean we need to live them differently.

More gently. More intentionally. More honestly.

So if you’re returning from a busy season, a vacation, or even just a hard week…

this is your reminder that you do not have to rush back into everything all at once.

A gentle return is still a return. 💛