Thankful, Even When the Year Has Been Painful

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time of gratitude — a moment to pause, breathe, gather, and give thanks. But some years, gratitude doesn’t come easily. Some years, the losses and the lessons weigh as heavily as the blessings. Some years stretch us so thin that “thankful” feels like a word that belongs to other people, living other lives.

This year was one of those years for me.

It was a year of endings I didn’t choose and transitions I didn’t want. A year where doing the right thing cost something. A year where leadership felt lonely, where grief settled into the corners of my work, and where the gap between effort and outcome felt impossibly wide. A year where I had to say goodbye to the EEC staff -- there's just two of us left — not because the mission failed, but because systems did.

And yet…Even with all of that — maybe because of all of that — I am thankful.

Thankful for the Hard Truths

This year taught me truths I would have preferred not to learn, but needed to. I learned that courage doesn’t always look like big speeches or major wins. Sometimes it looks like signing papers you never wanted to sign. Sometimes it looks like getting out of bed AND brushing your teeth.

Sometimes it looks like logging into your email account and NOT crying at the flurry of emails from a public agency blaming YOU for THEIR systemic failure. Sometimes it looks like seeing the actions of others -- just to be cruel -- when they have the power to be kind. Sometimes it looks like reminding yourself that Yes, indeed, you ARE good enough when the people that surround you actively tell you otherwise. Sometimes it looks like holding dignity when others don’t. Sometimes it looks like being honest with yourself about what can no longer be sustained, and choosing integrity over illusion.

To know a lot of this was brought on by people who I once considered friends.

To know that they chose cruelty over compassion.

To know they chose spite over community.

To know I was powerless to stop it and they were powerful to start it.

Those truths hurt.

And -- I can only control how I react.

I can only control the way I treat people.

I can only control my beliefs and where I put my energy.

And I can control whom I trust, whom I love, and whom I allow in my life.

And for that, I am thankful.

Thankful for Community, Even in Disappointment

Pain has a way of revealing who your people are. Who checks in. Who shows up. Who holds the line with you and for you. Who doesn’t flinch when you tell the truth.

I have been carried this year by people — staff, partners, friends, mentors, strangers — who reminded me that community is not a network. It is a lifeline.

Even when institutions failed me, people didn’t. And for that, I am deeply thankful.

Thankful for the Work That Still Calls Me

Even after heartbreak, the work still pulls me forward. Educational equity still matters. How we fund programs for kids in school still matters. Justice still matters. Hope still matters.

This year tried to convince me that the fight wasn’t worth it. But every time I sat with parents, advocates, educators, or community leaders, I felt the truth in my bones: The work is bigger than the pain.

And for that — that persistent, quiet, stubborn pull toward purpose — I am thankful.

Thankful for New Beginnings

Sunsetting EEC programming is painful. But it also made space for something new. In Lak'Ech Kintsugi Collaborative was born in that space — not as a consolation prize, but as a continuation. A different kind of leadership. A different kind of service. A different way of building equity from integrity, not exhaustion.

I have something something else on the horizon that I'll showcase in a few weeks.

The most painful reminder

My co-founder and mentor, Tony Lee, used to tell me he didn't mind that I failed -- if I learned something and did better next time.

Fall -- and get back up.

Fail -- and do better next time.

Fail forward. Always forward.

Learn the lesson.

Do better.

Give thanks.

Eat (especially fruit #IYKYK)

Catch your breath.

Rest.

Dust yourself off.

Get back up.

This year reminded me that endings are not failures. Endings are transitions. Sometimes necessary ones.

And for the new doors opening — even while the old ones still ache — I am thankful.

Thankful for Myself

This is the hardest one to write, but the most honest. I am thankful that I didn’t fold. I am thankful that I kept telling the truth. I am thankful that I held my values when it would have been easier not to. I am thankful that I am still here — still loving this work, still believing in my community, still standing in my own damn power.

We don’t say this enough, especially as women of color in leadership: Sometimes the gratitude we owe is to ourselves.

A Final Word for Those Feeling This Too

If this year has been painful for you — professionally, personally, politically — and gratitude feels complicated, I want to offer this:

You don’t have to be thankful for the pain to be thankful through it.

You can hold grief in one hand and grace in the other. You can whisper gratitude between tears. You can be exhausted and still hopeful. You can be starting over and still powerful. You can be hurting and still deeply, fiercely thankful.

Some years, gratitude isn’t a feeling. It’s a practice. It’s a choice. It’s a steady, quiet reminder: I made it. I’m still here. And I’m not done.

And for that — we give thanks.