Practicing Gratitude After Losing Your Husband—Without Pretending Grief Is Gone
Your gratitude list doesn’t have to be beautiful.
It just has to be yours
I am happy I didn't crash while crying in the car.
I am grateful for my pillow.
Those are real lines from my gratitude list. If you were picturing pretty journals and tidy blessings, I want to clear that up right now.
I also know what the word gratitude can stir up when you're a widow. You may be thinking, Oh sure. Tell me how changing my thoughts is going to make me miss my husband less.
It won't. It hasn't. I still miss Gary.
Practicing gratitude after losing your husband isn't about being thankful for your loss or pretending life is okay when it isn't. For me, it became a small nightly practice that helped me notice what was still present in my life, even while I was grieving everything that had changed.
So I won't tell you gratitude takes the grief away. I'll tell you what it did instead, and how it started on some of the worst nights of my life.
The Hardest Part of Grief Was Going to Bed Alone
I had never lived alone. Ever.
After Gary died, every evening ended the same way: facing the bed alone again, trying to fall asleep in a house with no one else in it. I cried so hard that I threw up. Every night. I was exhausted, and I still couldn't sleep.
There was nothing comforting about my evenings. But I remembered something that had comforted me before.
I had been learning about gratitude long before Gary's last breath. 365 Thank Yous by John Kralik inspired me to express my appreciation to other people. Jon Gordon's books taught me about the energy I brought into each day. And I had found comfort in writing ten statements of gratitude every night.
So I decided to give it a try again.
My lists were not inspiring.
I am grateful for the house.
I'm glad I got through work.
I am grateful for my pillow.
Most nights, I just listed the names of my kids and grandkids. That was the best I had.
It felt like it was doing nothing
I want to be honest about this part, because you may already be here.
It felt like it was doing nothing. At all. So many nights, I wrote the same things.
Then one night, I wrote that I was grateful for a friend who had stopped by my office, and that we had laughed.
It was something new. After all those nights of the same list, I had found something new, and it felt surprising and wonderful.
My sorrow was still there. But I was beginning to notice what was there alongside it.
When I spend my time looking at what's missing, those missing pieces can fill my whole field of vision. And I was missing so much. I missed Gary. I missed our life together. I felt that absence everywhere.
The question I carried into each evening, What can I appreciate about this day?, didn't erase any of that. It gave me a fuller view. Abundance can be quiet, and sometimes it looks like a friend in your office doorway.
The day I put myself on the list
When I began working with my life coach, I had a goal: to learn to love myself.
I had to wrap my head around something. There wasn't going to be some specific day when I would finally, completely, love myself. It would only happen if I practiced, showing myself love a bit each day.
My first intentional step was to change my list. Each day, I would write five ways I was doing something good for me.
Those lists stayed the same for a long time.
I got out of bed.
I went to work.
I kept myself safe.
I ate real food today.
They may not look like much. But when you are carrying this much grief, they are not small things. They are effort, and for so long I hadn't been counting them.
I think we become so practiced at recognizing what others give that we overlook what we give ourselves. We get through a brutal day and never acknowledge what it took.
Over time, writing those lines helped me see myself in a more positive light. I found opportunities to offer myself grace. Night by night, I was learning to say, I appreciate that I did this for me.
What's on my list now
I still miss Gary. Some nights, there are tears. It's a new bed, but there is still a space that is supposed to be his.
I am grateful for those tears, because I have come to learn what they mean: Gary is still so very important to me.
And every night, our love is on my list. I would not be me without our love. He has taken his last breath, but our love is still strong and very much alive.
So here is what I know. Gratitude has not made me miss my husband less. What it has done is build me up so I can carry my grief better.
That is the power in gratitude. It doesn't ask you to stop missing him. It helps you find the strength to keep carrying what you carry, and to see what is still here with you.
How to Start a Gratitude Practice While Grieving
As November begins, I am returning to my intention: to notice, to write, and to speak my gratitude aloud.
If you'd like to join me, start tonight with one line. It doesn't need to be beautiful. It can be your pillow. It can be a list of names. It can be the same thing you wrote last night.
If it feels like it's doing nothing, I understand. Write it anyway.
Then add one line about you.
What did you do today that deserves your appreciation? If you got out of bed, start there.
There may be more here than you have been giving yourself credit for.
Finding Your Way, One Small Step at a Time
After losing your husband, even recognizing the good you do for yourself can feel difficult. You may be learning how to care for yourself in a life you never expected to live.
Through my one-on-one widow coaching at Ember & Bloom, I help widows reconnect with themselves, recognize their strengths, and begin finding their way forward while honoring the love they still carry.
If you'd like support along the way, I invite you to learn more about Working with Gladys or schedule a free Holding the Ember introductory conversation.