“I Didn’t Know What to Say” is the Worst Thing to Say
Why we say it, and what we should say instead.

June 2, 2019 · 11 minute read

Consider these three scenarios:

It was like I had the plague. Once-talkative coworkers stared at the floor when I passed in the corridors. Silence replaced their usual greetings at the cafeteria microwave. People I was working with on projects approached my desk tentatively, when they did at all. Everyone seemed afraid to mention my layoff.

. . .

My friend’s grown son Bill always spoke with a sarcastic flair and this time was no different, though it should have been. I sat at the kitchen table, red-eyed, processing the bad news. Bill’s jokes and staccato nonsense-talk jarred me. Does he not know my grandfather died? I thought. My friend definitely would have mentioned it.

. . .

My husband and I had met through a social group, so we had a ton of mutual acquaintances; surely, word must have gotten around about our divorce. But none who knew — even those I had considered close friends — reached out to me, except two who were sniffing out gossip.

. . .

When I lived through these events — respectively, corporate layoffs, the death of my grandfather, and my divorce — the people I expected to offer support instead retreated into the shadows. Though the triggers were different, their reactions were the same. Why? The common denominator, as I later found out, was that they didn’t know what to say. So they said nothing. Did nothing.

Why is it that, when support is most needed, it is least given? I asked a couple of my therapist friends (coincidentally, both named Jennifer) for their professional opinions. Jennifer Burich, a licensed clinical social worker in Astoria, New York, said, “Sometimes people fear that asking someone about their tough circumstance will create painful feelings for the person.” And Jennifer Kneeland, a licensed mental health counselor and relationship specialist with a private practice in Westport, Connecticut, added, “What I find is that people overthink what it means to be there for another when they are going through a life crisis. Often there is an assumption made that if they reach out, then they must provide the most eloquent healing words or ideal support.”

In other words, when people say, “I didn’t know what to say,” what’s really going on is that they are afraid they may make it worse or that if they do something, they’ll do it wrong. But the problem with doing nothing is that it does do something — it makes the person feel worse. Burich says, “People who are going through a tough time — a separation, divorce, grief — often end up feeling very alone, not just because they have lost someone or something, but because people in their lives may purposely or inadvertently avoid asking them about the challenge they’re going through.”

Remember: it’s not about you.

I once worked with a young woman who bought her boyfriend the things she wanted. For Christmas one year, she bought him a subscription to Esquire magazine, “Because my subscription just ran out,” she said. And when her brother became an exchange student in Ireland, she was thrilled — not for her brother, but because she wanted to sightsee in Ireland and stay with the host family for free. She did, and even brought a friend along. It was all about her. Saying, “I didn’t know what to say” is similar — it’s all about you. Let’s look closely at that sentence once more:

“I didn’t know what to say.”

Who’s the subject of that sentence? The speaker. You, if you’re the one saying it. But here’s the thing: when someone is going through a tough time, it’s not about you; it’s about them. Now, I’m not saying that the person who “doesn’t know what to say” to a grieving friend is necessarily a selfish oaf, like my former coworker. Rather, they’re someone who got bogged down so much in their own discomfort that they forgot about the most important thing: the other person, the one who’s actually wading through the muck. And no matter how uncomfortable it might be for you to say something, you can be damn sure that what the other person is going through is a hundred times more uncomfortable. Let’s look at this badly drawn bar graph:

Take a moment to remember the last time you went through something really tough — a breakup, a death, a scary diagnosis. Chances are, you went into survival mode and it became ridiculously difficult to do even the simplest things, like get out of bed. When you’re in that mental place, everything is such a struggle that closing the curtains, curling up in a fetal position and sucking your thumb feels like a completely reasonable plan for the rest of your life. It’s also then that the smallest kindness from another person can morph you into a slobbering puddle of gratitude, turn your day around, and make you feel like maybe everything doesn’t suck so much after all. In stark contrast, that little act of kindness probably took the other person about as much effort as zipping up their jacket, as seen in this next badly drawn graph:

The greater their pain, the more relief your comfort brings. And all for just a little effort. It’s actually a great return on your investment.

Do you know how ships float? In simplest terms, it has to do with displacement. Ships are built with hulls, or bases, that are very wide, dispersing the weight of the ship across a large surface area. In this way, even the heaviest cruise ship laden down with hundreds of thousands of pounds of crew, passengers, equipment and baggage won’t sink. It’s similar with people — when one’s heavy burden is spread across a larger area — namely, a network of supportive friends, acquaintances and family — the weight is shared. Even a small gesture of support extended to someone who’s troubled can help ensure they stay afloat when their burden is heavy and the seas are rough.

“Well, what do I say?”

Some life events, though unfortunate, are pretty common so it may be easier to know how to respond. When someone dies, “I’m sorry for your loss” is an accurate, reliable phrase we can offer to the deceased’s loved ones. We can post this on Facebook or say it in person. If we want to make an extra effort, we can attend the wake and/or pick out a condolence card from the wide variety available in most stores. But other situations aren’t so clear-cut.

What if someone we know is going through a divorce, or a job layoff, a cancer diagnosis, or their business partner took all of the company money and ran away to Bali? Or if we don’t know the person too well, or we do, but we’re not sure how they will react if we say something? People may get themselves in such a twist over what to do, or not do, that they do nothing. Which is the worst thing to do.

Though the specific circumstances of crappy life events may vary, there is a common thread: all involve some sort of loss. Sometimes, the loss is obvious — like the loss of a beloved person or pet. Or the loss may be something less tangible, like the loss of security that comes with a job layoff, or the loss of hope or independence that may accompany a serious illness. Or the loss of the identity and dreams we had with a former spouse or sweetheart. Basically, all we have to do is acknowledge the other person’s loss. Maybe, “I’m sorry for your loss” doesn’t sound right in every situation, but it’s a theoretical starting point. Really don’t know to say? Try one of these variations:

• “Hey, I heard from <name> about your <grandmother/divorce/layoff>. That’s tough, dude. I’m really sorry.” (This also lets the person know how you heard, so it doesn’t sound like you were gossiping.)

• “I wish I had something wise to tell you, but I don’t. I don’t know why shitty things happen. But I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” (Vulnerable and honest, but still shows that you care.)

• “I know you’re having a bad day. I’m getting some coffee. Want anything?” (A simple, kind gesture can speak volumes.)

• “Can I ___?” (Offer something tangible that you can realistically do: help with laundry, bring over a dish of food for their family, or offer to be a reference in their job search.)

Burich says, “When someone is enduring something painful, it’s almost always preferred for people to check in, and it’s okay to be direct…showing support and lending an ear always goes a long way toward showing people you care.” Burich adds that you don’t have to offer any advice because that’s not what the person wants at that time.

I would also avoid:

Saying, “I know how you feel.” Because you don’t; every situation is different. If you want to show your friend you understand, keep it a little more general, like: “I’ve been through some major life transitions myself, and man, I know it’s tough.”

Setting a “grief deadline.” Grieving is an ongoing process without a specific end point, so don’t be impatient if your friend is still upset long after the event is over. A year after her mother’s passing, my friend experienced a flood of heartache after finding a box of her mother’s belongings that were infused with her scent. Similarly, milestone dates, songs, and even dreams can trigger nostalgia or sorrow long after a loss. It’s never too late to check in again with your friend; you can be sure they haven’t yet forgotten, and they’ll be touched that you remembered.

Blaming. Don’t blame the boyfriend, the wife, the company, the economy, or anything; negative commiserating just adds emotional weight to your friend’s already heavy burden.

Trivializing. Maybe you’re trying to help your friend see their situation in a more positive light. But here’s the catch: to you, it’s no big deal. But you don’t see and feel all the things about the situation that they do.

When I was facing divorce, one of my biggest emotional hurdles was letting go of my marital home — the house I had built with my husband. The house we planned together, decorated together, painted together. The house that we took pictures of at every stage of its construction like other couples document the growth of a child. The house where he installed all the plumbing, my stepson installed all the wiring, and I assisted both of them in doing those things. Hard labor. For almost two years. Up on ladders and down on my hands and knees, getting cuts, scrapes, and fighting exhaustion and hunger. In November, before we had heat. In July, before we had air conditioning. At 11 p.m. on weeknights, after we’d both worked full days at our jobs. The house where I spent my annual week’s vacation painting the trim. The house where we ate, slept, fought, loved, entertained, and watched TV. The “rot house,” we’d called it, because we had planned to stay there so long we would rot together in old age.

Yeah, that house. So imagine how it felt to have people say positive New Agey-things like <dismissive wave of the hand> “Oh, it’s just stuff — you know, material things.” Or <big excited smile> “Maybe you built it for someone else!” All this did for me was underscore their lack of understanding.

“The most profound impact you can have is to simply show up,” says Kneeland. “Text regularly. Ask your friend if they want to get a coffee or see a movie. Give your friend the opportunity to know wholeheartedly that, despite the change in life, you know who they are and can keep them company through the transition. It isn’t difficult; it is affirming that your friend can be a mess and still be loved.”

It’s really very simple: it’s not so much what you say that matters, but that you say or do something. Acknowledge that the person is going through a tough time and open up a possible dialogue. Put that “elephant in the room” right out there. That’s it. Then gauge their reaction. They may quietly say, “Hey, thanks,” and change the subject. Or your comment may open a dam, where they start talking…a lot. Listen. Either way, the important thing is that you’ve picked up the ball and lobbed it in their court, giving them the opportunity to respond however they need to. And that’s the best thing you can do.

Because I know how much silence hurts, I now make it a point to address the losses of others, even if I don’t know them very well. If I can drop a quick Facebook message, I do. If I can send a card, I send it. If I can go to the wake, I go, even if it’s far away. And you know what? I’ve never had anyone say to me, “You know Wendy, you’re really an asshat for doing that!” It’s more like, “Wow. <big smile> Thanks!”

Be a diamond.

When most of my friends and acquaintances went silent during my divorce, I went into a brief “people suck” mode until I realized the upside of the situation: it was a tremendous opportunity to see who my friends really were. Through divorcing my husband, I had already removed a huge chunk of my life that hadn’t been working, and I was on a roll. I stepped aside and let the momentum carry away the false friends and trappings of my old life, leaving a void to be filled with people and things that would serve me better going forward. My true allies glittered like diamonds among ashes.

My parents came through with unexpected parades of support; we talk more now. My massage therapist concluded one of our sessions with an unexpected gift — a beautiful silver compass keychain with an engraved inscription about having the courage to choose a new path. And our office cafeteria clerk — someone whom I only knew casually — surprised me one day when I showed up to buy my lunch. Handing me a figurine of a woman holding a golden heart, she said, “I don’t know what you’re going through, but I’ve sensed something was wrong. This made me think of you because I think you have a really big heart.” (Yes, I got all teary-eyed next to the prepackaged sandwiches.)

And one evening when I was in crisis mode, my oldest friend dropped everything to meet me for dinner, knowing that I needed to talk…and talk…to someone who understood. We had agreed to meet outside a restaurant and I got there first. Standing on the sidewalk, I saw a figure a couple of blocks away. I hadn’t seen Linda in months — was that her? 

When she reached my block and I saw her face, I burst into tears. Linda held her arms out wide, continued walking calmly toward me with a knowing smile, and wrapped her arms around me like a warm blanket. People sidestepped us as we stood there, me clinging to her as if she was a tall, strong palm tree in a hurricane. In that moment, she didn’t worry about what to say. In fact, she didn’t have to say anything; her presence told me everything I needed to hear.

. . .

Header photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash.