How to help a friend who is hurting

A short guide to supporting someone through grief

Photo courtesy of Anna Gudvin via Dupe.

When we’re young, adults tell us we will understand when we’re older. It’s either a deflection away from an awkward conversation they’re unprepared to have, or an attempt to protect us from hearing something we’re not yet able to process. Sometimes it’s both.

There are some things, however, we might never understand, no matter how old we get. We might never know what it’s like to lose a family member to terminal illness, to get divorced, or to suffer pregnancy loss. These might only be things we see our friends grapple with. We might feel that because we’ve never experienced what they’re going through, there’s nothing we can say or do to help. We might feel helpless. We might even feel awkward.

This feeling of awkwardness is likely due to the fact that our culture doesn’t know what to do with sadness. When a child falls down, we immediately pick them up and say “you’re okay,” even if they’re not. Even if they’re bleeding, even if the pain tells them “hey, this hurts,” we deny it. “It’s just a scratch, it’s okay,” we tell them. We do it because we want to comfort them, to comfort ourselves. But instead of learning that sadness, like any other emotion, is a temporary state, we learn that it’s uncomfortable, something to be avoided. We never learn to sit in it. That is, until we’re forced to. We can tiptoe around sadness all we want until we fall into its depths. Until we lose something. Until we lose someone. Until we lose ourselves.

The depth of grief, however, is different for everyone. We might not experience the same things as our friends, but we will undoubtedly have our own challenges. They might be similar, but they’re incomparable. Our experience is as unique to us as theirs is to them. We can’t climb into the exact same cavern to sit with someone else’s sadness, not really. So, what can we do?

For one, we can make the space.

Grieving already feels like you have “I’m a big bummer” tattooed on your forehead. Everyone can see it, even if you try to hide it, and because our culture doesn’t leave a lot of room for grief, it makes many people feel uncomfortable. We’re conditioned to answer “good, and you?” any time we’re asked how we are. We’re taught to deflect, to keep our true feelings inside to make others more comfortable. As a result, we don’t know how to hold each other when we need it. It’s what makes the holes depression and grief carve out for us feel so deep.

There’s nothing more isolating than suffering in silence, than feeling like no one around you wants to hear about what you’re going through because it makes them uneasy. However, you can be the friend who stands on the edge of the cavity and says “Hey, I’m here. How are you?” Your words can be the rope that reminds them that not only are they not alone, but they can get through this. Your presence can reassure them that they are not a burden.

We also don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.

Because we’re not conditioned to sit with sadness, we might struggle to know what to say to someone who is grieving. We might feel like it’s safer not to say anything at all in order to not say the wrong thing. Unfortunately, not saying anything is how our grieving friend gets the “I’m a big bummer” forehead tattoo in the first place. The only thing saying the wrong thing says is: “I’ve never done this before, but I’m trying.” Saying nothing, on the other hand, says the opposite. It tells them they are alone in their pain – that not only can we not relate, we don’t actually want to.

Even if that’s not true, even if we can’t relate but do want to ease their pain, not saying anything only validates their fears. If that’s not distressing enough, not saying anything gives us a forehead tattoo of our own; one that says, “I’m a coward,” which is just painful for everyone.

We don’t even need to use words.

A gesture, like a picture, can be worth a thousand words. Sometimes doing one, simple thing can both create space for grief and tell the person we’re there for them. It can be as small as sending flowers to their door, or offering to bring them dinner. It can be making them a playlist, sending them an old photo, or simply spending quality time with them, giving them a reprieve from the darkness of their own thoughts. As long as there is intentionality, they will feel your support.

Finally, we can attempt to understand our discomfort.

If we can’t do these things – if we can’t create the space or acknowledge their pain – it’s worth asking ourselves why. Is it because we’re a product of our environment and the intimacy of it is too much? Is it because we don’t feel close enough to this person and therefore whatever we could do feels inauthentic? Is it because we are just scared? We can’t control what they’re going through, but we can control our reaction to it. What does the friendship mean to us? Is it worth a little discomfort in order to ease theirs and in turn bring us closer together? If we think about how things will be once their difficult days have passed, are we proud of how we showed up for them? If we aren’t, are we prepared to own it, should they ask why we weren’t there?

No matter how old we get, we may not understand everything. We may not understand exactly what someone else is going through, but to be a human of any age is to want to be seen and understood. Helping a friend who is hurting is as simple as that.