Every year, on the last Thursday of November, American families, friends, neighbors, and the otherwise lonely, gather together to celebrate Thanksgiving. For many of us, this year will be no different, and we’ll engage in yet another gastronomic extravaganza. We’ll gnaw on spiced and tenderized turkey wings, eat forkfuls of oven-baked stuffing, scoopfuls of buttered mash potatoes, cleanse the palate with a slice or two of cranberry sauce, and slip into our sweatpants to make room for the must-have dessert: pumpkin pie. We will likely eat ourselves into a tryptophan daze.

Some of us may even dress up in native American costumes, or as Pilgrims, recalling what we learned in history class, how the Plymouth colonists and Wampanoag Indians indulged in a three-day affair of eating, fishing, and hunting in November 1621, celebrating what is acknowledged as the first Thanksgiving. In the winter of 1620, after much of the Pilgrim population was killed, the colonists requested help from the native Indians, who taught them how to hunt, fish and plant crops. In return, the Pilgrims invited the Wampanoag to feast on their bounty of ripe food to celebrate their first successful autumn harvest.

While the narrative of Thanksgiving is partly about how varying cultures and races can gather together and actually get along, the holiday is a time to reflect upon what we are thankful for – in other words, gratitude.

A few weeks ago, while engaging in meditation during a yoga class, the instructor spoke in a melodic chant, with the goal of centering our thoughts on self-appreciation and appreciation for others. She encouraged us to hold onto equanimity and to release ourselves from attachment and aversion, then asked us to imagine sharing that peace of mind with others – loved ones, friends, strangers, even those with whom we are experiencing a somewhat challenged relationship.

As I focused on my breath, filling my lungs with the sweetness of a Sunday morning, I thought about the once-upon-a-time gratitude journal in which I wrote daily statements of thanks each day. I couldn’t recall how long it had been since I had written in that journal. As the yoga instructor had encouraged, I carried my mindful practice into the rest of my day, also bringing with me the theme of gratitude. I told myself I would start a new gratitude journal, in which I would jot down brief observations, thoughts, anything that reminds me I have a lot to be grateful for: the hand-knit afghan my mother-in-law gave me, hot water, a refrigerator full of food, socks with no holes.

In my research about the benefits of gratitude, I learned that keeping a gratitude journal does more than remind me I have a lot to be thankful for. Studies have shown that gratitude improves our emotional, mental, and physical health. It makes us happier, helps us sleep better, inspires us to exercise more, keeps us connected, increases our social capital, makes us more productive and less envious, motivates us to make decisions.

If it’s that easy, writing in a gratitude journal five minutes each day as a means to improve our long-term well being, by more than ten percent researchers say, then I’m in, hook, line, and sinker. Are you? I can’t think of a better time than now, November, National Gratitude Month, to start penciling the page with, “I’m grateful for …”

“This a wonderful day. I’ve never seen this one before.” ~ Maya Angelou

More than six years after an older driver ran into me, causing multiple injuries including post-traumatic stress disorder, I decided I wanted to write a memoir about the tragedy and its aftermath. I wrote (actually I typed) nearly everyday. Essentially, I dumped my brain onto the page, ignoring the logical left side as I typed fast and furious without thinking about the structure of my story. Six months later, I had 365 pages of facts muddled with emotion. Though I felt proud of myself for my accomplishment, a puddle of grief muddied the moment. I thought I was ready to write about the accident, but maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I hadn’t yet figured out how to navigate my PTSD speed bumps. As the months and years passed, I read the pages again and again, examined with a closer eye what I had written, pondered the subterranean meaning of each passage and turn of phrase. The combination of time, taking breaks from my story, and reuniting with it from the perspective of a maturing writer, helped me gain insight into my work. In essence, I had stepped outside of myself, outside of my PTSD, and looked at the endless pages from a different, non-PTSD angle.

I’m glad I stuck with writing because research shows that it helps heal PTSD, even brief periods of putting pen to paper. http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0005796712001088

When we experience a trauma, physical and/or emotional, our brains work overtime to process it, interfering with our ability to be present for others, and ourselves. Writing our thoughts down helps to release the emotional burden, and helps us to organize, put our thoughts in order – clean up our metaphorical cluttered homes. Writing has been shown to benefit the immune system, and overall health. But a professor of psychology at the University of Texas in Austin, Dr. James Pennebaker, cautions: “Standing back every now and then and evaluating where you are in life is really important.” Speaking from experience, I agree.  https://www.utexas.edu/features/2005/writing/

So, where to start? Here are my ideas:

1) Journaling: Even if you jot down one sentence each day.

2) Carry a pad of paper with you at all times – when a disturbing thought crowds your brain, write it down.

3) In first person (from the perspective of “I”), write about an emotional, or traumatic, event that has kept you awake at night. Just write. Don’t think about who might see it – lock it in a safe deposit box if you have to. The rub: put it away for a month, or two, or three, and then go back to it.

4) Take the same piece you worked on in number three, and write it from a different point of view – second or third person – forcing yourself to step outside of your hypersensitive skin (I’ve engaged in this exercise – it opened a vault door I never knew existed).

Feel free to share how this exercises worked for you?

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”  Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Additional Resource:

http://healmyptsd.com/2014/08/writing-for-ptsd-healing.html