The Power of Thankful Storytelling
- Nov 21
- 3 min read
By Jeffrey Rogers
When I left the military, I thought the hardest part would be finding my next job. It turned out to be finding myself. I had spent two decades following structure, purpose, and mission. When all of that stopped, the silence was louder than I expected. Writing became the one place where I could hear my own thoughts again.
I didn’t start with a plan. I started with a notebook and the hope that putting words on paper might quiet the noise in my head. While working on what would become After the Uniform, I realized that gratitude isn’t something that appears when life is easy.
It’s something that grows in the middle of the mess. The act of writing gave me distance from my own experiences. It helped me see that I had learned more from the difficult chapters than the comfortable ones.
There was a Saturday morning when I was writing about a remote assignment that had been particularly hard on my family. I expected it to hurt to revisit that memory, but what came out surprised me. Instead of focusing on the strain or the distance, I started listing what I was grateful for: the people who wrote letters, the ones who showed up for my kids, and the moments of quiet strength my wife carried when I couldn’t be there. Gratitude shifted the memory from pain to perspective. That small exercise changed the way I approach almost everything I write.
Writing became a form of therapy I didn’t know I needed. It gave me words for things I had never said out loud. It helped me understand that vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s how we build connection and community. Gratitude didn’t erase the hard things I had lived through, but it gave those experiences purpose. That is what thankful storytelling really is. It’s not about writing to impress anyone. It’s about writing to understand yourself and, in doing so, offering understanding to others.
I’ve met people who think gratitude means ignoring pain or pretending to be positive. That’s not it. Gratitude doesn’t ask you to pretend. It asks you to notice what survived. When we write about loss, frustration, or failure through the lens of gratitude, we aren’t rewriting the story to make it lighter. We are giving it depth and honesty. That is what allows others to see themselves in our words.
Over time, I began to notice how this practice changed my relationships and my work. The more I focused on gratitude, the easier it became to listen without judgment and to speak with empathy. That perspective shaped not only my personal life but also the foundation of Strengthen the Positive™ and the work I do through GillyBell Legacy Works. Writing with gratitude isn’t just about what ends up on the page. It shapes how we move through the world.
If you’re looking for a place to start, write about a time that tested you. Then list three things that held you together in that moment. It might be a person, a piece of advice, or even a small act of kindness you almost overlooked. Keep writing until you see how those things changed you. That’s where the strength lives.
Every story shared with gratitude becomes an invitation. It tells someone, 'You’re not alone, and you still have something worth sharing.' That’s how writing uplifts, not through perfection, but through presence.
Take care, be well, and go slow.
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