This text is about gratitude and healing — not as an idea, but as a feeling that lives in the body.
It grows quietly in the space between nature, words, and those small everyday moments when I find myself again.
It is one of many steps I’ve taken on my way to becoming whole — to becoming my own friend.
Read this post in Swedish → Tacksamhet och självläkning – när tacksamheten hittar hem
Gratitude that Follows Me
This week I’ve been thinking a lot about how gratitude seems to live in almost everything that moves through me.
How nature has stayed close — side by side with the lectures I’ve listened to and the cold morning swims I’ve done.
From rain and wind to a morning when the sun mirrored itself in the water.
The cold embracing me, the steps out of the lake, and that wonderful moment when chill turns into warmth.
Gratitude for the feelings that live inside my body, and deep gratitude for the many talks from Flow Summit Sweden – Day 6.
They brought new thoughts and insights — encounters with others’ perspectives that later landed in me, shaping new thoughts of my own.
When Words Land Inside Me
I’ve spent time putting my words into the blog, and it has felt alive in me while I write.
I write from the inside out, letting the words find their own way.
When I finish a post, I feel finished in a different way. The day’s words have somehow landed.
In that moment, there is always gratitude.
The day can begin only once the post is shared.
Then I start listening to new lectures, taking in new words that are delivered to me — letting them settle within me, the same way my own words might settle within someone else.
When Feelings Find Their Home
I have traced the feelings in my body back to the moments they were born.
I’ve placed them where they belong, and found new ways to feel gratitude for what once kept me safe — feelings that were right for their time.
They helped me then, but I can see now that they no longer help me grow.
That insight has become my quiet aha.
A thank you to what once protected me:
Thank you for helping me then — but I don’t need you anymore.
Now I can see how certain feelings have turned from helpers into barriers.
They make me smaller, hold me back, and keep me from growing.
Seeing that — and thanking them before letting them go — has become a silent form of freedom.
When I Land in Myself
When the inner ceremony happens — one that only takes a few seconds — I feel closer to myself, to my own being.
I feel gratitude that I no longer react in the same ways, and that I’ve found a key to being more whole, more honest in how I express myself to me.
I land inside myself.
My thoughts become clearer.
I realize it was never about protecting my identity — it was about taking, and keeping, the place that is mine to hold.
Through life we experience things. We see, feel, and act in ways meant to protect us, to create a sense of safety.
Sometimes we silence ourselves when we want to scream.
We let the song inside us fade because those around us needed quiet — and less of us.
When We Become Less Ourselves
We grow smaller, sometimes because the world around us demands it.
In that smallness, we find a kind of false safety — one that may have helped us once, in that specific moment.
But deep inside, something keeps bubbling.
Like thick syrup or toffee that simmers — until it hardens.
And when it finally sets, the small child within us has become what the world expected us to be.
That’s not me.
And it’s not you.
It’s a self made from others’ expectations.
We become stiff, held back, and quiet.
That’s when we need to soften again — to fill that hardened space with water, the same way we soak a pan after boiling sugar.
We do it by tracing our feelings back to their source, to understand the small tricks they still play on us.
Just like I wrote in my post Blogging in Two Languages – We’re Two Who Dare — it wasn’t really about her.
It was about me.
All the way through.
And I’m grateful I found that.
When Ice Melts and Warmth Returns
When I begin to soften that hardened space inside me, something powerful happens in silence.
It’s as if I can finally breathe again.
The place that once felt cold and rigid begins to move — warmth spreads where stillness used to live.
I notice that the warmth doesn’t come from outside, but from within.
It’s my own warmth.
My voice returning, my strength coming home.
Sometimes it feels unfamiliar, almost too big.
But it’s deeply liberating.
Because when I allow myself to be me, the world around me begins to shift too.
It’s no longer as narrow.
I’m no longer as small.
I take up space — and it no longer scares me.
It just feels true.
Small Changes – Same Tree, Same Place
Every morning I’ve stood by the same tree, beside the same lake.
I’ve taken the same photo — but it never turned out the same.
The water changed from blue to grey, from calm to rippled.
The light shifted, the sky spoke different languages.





Those small changes reminded me that life keeps moving, even when it looks still.
Just like the tree stands steady and silent, I’ve been standing in my own stillness, watching something shift inside me.
It’s in the small things — the shades, the quiet changes — where life truly happens.
That’s where gratitude and healing become visible without having to prove themselves.
Becoming My Own Friend
Maybe this isn’t all about this week alone.
But it’s one of many steps that have brought me here — to the place where I am me, and where I truly am my own friend.
I am a beautiful, kind person — within myself.
And I was that even as a child — that little one who didn’t yet know how the world worked, but who believed in magic and saw flowers growing inside her.
Back then, I didn’t pull the weeds from my garden.
Because I didn’t see weeds — I saw flowers.
As an adult, I’ve removed some of them and called them unwanted.
But now I see that everything that’s grown in me has its place.
Every flower, every thorn, every color — all of it is me.
Gratitude That Always Remains
Looking back, I can see that gratitude has always followed me.
Like a quiet stream beneath everything else.
It has lived in my morning swims, in my words, in the lectures, in the silences that came after.
It’s been there when I found old feelings, thanked them, and let them go.
When I dared to write, to see, to feel.
When I softened what was rigid and allowed myself to take space.
Gratitude is no longer something I search for.
It lives in me now — as a soft warmth whispering:
You’re here. You’re whole. You belong.
Reflection – from within myself
When I look back at these words, I can feel how I’ve become a little more whole.
I’ve met the parts of me that once protected me, and I’ve thanked them.
Through gratitude and healing, I’ve begun to hear my own voice — the one that waited patiently to be heard.
It feels as if I’m finally living in rhythm with myself, not against.
Through gratitude and healing, I’ve begun to hear my own voice more clearly.
Between the Lines – My Voice
Between the lines, something calm is breathing:
a woman who no longer fights to be understood — she understands herself.
She stands in her own warmth, even when the wind is cold.
She no longer apologizes for her sensitivity — she sees it as her greatest strength.
AHA – Between the Lines
What was once a defense has become a teacher.
I realize that healing isn’t about becoming someone else — it’s about coming home to who I’ve always been.
And gratitude isn’t an ending — it’s the beginning of something new.
What was once a defense has become a teacher.
I realize that healing isn’t about becoming someone else — it’s about coming home to who I’ve always been.
And gratitude isn’t an ending — it’s the beginning of something new.
I realize that gratitude and healing aren’t an ending — they’re the beginning of something new.
Question to You
When was the last time you felt gratitude for something small — something no one else noticed, but that changed your day?
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Closing Words
Yesterday has already found its rest in history.
Tomorrow waits further ahead.
But right now — this is where life happens.

The water danced between 9.4° and 9.1°C – a quiet reminder that change always begins in the smallest of degrees.
The Journey Continues
The journey isn’t over.
But I believe I’ve boarded the right train, from the right platform.
The road ahead is longer than I can see — and that’s okay.
Because I’m in the right carriage, with myself as company.
And if I get to wake up tomorrow,
the journey will continue — the one we call life.






















