Gratitude sounds like such a simple word — maybe even a little cliché. We hear it everywhere: “count your blessings,” “stay positive,” “look on the bright side.” But anyone who’s been through cancer, whether as a survivor or a caregiver (like me), knows how empty, and almost silly, those phrases can feel when you’re scared, exhausted, or just trying to make it through another day.
As we head into Thanksgiving, a season that’s supposed to be all about gratitude, I’ve been thinking a lot about how hard it is to feel thankful when life feels heavy. Lately, I’ve had to remind myself to take my own medicine — to practice what I preach. It’s so easy to spiral when everything piles up: work stress, doctor appointments, family needs, the endless “what-ifs.” I used to take pride in being endlessly resilient. Recently, though, I haven’t felt that way at all.
Then one night, after what I’ll politely call a “micro breakdown,” I picked up my gratitude journal again.
It’s something I used to do regularly, and at some point, I just stopped. Somewhere along the line, gratitude got replaced with worry — constant, looping worry about things I couldn’t control. But when I started writing again, just a few notes about the past week, forcing myself to find even one thing to be thankful for, something shifted. It didn’t erase the stress, but it softened it. It slowed down the noise. It helped me find my way back to myself.
And that’s the thing about gratitude. It’s not about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about retraining your mind, and your heart, to notice what is fine. What’s still good, still beautiful, still worth holding onto.
And science, as it turns out, backs that up in powerful ways.
The Science Behind Gratitude
When we practice gratitude, our brains release dopamine and serotonin — the “feel-good” (or as I like to call them, happy hormones) neurotransmitters that help regulate mood and motivation. Research from UC Berkeley’s Greater Good Science Center shows that people who consistently express gratitude — through journaling or simple reflection — experience lower anxiety and depression, reduced cortisol (the stress hormone), stronger immune response, and better sleep.
In other words, gratitude isn’t just nice — it’s neurological. It physically rewires our brains for calm, clarity, and connection. For survivors navigating life after treatment — or caregivers carrying emotional weight — those small moments of calm can be life-changing.
Why Gratitude Works
The simple explanation? Gratitude redirects attention from what’s wrong to what’s working.
The science-backed explanation? Neuroscientists call it cognitive reframing — training your brain to interpret life through a lens of appreciation instead of fear. Over time, that reduces inflammation, boosts serotonin, and strengthens the vagus nerve (the one that helps your body relax after stress). This isn’t toxic positivity — it’s about finding intentional balance.
Gratitude for Survivors
Cancer changes everything — your body, your confidence, your routines, your mind, and even your outlook on life. I’ve seen this firsthand, watching my mother and my sister battle cancer, and now my partner. But gratitude offers a way to start feeling somewhat in control in your own skin again. It doesn’t mean ignoring pain or fear; it means acknowledging them while also noticing your strength.
In the words of my brave sister: attitude is everything.
Here are a few small ways to start:
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Gratitude journaling: Write down three things each day — big or small — that you’re grateful for. It might be “energy to make breakfast,” “laughing with a friend,” or “a clear scan.”
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Body gratitude: When you take your supplements, move your body, or simply rest, say “thank you” to your body for what it’s still doing.
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Morning reflection: Before your day begins, take 30 seconds to name one thing you’re looking forward to. It gently shifts your focus from fear or anger to purpose and excitement.
These rituals won’t erase struggle — nothing really can — but they can help you coexist with it more peacefully.
Gratitude for Caregivers
As caregivers, we often run on adrenaline, hope, and guilt. We replay what we didn’t do, what we should’ve said, how we could’ve been stronger — well, at least I do. When I started noticing and appreciating the tiny things — a quiet morning, a friend who really listened, my partner’s laugh — it didn’t make caregiving easier, but it made me softer. Less anxious. More present. Less angry at the universe.
Try weaving gratitude into your routine:
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End-of-day recap: Write or speak one small moment that made you smile, even if it lasted only a few seconds.
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Shared gratitude: Ask your loved one to share something they’re thankful for too. It opens emotional doors, keeps hope alive, and gives your survivor a chance to practice gratitude alongside you.
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Self-compassion pause: When burnout starts to creep in, place a hand over your heart and remind yourself, “I’m grateful for how hard I’m trying. I’m proud of how strong I’ve been.”
This Thanksgiving, Try This
Whether you’re gathered around a big table, eating takeout on the couch, or spending the day quietly, use this Thanksgiving as a checkpoint. Ask yourself: What’s still good? What’s still here? Who’s still showing up?
Gratitude doesn’t need grand gestures. It lives in the small, ordinary moments — the warmth of your favorite coffee, the sound of laughter, a furry friend cuddled up next to you, a hot bath after a long day. Write it down. Say it out loud. Whisper it to yourself when things feel too heavy.
Practicing gratitude won’t erase the pain of cancer, or any traumatic event, but it can help you carry it differently. Whether you’re taking one more pill, driving to another appointment, or waking up to a new kind of normal, there’s quiet, defiant strength in saying: I’m thankful that I am moving forward, still. I’m starting another day.
Because gratitude isn’t about ignoring the hard parts — it’s about remembering the good that hasn’t left, even when life gets hard.
