Thank You. No, Really. Thank You.

It is pretty strange how two little words can carry the weight of a piano falling from a sixth floor window. “Thank you.” I used to throw it out there like confetti… polite, perfunctory, a default reflex. Someone opens a door for you? Thank you. They offer you a stale Marie biscuit and lukewarm tea? Still… thank you. It’s almost a cultural tic. But at some point along the way, those two words started to taste different in my mouth, like they had been slow cooked in the back of my life, absorbing layer upon layer of meaning.

What exactly are we thanking people for?

Is it the obvious things… lifts to the airport, help moving house, heartfelt birthday messages? Or is it deeper? Or both? Sometimes, it’s the person who walked away without a proper goodbye that you end up thanking later down the line. Not at first, of course. At first, you just want to scream into your pillow and curse the day they learned to speak. But somewhere further down the track, once the dust has settled and your internal monologue sounds less like a dramatic soap opera, you realise something extraordinary.

I didn’t even get a thank you. Not for everything I gave you. Not for being there, all in for thirteen years. Not for the versions of myself I offered you freely. For the laughter, the comfort, the day to day moments that slowly wove a life between us. The meals, the effort, the presence and attention. The parts of me I handed over without hesitation, because I believed we were building something that mattered. Not even a thank you for staying when it was hard or lonely… which it so often was.

And certainly no “thank you” for the courage I exercised at the end. Courage you did not have. I didn’t walk away… I asked for space. Time. A pause. A chance to breathe and maybe come back to each other differently. Healthier. But you took that moment and used it as your exit. No conversation. No explanation. No real goodbye. Just a silence so thick, it still sits in the corners of everything we left unfinished.

That kind of exit hits in a place you can’t quite name. It carves its way into the future you thought you were heading toward and leaves you staring at the wreckage, trying to piece together what happened. And when there’s no clarity…none, you are left with no option but to create your own. You fall into the void, choke on the weight of it, and claw your way back up, alone but awake. And eventually, even through the ache, something shifts. Because I did the work you never could and I did it by myself, for myself.

And now, from that place, grounded, cracked, but still standing… I will say to you, what you never said to me... Not with bitterness. Not with blame. Just truth. Thank you. You gave me clarity, through the complete lack of it.

The gift that arrived without wrapping paper, without a card. The kind of gift that forces you to sink, flail, splutter… and completely derail… and then rise again, gasping with a new grip on what matters. That awful silence? That “non answer” that left me tying myself in knots? It made me into someone who doesn’t wait around anymore for someone else to define my story.

And for that? Thank you.

Lack of communication doesn’t just leave gaps in our lives, it builds wild jungles in our heads. You wander around them, machete in hand, swatting at every “what if” and “why not” until you are completely worn out. But if you stick it out long enough, really get deep into that uncomfortable overthinking… you reach something beautiful: your own truth. One you didn’t borrow or get spoon fed. One you bled for.

So again… thank you.

As I have gotten older, I have come to realise, in my own roundabout “off the beaten track” way, that gratitude doesn’t always come predictably connected to “joy” or joyful circumstance. Sometimes, it rocks up and just drags mud across the carpet of your inner peace. But if you’re lucky (and stubborn enough) you will find something invaluable in the wreckage that is “you”. You will realise that every moment, even the confusing ones, are adding depth to your own character arc. Gratitude is an architect. Even when you don’t know what the blueprint is, it’s busy laying bricks.

Answers aren’t always the thing we need. Sometimes it is more about making peace with not knowing. You carry something around for ages, turning it over in your head, hoping one day it’ll click into place. And then out of the blue, it does. Or it doesn’t. But weirdly, you start to feel okay with that too.

To every moment that confused me, stretched me, taught me, and left me speechless… Thank you. I am no longer afraid of not knowing. I’m not even chasing certainty anymore. I’m chasing peace.

So maybe this is just a thank you to life itself… for the mess, the magic, the side quests we never signed up for, and even the potholes we keep tripping into on repeat. Thanks for the people who stayed, and the ones who bolted at full speed without looking back. For the awkward silences, the unexpected kindness, the gut punches that turned out to be growth in disguise. For the times it all made sense, and the many more when it absolutely didn’t.

Thank you, life… you unpredictable, relentless, oddly poetic beast. You certainly do have a weird way of showing up sometimes, but damn… other times, you really do deliver. Cheers to that!