Don't gloss over the pain. Hold space for it instead.
We’ve all been there. A friend is grieving. They’ve lost a person, a dream, a relationship, or a version of their life they loved. The pain in their eyes is so deep it makes you uncomfortable. You want to fix it. You want to make it better.
So, we reach for the well-meaning but ultimately hollow phrases:
“You have to move on.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“Stay positive!”
“At least they’re in a better place.”
“Don’t dwell on it.”
We say these things because we love them. But if we’re truly honest, we often say them because we are uncomfortable. Their pain is a storm we don’t know how to navigate, and our words are an attempt to calm the seas for ourselves, not for them. We are trying to comfort our own helplessness in the face of their sorrow.
But here is the hard, essential truth: You cannot heal what you do not acknowledge.
When we immediately tell someone to “move on,” we are essentially asking them to skip a vital part of their journey. We are glossing over their pain. And when pain is glossed over, it doesn’t disappear. It gets buried. It festers. It becomes a silent, heavy weight that a person carries alone.
Unless people feel seen and heard, they will always feel invalidated.
What a grieving person needs most is not a solution. It is not a silver lining. It is not a timeline for their recovery.
They need a witness.
They need someone to sit with them in the dark and say, without words:
“Your pain is real, and I am not afraid of it.”
“I see you, and I am staying.”
“This is terrible, and you are not alone in it.”
This is the core of true comfort. It’s not about having the right answer. It’s about having the courage to say, “I don’t know what to say, but I am here with you.” It’s about listening more than you speak. It’s about letting their tears be, without handing them a tissue too quickly.
So, what can we say instead?
Try replacing the “fix-it” phrases with validating ones:
• “This is so hard. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
• “I am here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
• “It’s okay to not be okay.”
• “Would you like to talk about them? I’d love to hear a story.”
• “I’m thinking of you.” (And then actually follow up).
This isn’t about wallowing. It’s about honoring the truth that grief is not a problem to be solved, but a process to be lived. By giving our friends the sacred space to feel their feelings without judgment, we aren’t prolonging their pain. We are validating their humanity. And in doing so, we offer the most profound comfort of all: the knowledge that they, and their love, mattered.
Let’s be the friends who are brave enough to sit in the quiet, messy, painful places. Let’s stop glossing over the pain, and start holding space for it instead.
With much love and warmth,
Yi
What is Stories from The Field?
In workshops and quiet sessions, I am consistently gifted with moments of raw, human truth. Stories from the Field is my way of sharing these glimpses with you.
Each story is a real moment from my work—a shared laugh, a silent tear, a sudden insight, a healed wound. While names and details are always changed to protect privacy, the heart of the experience remains intact.
This series is an invitation to explore the vast and beautiful landscape of our shared humanity. It’s about the ways we love, protect, grow, and connect. My hope is that in reading these stories, you see a part of your own experience reflected back at you, and feel a little more connected and understood with this journey we are all on.
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