Last month it felt like most mornings started with a dose of violence. Locally, there were wildfires raging across the city I now called home. Nationally, Trump became president again, ushering in daily headlines announcing policies to walk back protections for the country’s most vulnerable. Individually, the vibe just seemed to be people being shitty, as if we were all testing each other’s limits on the ‘fuck around and find out’ meter.
Personally? I got real close to choosing violence. And I’m a pacifist. Or, as I’m working in therapy, an avoidant. Either way, 99% of the time, I’m gonna let it go. Let God get them. I’ll be over here controlling what I can, baby. But this was different. And when that 1% shows up, it’s an inferno. I was right up to the edge, eagerly peering over and ready to take the leap into retaliation. You go low, watch me go lower. And want to know what almost got me? “I get it.”
If you’ve dealt with loss, I guarantee you’ve heard the phrase more times than you can count. If you’re anything like me, you might also liken this phrase to an internal seesaw. If someone sits on one end, it’s because they honestly can relate to what you’re facing. Maybe not perfectly, but enough for it to feel like the emotional equivalent of a weighted blanket. You can relax. You instantly feel at ease. It can feel safe, protected even. It’s a sign that you share a language that doesn’t require explanation. Which allows you settle into a comfort state.
I was reminded of this feeling for the first time in a long time a few days ago. I had pushed myself past my limit. It was crash-out time. Before I lost my dad, a crash-out wasn’t that consequential. Sure, there would be tears, followed by a healthy dose of self wallowing until I eventually got tired of myself and swung the pendulum back to baseline. A current day crash-out has all that plus the added bonus of an unprompted grief spiral that can last anywhere from one hour to two weeks. Lucky for me, this was on the shorter side, a tasteful two days. But as a result, I chose to bail on plans with this friend to take a day to recoup. We’re new friends, so while I’d gathered there was a shared experience of loss between us, we hadn’t really gotten into it. That is, until I went into full transparency mode to explain why I was cancelling, instead of picking a more palatable excuse. The result? I was reminded just how special it is find people who make you feel seen in your grief. It’s healing. Gratitude started to pulse through my system, gently pushing out some lingering heaviness, emptiness, and overwhelm.
And then there is the other side. The side of the seesaw where someone has selected a phrase that simply does not suit them. Nothing gives away how much emotional intelligence someone lacks quite like death. And I actually have empathy for it, especially when it’s someone with limited to no experience with loss. For most people, talking, or even thinking, about death triggers a discomfort so strong that it activates a default setting in us humans: self-centering. Mostly when this happens, I just internally roll my eyes and die a little inside, then let it go. They don’t know what they don’t know. And I don’t have the capacity to explain it to them in my current state. But this time was different. It hit a nerve when someone I trusted used my grief for their own self promotion. Fuck empathy! I thought as I rage-read for the second time. I wanted to scream at this person in a volume loud enough to make my voice raspy the next day “NO YA FUCKING DON’T!”
Why exactly does the misuse of this phrase irk me so? To start, it’s lazy. Maybe it’s the writer in me. Or that one Semantics of Advertising class I took freshman year of college. Words matter. And there are so many other ways to communicate support that don’t risk leaving the person on the other side feeling unseen, or worse, dismissed. Even though it may not be the intent, by contextualizing someone else’s pain as it relates to your experience, you’re shifting the focus from them to you.
I have a friend who I voice note back and forth like we’re tennis champs. When I was going through a major loss last summer, she began almost all of her responses by saying “that’s so valid.” I absolutely loved it. She was the first person in my life to say that to me and it made me feel so, well, validated. It also made me think about how, in that moment, she could have easily dropped the “I get it.” But she didn’t. Because she didn’t. Instead, she showed me that she was in it with me, whatever that entailed, and it was completely okay. That, ladies and gents, is the difference between causing someone to check out of the conversation and creating space for them to check in when they really need to. So, may I recommend replacing “I get it” with one of the below?
That’s valid
I’m here
This is unfair
Is there anything I can do for you?
I brought bagels
And, because I didn’t know it had to be said, please never preach about the pain of losing a parent when it hasn’t happened to you. Oh, and special thanks to the group chat, Eckhart Tolle and breathwork for paddling me back from the ledge.
Kisses!
Merel