Did you know the word gratitude can be a trigger for trauma? Me either. But I guess it can be! I'm actually living that fun reality right now.

It's wild to me, because, on the one hand, YES BE FUCKING GRATEFUL!

It makes such a huge difference to see the positive and happy things in the world and realize that there are good things happening in your life, even if they are as simple as the sun is shining today.

On the other hand, when I hear the word "gratitude" I feel legitimately sick to my stomach.

I grew up in Mormonism, where gratitude was used to placate, ignore, deny, invalidate, and subdue. When I hear "Be Grateful," my hackles rise. It's very tied to the toxic positivity within Mormonism.

Worse, I grew up not really having my needs met, at least not without significant pushback. Some needs were never met (like the need to be loved as I am). Others, I got met, but only after I had to prostrate myself (figuratively) and explain why I "deserved" to have that need met.

An example: Contact Solution.

My mother would sometimes be Super Supportive! As such, when I was 12, she decided that she was going to get me contacts. That changed my life.

Glasses in the year 2000 weren't what they are today, especially not for kids. They were not a fashion accessory. They were not cool.

I had been mocked through my entire childhood for having "Four Eyes". People would intentionally throw balls at my face because they knew it would hurt worse if it hit me in my glasses (I also somehow accidentally got hit in the glasses with balls a lot... I swear those things were magnets). I had terrible vision (still do) and I cannot and could not function in the real world without wearing those glasses.

So it was a gift of epic proportions to have contacts and finally be seen as "normal". I wore them every single day until I was too poor as a newly-married 21 year old to buy them anymore.

At the same time... Every single time my contact solution ran low and I had to ask my mom for new contact solution, something she knew I needed because she provided me with the contacts, she threw a major fit.

At first, she legitimately tried to get me to use normal water. When one of my siblings got through to her that that was a bad idea, she tried to convince me to just add salt to normal water. I could boil it first if i was worried. It's just saline solution! That's just salt water! Thank god someone convinced her that was a bad idea too (I know multiple older siblings talked to her about this. Thank you).

(Also, what person in their right mind tells a 13 year old to mix up their own solution of salt water to store their contacts in? I have accidentally added too much salt to a neti pot and ended up crying for 10 minutes straight, and that was as a full grown adult. Can you picture if I did that as a teenager and put it in my EYES?)

Even after she stopped telling me to use things that were clearly a Bad Idea, she still complained. I very quickly started buying my own. I didn't have a job, at least not a regular one. I was 13. If I'd gotten lucky and been given an opportunity to babysit in the neighborhood, I would have a small influx of cash, but there was no consistency. My brothers had a paper route, but they didn't really want me involved. They would ask me to help if they were behind, but they didn't give me other opportunities. So I had to get creative in how to buy my regularly needed contact solution.

Other things I started paying for myself by the time I was 14 included: all clothing and shoes, any "required" church activities, all "required" school activities, all school supplies, obviously anything I wanted, and don't forget, all hygiene products except toothpaste and toilet paper. And I do mean all products except those two.

My mother got mad at me every single time I needed period supplies. I had panic attacks about needing period supplies every single month until I figured out how to pay for my own at 13. She was in menopause and didn't need them. I had no older sisters in the home anymore. I had to ask, every single month, for basic care, and was told that I was asking too much. (Apparently, the fact I didn't want to use leftover cloth diapers from when my younger siblings were babies in my underwear meant I was expecting too much. I didn't ask for anything fancy. I learned very quickly the best I could hope for were generic, giant, maxi-pads with no wings that didn't fit my body or my underwear and would cause me to leak. And even that was too big of an ask.)

Do you want to know how I, at 13, figured out how to buy all those things for myself without reliable income?

I stopped eating lunch.

My mom told me when I started Jr High that she would either give me lunch money in which I could buy the food I wanted or she could give it to the school and I could have school lunch.

I chose Secret Option 3: Lie to Mom.

I took the lunch money and bought the things I needed for life.

If I was smart, I could even sometimes get things I wanted. But there was no guarantee on wants. Just my basic needs.

My mom never knew that I wasn't eating.

It did become a little bit of a problem when I switched schools and started at my dad's school in 8th grade. He knew if I skipped lunch. I went to option 1 (ish). I bought things that Fed Me enough that they didn't raise suspicion, and then hoarded every dollar for everything else that was necessary and desired. Once I was in high school, it was back to not eating lunch until I got my first reliable job.

I have disordered eating. I don't have an eating disorder. None of them apply. I do not have body dysmorphia. I like my body a lot. But throughout my life, it has consistently been a problem to eat regular meals. This is when it started.

The Eating Problem got worse when I was near-homeless in 2022. I stopped eating unless absolutely necessary because I didn't know when the next meal would come. I, once again, prioritized my other needs over having food in my belly. I ate enough to survive, but I definitely wasn't thriving. I have been fighting weight-loss since.

The "best" part of this is because I was over weight, no doctor I ever saw cared on iota about the fact that I was losing weight. I got congratulated. Good job! You're down another 10 lbs! Congratulations on making healthy life choices! If they only knew, I'm pretty sure they would have been horrified.

I'm at the lowest weight I have been since I was in my early 20s. I'm currently at a "healthy weight" and I think I've finally stabilized it, but it's something I have to watch every single day. Again, it's not about how I look or feel in my body. It's about money.

The idea of spending money on food gives me panic-level anxiety.

That's a problem.

So what does all of this have to do with gratitude? Well, every single time I did get one of my needs met by my parents (especially my mom, but my dad also was this way), I was expected to be super grateful. I learned pretty quickly that sometimes, if I performed gratitude correctly, they would give me what I needed next time without the fight. Maybe I'd be treated like my needs were acceptable.

Gratitude doesn't feel like a state of being for me. It feels like a performance I need to do.

I didn't fully realize this is where I sat with it until earlier this week. I knew that the word gratitude made me anxious. I knew that I hated how it was taught in Mormonism. I knew that it was a problem I'd eventually have to work through. And then something triggered the underlying Trauma of Having Needs and Being Too Much. Oh boy, was that a fun night! (Not).

Obviously, I can't live my life running away every time I hear the word gratitude. And like I said, I think the concept is super, super useful. I am not someone who believes in toxic positivity, however, I know from personal experience, when you can frame your emotions around the good that is happening without ignoring the bad, you end up enjoying life more. That's legitimately one of the reasons I started writing these posts. It helps me remember that there are lots of good things happening in the middle of the Dumpster Fire of 2026.

I don't know that I know what the answer is. Therapy would be great! But I am currently uninsured (Thanks Trump!). I'm trying to kickstart several ways to earn money, but if you've ever built any kind of business, you know it takes Time. We also are trying to save up to move somewhere safer, which will do more good for me long term than paying for therapy right now. So No Therapy For Me (version 2026).

I have a little planner/journal thingy that lets me track my habits and it has a spot for my weekly gratitude. I'm making myself fill it out, genuinely. What am I actually grateful for? Not what feels socially acceptable to say. Not what makes anyone else happy. What in my life feels good? It's a start. But I still get anxious when I hear the word gratitude.

Ce la vie.

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