Grief and Gratitude: Why You Don’t Have to Feel Thankful All the Time

Gratitude.

Such a simple idea—slowing down, taking stock of our lives, choosing to focus on the good we have, and spending less time yearning for what we don’t. Pausing in nature, savoring time with our kids, realizing that we already have everything we need. For me, finding gratitude in everyday life once felt like such a simple but life-changing goal.

And then suddenly, it was everywhere. In hashtags, blogs, commercials, and stores, the message was constant: Be thankful for what you have (and what often goes unsaid: no matter what that is).

On the surface, it still sounds fine. What could possibly be wrong with encouraging more gratitude?

I first felt uneasy about this while teaching a Yoga for Grief and Loss class.

In my other yoga classes, I always ended with a relaxation practice that focused on centering, staying present, and noticing small joys in daily life. But when I tried the same approach with a group of grievers, it felt wrong. Who was I to tell them they

should feel grateful? How could gratitude feel natural for someone whose world had just been shattered?

I also began noticing another trend—people trying so hard to force gratitude, even in their lowest, darkest times. In support groups and one-on-one conversations, I heard it over and over: someone would pour out their grief and then end with, “But I shouldn’t complain. I have so much to be grateful for.”

And that made me wonder:

Aren’t there times in life when we’re allowed to feel ungrateful? To admit that life is unfair, that it hurts, and that we just want to scream and cry without apologizing for it? Do we really have to manage every hardship with a smile, or feel guilty whenever we’re not grateful for what we still have?

I can’t count how often I’ve seen people apologize for their unhappiness. In today’s “age of gratitude,” we’ve been conditioned to believe that if we’re not thankful—even when life feels unbearable—we’re somehow failing.

In my personal life, I’ve seen this too. After venting about a hard day, a friend might say, “But I guess I should be grateful. At least I don’t have cancer.”

And yet people with cancer often say the same thing: “At least I still have a roof over my head.”

So let me be clear: I’m not ungrateful for the gratitude movement. I simply believe in balance and timing.

When life is steady, gratitude is powerful. If we catch ourselves getting too weighed down by little frustrations, a quick reminder of our blessings can help us reset perspective.

But when life is painful, harsh, and unfair—especially after loss—we also need permission to feel ungrateful. To sit with sadness. To cry out “why me?” without apology. To let our minds wander to dark and bitter places, if only for a while.

Does this mean I’m suggesting people wallow endlessly, or lose sight of faith and meaning? Absolutely not.

What I’m suggesting is that before we take stock of what’s left, we allow ourselves to mourn what’s gone. To fully feel what has been taken. To acknowledge the pain before rushing to gratitude.

And then, when we’re ready, gratitude will return.

It will arrive like a patient friend—reminding us of the love we shared with the person we lost. Reminding us that great love brings great loss. Gratitude will appear in the small shift when memories once soaked in sadness become softened with warmth and blessing.

It will remind us of our strength—of surviving hard times, of enduring more than we thought possible.

And that, always, is something to feel grateful for.