How do I begin?
I don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to say. You can sense the tremendous amount of
pain that has descended upon me. It makes us both feel uncomfortable and helpless.
You want to reassure me but you don’t know where to start.
It matters not what brought on this life altering stress. The familiar has been dropped out from under my feet. I am grieving for a loss. A family member may have died, or a friend for that matter. I may have been laid off or fired from my job. I may be going through separation distress that came hard on the heels of the breakdown of my marriage. My mother might be dying of cancer, debilitated and laying in a hospital bed. I may have been raped. I am dealing with an emotional trauma.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I am restless, I am tired. I pace the hallway trying to decide whether I need to pee or not. I am fearful for the future; I am stuck in the past. I am aching for the might have beens. I have been hit by a Mack truck and find myself looking both ways ten times before crossing the road. I can’t find my keys even though they are right where I left them. I am hot, I am cold. Do I wear long sleeve or short? Why can’t I find the matching sock? I crumble in frustration. I make myself some coffee, take a sip, and then pour the rest down the sink. My nervous system has run amuck without my permission. I struggle to find my balance. You are watching me teeter along the edge powerless to make it all go away. I am in shock.
I am unlikely to verbalize my needs to you. It isn’t so easy asking for and accepting help. I am too wrapped up tight in my distress. My words are muffled below the blanket of despair. So here, on this page, I will tell you what you CAN do and what I need. I won’t tell you later, but they are necessary just the same.
- Offer comfort without telling me how I should or shouldn’t feel. Let me feel this so it can be washed away when the spring rains come.
- Don’t hide your feelings from me. It will make me reluctant to share mine. Acknowledge your feelings and trust me to be able to hear them as well. I do not want to perceive that you believe I am too fragile. I need to believe I am strong.
- Talk to me, visit me, and just show up even when you are feeling awkward. I don’t expect you to be perfect and smiling and upbeat. Just being there is enough.
- Hear with your heart first, then hear with your ears. Listen to me, even if it sounds like I’m beating a dead horse. Repetition will dull the anguish. Stories have the most power on the first telling.
- Don’t rush me. Be here for the long haul. This is going to take time. I need you to hold my hand and walk with me.
- Offer suggestions but don’t tell me what to do. Don’t expect you’ll have all the answers because you won’t. I will still appreciate the thoughts behind them whether I take them or not.
- Be compassionate.
- Offer me warm milk & honey and fingers tracing circles on my back until sleep.
- Remind me to be gentle with myself, for I will forget.
- But perhaps the best thing you can do for me is to acknowledge that you cannot make the pain go away no matter how much you want to and that neither can I.
Allow me my grief. Allow me to integrate this loss into my psyche. Lend me your ear when I show signs of opening up and then let me be a puddle upon your shoulder. And if I forget my manners along with the other myriad details, I thank you now for being a part of my life.