The situations above are specific: a loss, a doubt, a disclosure, and they tend to get a specific set of responses. But there are other patterns of response that show up regardless of the situation.
Sometimes we try to relate and unintentionally shift the conversation to ourselves. If you have a comparable story, first decide it’s actually relatable or just similar. There’s a difference. If you mention it, be brief, state the part that matters, and tie it back to them. Spending several minutes telling them your saga can feel like you’re minimizing theirs, as if telling your story from the past is more important than listening to their present.
One of the most common responses we have to friends and family who are hurting is to cheer them up. There may be times when that’s fine, but you have to figure that out first. Trying to cheer someone up when they’re in pain can send the message that their feelings are inconvenient or bothersome, and they need to fix them.
We also try to focus on the positive in an attempt to shift their feelings. I can give you an example from my own life. During two extraordinarily difficult years, people would try to cheer me up by saying “ok but you’ve also accomplished a lot of good things. You finished your thesis, presented it at APA, and graduated with your masters.” It felt like I wasn’t allowed to be this hurt or feel loss just because I also had some wins.
The other reason this can be problematic is that what seems objectively positive might not be. About a year into my thesis, a number of significant things in my life fell apart. One of which meant I was suddenly living a lot of the painful things I was writing about. On top of everything else falling apart, working on my thesis started to feel like emotional torture. I fell so far behind that I missed two graduation dates.
So yes, I finished my thesis. I got a win among a lot of losses. But writing it amplified my already immense pain and kept me stuck in it day after day after day until it was done. It represents a brutal chapter in my life. I’m proud of it, but it’s not a positive memory.
The thing that these all have in common is that they bypass emotion rather than acknowledging or engaging with it. When you bypass the emotion, you’re communicating distance instead of connection. You’re indirectly saying you’d rather jump ahead and give them the conclusion (according to you) than deal with their emotions and let them form their own.
You might think you’re helping, but this actually increases nervous system activation. Responses like these intensify stress and heighten self-criticism. Your nervous system also learns that expressing these emotions isn’t safe or acceptable, which can increase shame for feeling them.
The research on this is remarkably consistent across dozens of countries and cultures.
Similar research confirms that responses like these often benefit the speaker. It can reduce their own discomfort and helplessness. It protects their worldview while their friend’s experience contradicts it. We think we’re comforting our friend, but we’re actually comforting ourselves at their expense.
In a time when everyone seems to be struggling, we’re making each other feel worse.
You’ve probably done every single one of these things dozens of times. This doesn’t make you a bad person. Most people don’t know these responses are generally harmful. They’re extremely common and almost always well intentioned. And to be fair, there are times where some of these are appropriate, and knowing when is tricky.
The best thing to do is ask. That alone can make someone feel incredibly seen and supported. Ask if they want you to listen or give advice; to sit with them or cheer them up. Then respect their answer.
Before you try to make someone feel better, make sure they feel understood.
Knowing what not to say matters, but how do you know what to say instead?
Part 2 covers what to say instead, and why it works.