I like the food. I like gathering. I like warmth and shared space and people I feel safe with.

What I don’t like is pretending this holiday isn’t rooted in genocide. What I don’t like is how many of us had to spiritualize it as kids. What I don’t like is being asked to show gratitude in ways that ignore harm—personal and historical.

Let’s just say it: Thanksgiving in the U.S. is a holiday built on stolen Native land, historical erasure, and myths of peaceful unity that cover up violent colonization. And for many of us, it also carries the weight of religious performance. “Say what you’re thankful for” was never just a prompt. It was a test. Of tone. Of submission. Of spiritual obedience.

There’s a difference between genuine gratitude and forced gratitude. Between love and loyalty. Between togetherness and conformity. And some of us were raised to confuse all of those things.

This holiday can be really disorienting for survivors of religious harm. Not just because of the past, but because of what our bodies still do when certain rituals show up. We brace. We go quiet. We dissociate. We perform. We regret. We ruminate for days after. That doesn’t mean we hate our families. It doesn’t mean we don’t want connection. It means that connection was once tied to spiritual control—and our bodies haven’t forgotten.

It’s not just about what was said at the table. It’s what was expected. Be polite. Be grateful. Be appropriate. Say thank you. Say God is good. Smile while you say it. And mean it, or at least make it look like you do. A lot of us learned to betray ourselves with a smile on our faces.

Now, even if you’ve left that system, even if you don’t believe any of it anymore, even if no one is actively pressuring you, your body still tightens around the ritual. The prayer starts and your chest clenches. Someone says “we have so much to be thankful for” and you feel shame instead of warmth. You’re not confused and you’re not broken. Your nervous system is remembering what it had to do to stay safe.

For many queer people, many BIPOC folks, and many others who don’t get named enough in these conversations, Thanksgiving carries an extra charge. You’re often sitting at a table where parts of you are invisible, debated, or disrespected—and then asked to express gratitude on top of that. You’re asked to feel “blessed” inside systems that have harmed you or your people. That’s not sensitivity. That’s impact.

And if reading this makes you uncomfortable, that’s worth paying attention to. Why is it threatening to name that this holiday is tied to both colonization and religious control? Why is it easier to defend a tradition than to listen to the people who feel harmed inside it? Why is “can we be honest about this?” heard as “you’re not allowed to enjoy anything”?

Discomfort is not the enemy here. It’s information. You can like the food and still tell the truth about the history. You can love your family and still name the ways faith was used to control you. You can enjoy the gathering and still refuse to spiritualize harm.

Some of us still show up to this holiday. Some of us rename it. Some of us skip it. Some of us build new rituals that don’t require pretending. There isn’t one right way to handle it. But honesty has to be part of whatever we build next.

You can love the people around you. You can love the moment. And if something in your body pulls back while everyone else leans in, that doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you honest.

#HonestHolidays #HolidayTriggers #NotEveryoneFeelsSafe #SpiritualAbuseAwareness #UnlearningObedience #ReclaimingTradition