You know that moment when you're going through something really hard and you finally decide to say something.
Maybe it took you weeks to get there.
Maybe you almost didn't,
But you did.
You opened up,
You let someone in.
And they said something like,
Oh,
I'm sorry,
But,
You know,
Everything happens for a reason or.
Have you tried just not thinking about it so much?
Ah,
Don't worry,
I'm sure it's gonna be okay.
Or they immediately started telling you about their friend's cousin who went through something similar and turned out totally fine.
And you just nodded.
And inside,
You were thinking,
That's not what I needed.
Could you just not acknowledge it?
Maybe you even felt guilty for thinking it.
They meant well,
I am sure.
You know they meant well.
But somehow you ended up feeling more alone in the conversation than before it.
That's happened to almost everyone.
And almost nobody talks about why.
Here's what I figured out.
When you share something painful,
Something real,
Something that has a lot of weight,
You create a moment of discomfort in the room.
Not just for you,
But for them too.
And most people,
When they feel uncomfortable,
They have one instinct.
To make it stop.
Not because they don't care.
Because they do.
Because seeing someone they love in pain is genuinely hard to sit inside.
So they reach for a solution.
A reason,
A silver lining,
A story about someone else who came out to the other side.
Something,
Anything that moves the moment forward.
That closes the silence.
That makes the discomfort go away.
The problem is,
It makes their discomfort go away,
Not yours.
They're not being selfish.
They're being human.
And most of the time,
They don't have the tools to respond well.
Most of us were never taught how to sit with someone else's pain without trying to fix it.
Nobody modeled that for us.
Nobody told us that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for another person is nothing.
Just stay.
Hold the space,
Just not look away.
There is a version of this I used to carry as resentment.
The people who said the wrong thing,
Who reached for a solution when I needed presence,
Who made the moment about their discomfort instead of my loss.
I held on to that for longer than I should have.
And to be fair,
I've done that to my wife too.
When she really only wanted someone to hold her and say nothing,
I was just trying to give hope.
There is something about carrying resentment towards people who failed you in grief.
It's just more weight.
And you're already carrying enough.
So here's what I want to offer you instead.
The people who said the wrong thing,
The ones who reached for a fix,
Who handed you a reason,
Who changed the subject without meaning to,
They weren't failing you on purpose.
They were failing you because nobody taught them how to stay.
That's not an excuse,
Obviously,
But it is a reason.
And the reason sometimes is good enough to let something go.
If someone failed you in grief,
Let them be human.
And if you want to be the person who gets it right,
The one who shows up and doesn't look away,
The whole thing fits into one sentence.
I am sorry.
That must be hard.
Well,
That's it.
No solution,
No reason,
No story about someone else.
Just being present.
Just staying there.
Thank you for listening.
If you'd like to go deeper,
I have a course called Grief That Has No Name,
Where I explore this unique kind of grief,
How it reshapes us,
How it touches our identity,
How we learn to navigate the way others respond to our loss,
And how we can continue to live fully while carrying what can never be replaced.
So if you'd like to go deeper,
Go find a course on my teacher profile.
Until then,
Take care of yourself.
Lots of love.
