Finding Gratitude with a Chronic Illness: Small Things I’m Thankful For This Holiday Season
As the holidays get closer, I’ve been moving a little slower. Not out of choice, really, but because my body asks for it this time of year. And somewhere in the slowness, I’ve been noticing small things that make my days softer — not perfect, not pain-free, just… softer.
I don’t think gratitude has ever been a big, dramatic feeling for me. It doesn’t show up like fireworks or those tearful Thanksgiving table speeches. It’s quieter. It lives in the little moments that no one else really sees.
So instead of a list of what I should be grateful for, I’ve just been paying attention to what’s genuinely supporting me right now — especially while living with a body that has its own plans.
Here’s what I’ve been noticing:
Lately, I’ve been grateful for those peaceful mornings when my body lets me take a slow walk outside. I move gently, without urgency, and breathe in the fresh air. There’s such relief in not rushing. Even if a flare-up arrives the next day, that small window of movement feels like a gift — not because it makes everything better, but because it reminds me that my body still has good moments to offer.
I’m grateful for people who don’t need me to pretend. The ones who understand when I cancel, who don’t treat rest like weakness, who don’t ask me to explain pain or exhaustion I can barely describe. There’s something healing about being around people who just let you be as you are. No masking. No performance. Just presence.
I’m grateful for comfort on the days when my world shrinks down to the size of my room. On those days, a soft blanket, warm socks, a cat by my side, and a candle that smells like vanilla or pine can make slowing down feel less like a punishment and more like compassionate care.
I’ve been appreciating the skills that help me stay with my body instead of fighting it. Grounding when my nervous system starts buzzing. Pausing and accepting when I want to push through. Breathing in a way that actually slows my mind and my body. None of it is a cure. But it’s support — and that makes all the difference.
And honestly? I’ve even been feeling a strange kind of gratitude for how my body communicates. I don’t always love what it’s saying. Sometimes it’s asking for rest I don’t want to give. But it’s trying. It’s warning, protecting, doing its best in the only language it has. I’m learning how to listen without blaming it.
None of these things fix chronic illness or stress. They don’t erase overwhelm or rewrite my history. But they help me move through my days with a little more gentleness, and right now, that feels like enough.
If you’re reading this during a hard season, maybe your gratitude doesn’t look shiny or grand either. Maybe it’s not about thinking positive or pretending things are okay. Maybe it’s just about noticing what helps — even quietly — while you’re still in the thick of it.
Sometimes gratitude is simply: this small thing is supporting me right now, and I’m letting it.
And that counts.
A Soft Invitation
If this time of year feels heavy, if your body is tired, if you’re craving slower, more honest support — you don’t have to navigate it alone. I work with people who are learning how to care for themselves in the midst of chronic illness, trauma, and ongoing stress.
You belong in spaces where you don’t have to mask.
If you’d like support, you can learn more or schedule a consultation at:
www.celestetomasulo.com
May your small comforts find you, exactly where you are.