I’ve always been told that gratitude is good for me. It’s supposed to be healing, grounding, even transformative; a spiritual ritual, a psychological strategy, a way to build resilience. Wellness, as influencers call it; as therapists call it. Even my own inner voice sometimes echoes it: “Be thankful, and you’ll feel better.” But the more I sit with that advice, the more I wonder, who gets to feel thankful? Is gratitude something we all have equal access to, or is it, in some ways, a privilege?
Gratitude in Unequal Contexts
Gratitude assumes there’s something to be grateful for, such as safety, support, opportunity, or even basic dignity. But when I think about people navigating systemic injustice, economic instability, or social exclusion, the call to “just be thankful” starts to feel hollow. Sometimes it even feels like a form of emotional control, a way to quiet anger, grief, or the need to demand change. I’ve seen how gratitude can be politicized. It can be used to maintain the status quo, to discourage people from questioning institutions or power structures. When thankfulness is framed as a moral duty instead of a personal choice, it can silence protest and reinforce hierarchies. I’ve felt that pressure myself: to be grateful for what I have, even when I know I deserve more.
The Psychology of Gratitude and Its Limits
After doing some research, I’ve learned a lot. For example, gratitude can improve mental health, strengthen relationships, and help people bounce back from hardship. But I also know that most of those studies focus on people who already have access to resources, stability, and autonomy. When gratitude is prescribed without acknowledging structural barriers, it can feel like frustration is being dismissed, as if struggle is just a mindset problem.
Culturally, gratitude looks different depending on where you stand. In some communities, it’s deeply communal and reciprocal. In others, it’s tied to humility and submission. I’ve learned that when gratitude is pushed as a one-size-fits-all solution, it can erase those nuances.
Gratitude vs. Justice
There’s a tension I feel between gratitude and justice. Gratitude asks me to accept. Justice asks me to hold people accountable. When someone tells me to “focus on the positive” after I’ve experienced harm, it can feel like they’re asking me to minimize my truth. Gratitude shouldn’t be used to deflect from injustice or to shame people for speaking out. But I also believe gratitude can be radical. It can live alongside critique. It can fuel collective strength. It can honor the complexity of what it means to survive and still find joy. For me, thankfulness doesn’t mean settling; it means seeing clearly, resisting, and still choosing to celebrate what sustains me.
Who Gets to Be Grateful?
I keep coming back to this: who gets to feel safe enough to be thankful? Who’s expected to be grateful for crumbs while others feast? These questions push me to look at how gratitude is distributed, demanded, and displayed across race, class, gender, and geography. I don’t want to dismiss gratitude. I want to interrogate it. I want to ask: What am I being asked to be grateful for? Who benefits from my thankfulness? And how can I practice gratitude in a way that’s honest, inclusive, and liberating?
Gratitude isn’t neutral. It’s shaped by the conditions I live in. When it’s treated like a universal cure, it can overlook the realities of those who are denied safety, dignity, or a voice. But when I approach gratitude with open eyes, I can reclaim it, not just as a privilege, but also as a practice of power. Gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring injustice. It means naming it, surviving it, and still choosing to honor what’s real. That kind of thankfulness isn’t passive; it’s a seed for something better.