We think it's helpful to say these things to suffering people:
"I know exactly what you mean"
- or -
"I've gone through the exact same thing"
- or, the absolute worst... -
"Tell me about it!"
The last time someone said any of the above to you in a moment of despair, what did you say to yourself? I'll bet it was some variant of the following:
"How could you possibly!?"
"No, you haven't."
"Asshole."
Here's the thing: people who are suffering cannot possibly hear or appreciate words like this. It's not that they are wrong, or that you are a liar to say them. Quite the contrary: the nexus of shared human experience gives all of us the capacity to relate to each other on a far deeper level than any of us imagined possible. When we see a friend or loved one in pain, we are the first to point out our "obvious" relatedness, believing it will instantly confer comfort.
This fails to work every time because one universal symptom of suffering is the honest belief that you are different from everybody else; that you are the first person on Earth to have experienced your unique brand of pain; that, as a consequence, you are destined to be utterly misunderstood and abjectly alone.
At best, this is a temporary lack of perspective that is subconsciously invented as a justification for total retreat from the world that inflicted pain. To protect ourselves from further injury we isolate, separate, and dissociate.
At worst, we fail to find another person to relate to before we hit the point of no return. With our little corner of the universe thoroughly carved out we discover that we are, in fact, standing alone. The self-fulfilling prophecy of man-as-island frighteningly transforms the symptom of our suffering into... the cause. You may know of a tragic case like this. I certainly do.
Use of the words "I" and "me" anywhere in the empathy narrative, then, just doesn't compute. They deflect attention back to that part of the world that has been abandoned. This comes off as presumptuous and selfish, and it is. Don't ever assume that your tapestry of troubles is woven from identically colored, textured, sized, and placed threads. It may be similar, but it can never be the *exact* same.
Here is what actually works:
- Listen, listen, listen.
- Forget about yourself for awhile.
- Maintain an attitude of quiet but authentic curiosity for what the experience of life is like *for them*.
- Immerse yourself in the world they describe, letting them re-create for you as much or as little of it as they wish (the better you listen, the more they will re-create).
- Maintain eye contact, and use body language to connect without interrupting.
- Ask clarifying questions if you don't understand something.
- Most importantly, throw yourself a tow line and tug on it gently when you feel yourself getting close to your emotional event horizon. Trust me, they don't want you to drown with them (that would, after all, break the loneliness narrative).
When the kernels of pain have stopped popping, thank them for inviting you in to their private world. Repeat the key ideas, adding no embellishments, so they know they were heard. If you must refer to yourself, say something like, "I can see better now where you're coming from." Claim only increased capacity to relate rather than perfect understanding. The former will allow them to dig themselves out; the latter will have them continue to resist.
Give them the gift they can't possibly resist.
