What should I say? How to say the right thing to friends in tough times

We’d all like to be as carefree as when we were children. But when a dear friend’s going through a tough time – maybe they’ve lost their job, are going through a separation or dealing with the illness or death of a loved one – you have to step up. And you should be able to offer them some comfort. But because many people find this difficult, I got advice from Chris Paul, a lecturer and expert in grief and loss support who’s written multiple books on the subject, including «Ich lebe mit meiner Trauer» (English: I live with my grief) and «Keine Angst vor fremden Tränen» (English: Don’t be afraid of other people’s tears) (website in German).

Guidebooks

I live with my grief

German, Chris Paul, 2021

Guidebooks

I live with my grief

German, Chris Paul, 2021

So, Chris, does it make a difference whether we’re comforting someone after the death of a loved one or because someone’s lost their job? Do we assess these two things as differing in severity?

Chris Paul: «Assess» is the key word here. The assessment is internal. If we consider a loss to be very serious – such as the loss of a child – this blocks our own thoughts and actions. Then we often don’t dare to offer any consolation at all. This isn’t only the case with deaths, but with all difficult situations. Take separations, for example: a marriage that lasted 40 years and is now falling apart is more significant to us than a separation after a three-month relationship. But assessments like this in our own heads can be very inhibiting.

Let’s assume you’re already aware that this system of assessing circumstances is blocking you. How do you snap out of it and start to offer comfort?

When someone dies, there are far more ways to offer comfort. Just through the rituals surrounding death, such as attending the funeral, visiting the grave together later or tending to it. There are none of these rituals after a separation or when someone’s seriously ill. But the same fundamental attitude applies to all situations. You should see there’s a person in need and recognise that you could do something to help them cope better.

Why do we need comfort from others at all?

Should we call it comfort? Let’s just call it support. We’re herd animals, genetically programmed for contact with others. We feel safer when we’re with others. And when someone experiences loss – through death, separation or even dementia – something’s missing. A person who’s dear to them, who was part of their every day life, is no longer here.

So, it’s about preventing loneliness?

Exactly. Many people don’t need much consolation. They need the closeness and attention of other people. So, stop worrying about providing the perfect comfort. People don’t want clever words; they want closeness and sympathy and friendship and patience. A person in crisis wants to realise: «I’m not disappearing off the face of the earth. I’m not being cut off or made taboo or stigmatised. I’m still the same person as I was before, people just need to treat me more considerately.»

I have two examples of how not to do it. Scenario one: I only see my sister-in-law once or twice a year. When her mother died, I didn’t reach out to her by phone and I only wrote her a very well-considered letter of condolence. To this day, I doubt whether it was enough.

It could well have been enough. Our reaction should be in keeping with the relationship we had beforehand. If we only have a casual relationship with someone where we rarely see them and one of their close relatives dies, we don’t have to offer a huge amount of support. It’s not even expected. This means that sending your sister-in-law a condolence card that you put time and thought into could have been very precious. Then maybe you’ll send another card on the anniversary of the death. Anniversaries are particularly difficult for those who are grieving.

Scenario two: when something sad happened to an old school friend – which she’d told me about via text message – I replied with words of comfort, along with: «I’ll call you soon.» Well…I didn’t manage to. And I eventually gave up because I was so ashamed.

It’s never too late to get in touch. That’s important to know. But you’ve actually put your foot in it by promising something you weren’t able to deliver on. You’d have been better off sending a message like: «I’m thinking of you». People expect very close family members to get in touch personally – if not, there will be serious issues. People you’re not so close to are also happy if you send a text message every few days. For example, you could send a friend going through a divorce: «I’m thinking of you. Do you remember when we went to the flower show last year and how much you loved the freesias?» Unlike after the death of a partner, don’t remind someone of their ex-partner after a separation. Talk about the relationship you and your friend have. The closer we are to someone, the more the other person expects something personal and helpful.

So it’s better to avoid empty words?

Yes, forget about clichés. All grieving people find stupid sayings annoying. And someone who’s undergoing chemotherapy, for example, doesn’t need encouraging sayings either. Instead, send messages in the first person, such as: «I’m speechless, I’m worried about you.» Or «I’m afraid for you. I want to support you.» And send photos of touching or beautiful things – of the starry sky, of the sunset, or send poems if someone likes them. Stay in touch.

Do you have examples of clichés?

«You’re so strong.» «Things are starting to get better now.» «You’ll get over it.» «You have to look forward.» «Pull yourself together.» «You just have to let go.» «At some point, you’ll realise it happened for a reason.» «You’re still so young.»

They all sound so unfeeling.

Exactly. There’s only one phrase that’s considered a social convention, making it acceptable: expressing your «condolences» when someone dies. It’s not about the words; it’s about your sympathy. «My heartfelt condolences» is a shorter way of saying «I heard about it and it touched me emotionally. I’m thinking of you.»

Do you always have to call? Or can you send messages?

If you’re used to communicating via message and both of you like it, then yes. I also really like voice messages – they bring you much closer to the other person. But don’t just send text or voice messages or nice photos because you’re afraid of a face-to-face conversation. Judge what’s appropriate for each situation. For someone undergoing cancer treatment, text messages may be the best option in the moment. But at some point, you’ll need to make a phone call or send a letter.

In simple terms, how should we communicate, and how should we not?

Make very personal, clear offers: «I’d like to see you and I’ll be nearby tomorrow. Could you do 5 p.m.?» People dealing with difficult circumstances are often exhausted and have a lot to organise – wishy-washy stuff is no use to them. Concrete, loving offers are good, such as dropping off homemade soup. Just don’t be offended if the other person doesn’t get in touch straight away or rejects your offer. As a good friend, you should keep trying. And, whether it’s a message or a face-to-face conversation, really engage with the other person. This includes asking personal questions and talking about yourself. For example: «You were so angry when we last spoke. Do you still feel like that?». Always meet them at their level when you get in touch.

Apart from empty platitudes, what are other no-nos when offering comfort?

Any form of forced happiness. Saying, for example, «now let’s go out/get something to eat/go to a party». Being quick to offer solutions usually backfires. The friend either does it reluctantly or not at all – and then the person who was supposed to be helping is insulted. But it’s not about them.

So, how do I do it right?

If, for example, you feel your grieving friend is sinking into loneliness, be specific, but still give them a choice. For example: «You’ve always liked walking the dog with me. I’ll bring Max with me tomorrow, and maybe you’d like to come for a walk with us.» They might well say no. But your offer might stir something in the grieving person to say what they really need.

Your examples all sound so easy. I can never think of fitting things to say.

Don’t be shy, all it’s about is loving gestures. And not burdening the other person. The other person can choose whether or not to take you up on your offer, but please don’t worry about how you feel about it and how they’ll react. Many grieving people talk about how difficult it is for them – of all people – to have to worry about comforting others.

Do you think we find it difficult because we’re not used to dealing with grief, misfortune and death?

Yes. We’re a very performance and goal-oriented society. Anything related to weakness is frowned upon – so we lack social practices. People don’t learn them at home, at school or in other groups. And of course, misfortune is frightening. It reminds us that it can happen to us too. And many people avoid such thoughts. Research has shown that people have mirror neurons: we mirror the feelings of those around us. When we look at happy people, it lifts our own mood. When we deal with sad things, it lowers our mood. Of course, everyone would rather ride a carousel and eat ice cream than join in with someone’s tears and despair. Grief as a cultural practice hardly exists anymore – I increasingly see it as a cultural service to decide: «I’ll still sit down with you and give you my time because you’re important to me.»