Does gratitude make you soft?

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We were deep in it.

Not the kind of light chatter about what went well this week, but the real stuff — the kind of conversation where your chest gets tight because you’re finally saying out loud what’s been looping in your head.

She started with a sigh.
“I just… I don’t feel satisfied with my results.”

I nodded. “Okay. Unsatisfied how?”

“Like I keep riding, I keep showing up, but it doesn’t feel like enough. And everyone keeps telling me I should just be grateful for the progress I have. But… if I do that, doesn’t that mean I’m settling?”

That’s when she dropped the question that stopped us both:

“Nicole… does gratitude make me less ambitious?”

Silence.

Because haven’t you thought that too?
If I get too comfortable, will I stop chasing?
If I let myself breathe, does that mean I’ve lost my edge?

I asked her: “What exactly are you resisting when you resist gratitude? Is it gratitude itself, or the fear that if you’re okay with where you are, you’ll lose the hunger for more?”

She looked down. “Yeah… that. I don’t want to trick myself into being okay with less than what I want.”

I asked: “So when you ride from dissatisfaction — how does that feel in your body?”

She laughed, almost bitterly. “Tense. Tight. Like I’m bracing the whole time. My horse feels it too.”

“And when you let yourself feel grateful, even when the ride isn’t perfect?”

She paused. “Honestly? I breathe. I loosen. I can think clearer. But then this little voice goes, ‘Careful — if you’re too okay with this, you’ll stop improving.’”

I leaned in. “So is gratitude really the problem? Or is it the story you’re telling yourself about what gratitude means?”

Where We Landed

I said: “Think about it. Ambition without gratitude — what does that feel like?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Like a hamster wheel. I just keep running. Faster, harder. But no matter how much I do, it’s never enough.”

I nodded. “Exactly. You can chase like that for a while, but eventually it burns you out. You stop enjoying the ride. And worse — your horse feels the tension, too. You’re not really moving forward. You’re just spinning.”

Then I asked: “Okay, so flip it. Gratitude without ambition. How does that feel?”

She smirked. “Like giving up. Like, sure, I’ll just pat my horse and say thank you and never push for better. And that’s not me. That feels wrong.”

“Right. That’s not the point of gratitude either.”

We sat there for a second, letting those two extremes hang in the air.

And then I said: “But what if gratitude and ambition aren’t opposites? What if they’re meant to work together?”

She tilted her head. “How do you mean?”

“Gratitude is the anchor,” I said. “It steadies you. It softens the bracing. It keeps you present so you don’t lose the joy of riding. Ambition is the fire — the thing that pulls you forward, challenges you, keeps you growing. If you only have ambition, you spin yourself into the ground. If you only have gratitude, you drift. But when you have both? You’re steady and moving. Clear and driven. Grounded and hungry.”

She let out a long breath. “So gratitude doesn’t kill ambition. It purifies it.”

I smiled. “Exactly. It changes the fuel source. You’re no longer running on fear or scarcity. You’re running on love and clarity. And that’s a kind of ambition that doesn’t quit.”

So now I want to ask you what I asked her:

When you resist gratitude, what exactly are you resisting?
Does being grateful mean you’re settling?
Or does it mean you’re finally steady enough to keep going without burning out?

Hit reply and tell me what you think.
I’m still sitting with this question myself.

With gratitude,

Nicole