Sitting With Pain
“I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.”
Image Credit @hannahbusing
It’s hard being around anyone struggling with the loss of a relationship, grieving a loved one’s death, coping with the reality of a cancer diagnosis, or facing unemployment. Their hurt and pain somehow seem to seep into our pores. Our gut reaction tells us to “do something,” like make it all better, pretend it’s not as awful as it feels, or even worse, get some distance from it all. Oriah’s quote nails it for me because what is needed is to just “be there,” to sit with someone else’s pain – not to come up with a solution or act as if nothing has changed.
Is it possible for someone to be present without offering advice or minimizing the situation? Having specialized in grief and loss, I’ve learned that the tendency is to want to “take away the pain” when comforting someone in the midst of a struggle. You’ll hear comments like, “They lived a good, long life.” (Translation: Be thankful.) “It’s great that you only need radiation therapy.” (Translation: That won’t be difficult.) “Well, you didn’t like that job anyway.” (Translation: No big deal.) “There’s other fish in the sea.” (Translation: Easy come, easy go.)
The comments don’t take away the sting of others deciding your employment status, the fear of not getting another job, or the sadness of years spent in a relationship that wasn’t healthy for either party. The goal is to put a positive spin on things and make them all better. But such comments don’t reduce the pain of missing a cherished relative or friend or diminish the fear of going through an unfamiliar, scary treatment.
The belief that “doing and saying” is better than “being” doesn’t serve us well because what is said is generally not helpful. It’s not helpful to say, “It’s going to be okay,” because one can’t guarantee that. It’s not helpful to say, “Let me tell you about my cousin who had lung cancer 15 years ago,” because that’s out-of-date information and not relevant. It’s not helpful to say, “I know just how you feel,” because while you might have some understanding, you can’t know exactly how someone else feels.
And what about sitting with our own pain? I would guess we’ve all had times when we’ve wanted to deny the reality of the situation (hide it), minimize the loss (fade it), or look for instant solutions (fix it). Grief experts will tell you that the only way to deal with loss is not to go around it but through it, and that is, in fact, the second task of mourning, according to William Worden: To experience the pain of grief. To deny the pain of loss prevents us from healing and moving forward in a healthy way. It hurts to hear that you have cancer. It hurts to experience a loved one’s death. It hurts to be fired or downsized. It hurts to know a relationship has ended. But acknowledging our own pain is how we begin to heal.
Do you remember who was there for you during a difficult time? Do you remember who wasn’t? (More people remember who wasn’t there.)
Do you remember being there for others in the midst of their most challenging times? As hard as that is, I believe sharing a difficult journey is a privilege.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
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