Grateful as Hell | My Thanksgiving List

Gratitude doesn’t always come easy—it’s something you trip over while surviving. But this year, between the chaos and the comfort food, I can actually feel it. The love, the laughter, the second chances. All of it.

Thanksgiving always sneaks up on me. One minute I’m just trying to survive the week, the next I’m standing in a kitchen that smells like sage, butter, and family chaos, trying to remember what gratitude is supposed to feel like. Everyone posts their polished lists online—perfect families, perfect tables—but the real stuff, the messy, human stuff, that’s what I’m thankful for.

First and always—my son. That kid is pure light. Sharp as hell, quick with a comeback, and somehow already wiser than I was at twice his age. Watching him grow feels like watching my heart walk around outside my body—half terrifying, half magical. He challenges me, humbles me, and makes me want to do better without ever asking me to. Every time I hear his laugh, I remember what joy sounds like when it’s still unfiltered.

Then there’s my parents—my constants. My anchors. They’ve seen every version of me: the reckless, the broken, the rebuilding, the becoming. They don’t always understand me, but they’ve always stood behind me, sometimes holding me up when I didn’t even know I was falling. I’m lucky. I know that. Not everyone gets to have parents who love without conditions, who just show up. Mine do, even when I don’t deserve it.

And my family… lord. Chaotic doesn’t even begin to cover it. Loud, opinionated, unpredictable—but also hilarious, loyal, and full of heart. We drive each other nuts, but when things go sideways, they’re the first ones there with food, sarcasm, and backup. We don’t do “perfect.” We do real. And honestly, that’s so much better.

My friends? They’re the kind of people you don’t have to perform for. The ones who show up when you’re sick, who remind you who you are when you forget, who make you laugh when everything’s on fire. They’re the chosen family, the ones who stick around not because they have to, but because they want to. That kind of loyalty doesn’t get enough credit.

And then there are the small moments—the quiet, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it ones. The late-night phone calls that stretch past midnight, talking about nothing and everything. The shared smirk across the dinner table when someone says something wildly inappropriate. The inside jokes that never stop being funny, even after years. The way my son curls up next to me on the couch without a word. My mom’s hand brushing my hair off my face when I look tired. My dad handing me coffee before I even ask. Those tiny gestures that say I see you louder than words ever could.

That’s the stuff that sticks. The ordinary, fleeting moments that somehow turn sacred. They remind me that love doesn’t always arrive in grand gestures—it’s usually tucked inside the small, steady ones.

And then there’s health—something I forget to appreciate until it wobbles. I’m grateful to wake up, stretch, breathe, and move. To feel my lungs fill up, to see the sun rise and think, I get another one. Another day to screw up, to grow, to try again.

Gratitude isn’t about having it all together—it’s about recognizing what’s still standing when everything else has fallen apart. It’s about the people who love you through your mess, the laughter that sneaks in when you least expect it, the sunrise that happens whether you’re ready or not.

So this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for the big stuff and the small: my son’s brilliance, my parents’ strength, my family’s wild hearts, my friends’ fierce loyalty, and the simple, underrated miracle of being alive to see another morning.

It’s not perfect. It’s not tidy. But it’s mine—and I’m grateful as hell for it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

~smy