I Know How You Feel
When we visit someone who just experienced a death in the family, or who is facing a serious health challenge, we’re tempted to say, “I know how you feel.” I, too, used to say that many years ago. Then I realized how ridiculous that statement is.
We don’t know how someone else feels. In most cases, we haven’t gone through exactly what they’re going through. Do we know how it feels to have your child die – if we never experienced the death of our own child? Do we know how it feels to be told you have a life-threatening cancer if we haven’t faced this same challenge ourselves?
In addition, even if we have some personal experience that is similar to that of the other person, we still don’t know exactly how that person is feeling. People who are told they have cancer may react in a variety of ways. One person will be terrified. Another person may be angry. Yet another may be at peace and feel it is God’s will. Everyone has a unique background and a unique personality. We can never really know how someone else feels.
My father died in 2000 and my mother had died in 1993. I was quite surprised at the feelings I had when my father passed away, and I no longer had any living parents. He was 86 and his death was not unexpected. However, I was swept up with emotion now that both of my parents were dead. Perhaps I felt like an “orphan” now that I was “on my own.” I’m not sure what causes this feeling but it’s something I hadn’t expected, and had never experienced before. The feeling passed after several months.
Many people who had lost one parent (but still had a living parent) would tell me that they knew how I felt. I was sure that they didn’t. They couldn’t even begin to feel it until they no longer had any living parents.
We think we’re connecting with the person by blurting out “I know how you feel.” I recognize that when we make this statement, we’re trying to be kind and to comfort the other person. Our intentions are pure. What we really want to say is “I care about you,” “I love you,” and “I’m here to offer my support to you.”
I suppose what the other person really needs is our loving presence, and not our clever words. Silence is awkward for many of us, especially when we are with someone who is going through a tough time, and we feel powerless to help them. We’re also afraid to say the wrong thing.
Furthermore, this isn’t the time to show off our spiritual knowledge. At the funeral, I don’t think the grieving person is comforted when we offer our insights such as “everything happens for a reason,” or “God’s will be done.”
In these moments, I think words fail us for a reason. Words are a mind to mind mode of communication. If we’re looking to connect at the level of spirit, perhaps all we need to do is let our love show itself, through being together in silence, or with a gentle touch or hug. If words seem appropriate, a simple statement such as “I’m sorry” or “I love you” is probably all that is needed.
Conversation may eventually follow, but we don’t have to figure it out in advance or force it. If we listen with our hearts, we will be led to communicate with the other person in a way that comforts him or her, and nurtures our spirit as well.
– Jeff Keller
© 2008