It’s hard when your friends or family are enduring a major life crisis and you are desperate to help, but you don’t know what to say, you don’t know what to do. It’s like wanting to be there for the grieving, isn’t it? It’s just so damned uncomfortable and awkward—and even as we admit that to ourselves--it feels selfish and small, as in, “Oh, I feel so bad for this person, but I don’t know what to say, so I won’t say anything.” Which sucks, but it can feel like there’s no right way, only wrong ways. Well, I’m here to solve that problem and tell you what works. At least for me, but if it works for you, please feel free to adapt it to your needs.
Because I’ve been in so many awkward-not-knowing-what-to-do situations in my life and now have spent the last six or so years either grieving or stressing about someone’s care and health, I’ve decided that I can weigh in as an expert now. And what I’ve discerned is that, while most of the discomfort and clumsiness is tolerable, it’s the unsolicited advice that really gets to me. It’s the “Well, you should think about how Annie feels,” or “You can’t look at it that way,” or “that way of thinking will only make it worse.” Well, what if that’s the only way I can think about it right now? So now I haven’t taken your advice, you feel snubbed, and I feel unseen. Lose-lose.
Of course, I understand how difficult these situations are; they are lose-lose. I don’t want to be dealing with my daughter having cancer and you have no earthly idea what to say to me about it. What often happens, though, after a few of these ineffective exchanges, the support that is so desperately needed goes away simply from lack of knowing what to say.
First of all, I know all the words and gestures coming my way spring from the well-meaning fount of love and friendship. It comes from a good place and there’s no question about that. But just think about what such advice does to a person who is sometimes making it from day to day by the seat of her pants. For me, there’s a thread of stress throughout the day. I’m not always conscious of it, but the thread is there. I can laugh, teach, exercise, hang out with Luca, do a modicum of housework, write some things, make dinner, drink wine, drive to Maine. Every day, my family and I are learning how to live and celebrate our lives on this new path and I have a lot to be grateful for. But I still get kind of pissed off, too.
Believe me, I’ve asked, “Let me know what I can do” more times than I can remember, even as I felt like a shmuck for being so lame. I think asking something from someone who is already dealing with grief or cancer or whatever is what makes our gestures of help and support feel counterintuitive. We’re supposed to be helping, so naturally, in the absence of making it all go away or handing our friend a comforting casserole, we drop words of wisdom into their suffering. Words that can miss their mark.
And I guess by “ask” I don’t necessarily mean you should ask what you can do, but for me, maybe just ask how I am and be prepared that I might say, “Terrible.” I know that response can put one in an uneasy position, but I have to say, being able to acknowledge that I’m terrible to another human—who I totally understand might not be able to make one lick of difference in my situation—is kind of affirming. It makes me feel like I don’t have to hold it in all the time, I don’t have to pretend I’m fine so others around me won’t get uncomfortable.
So, here’s what works—for me—but maybe others, too. A text without the need for response. A card or postcard in the mail is nice. No phone calls though, unless you are prepared to not reach me and then leaving a voicemail totally works. I don’t need anyone to spend any money (I mean, I’m not against it . . .) so loaning me a book (NOT self-help), dropping off some flowers from your garden or one of those casseroles linked above is such a perfect gesture. It speaks of love and friendship and acknowledgement. Being present for my suffering is more powerful than any words might convey.
And, maybe the next time we see each other, you ask me how I am and I say, “Shitty”, you’ll say “I totally get it. I’d feel that way, too.”
Is there a right way?
Asking from the trenches—for a friend, for myself, for all of us.
❤️
I get it, but thanks for putting this out there! We so often forget what is the right way to reach out, and need a nudge to simply be open. Thinking of you, dear heart!