I sat with coffee and journal this morning, recounting my week. I wrote about my new health diagnosis, my husband’s travels, the pain of uncertainty, the fear of the future. Although the words remained on straight lines, they gradually slanted downward. My mood followed.
Where was the good?
I often resist gratitude. The blinders of pessimism are well-worn. Without effort, it’s possible for me to miss the good entirely.
I accept my darker mindset. I’ve been through difficult experiences that have shaped my worldview. But I am committed to the practice of gratitude, and recognize its important role in my PTSD recovery.
Since I am devoted to healing, I went back over my week with the blinders off. For each painful event, I added a good one.
Supportive phone calls.
Arms around my middle.
Eyes locked with mine.
Hands to hold.
By seeking the good moments in my life, and jotting them in my journal, I am building up my emotional reserve. With every sting of shame, and fear of not belonging, someone validated my existence. In each tide of hopeless tears, comfort stood nearby. Whenever I felt alone and scared, I found safety in offered love.
Even when lost in despair, I can see I fought for myself.
It’s this combination of kindness from others and love from within that will save me. But only if I choose to see the good.