Be Willing to Talk about Difficult Things
In July of 2010, Michelle and I found out, surprisingly, that we were expecting our third child. Since this wasn’t something we’d planned, we were shocked, excited, and a bit freaked out, all at the same time, as we started to imagine our life with another baby. We began telling lots of people about this big news.
Within just a few days of learning about the pregnancy, however, we had a miscarriage—something we’d never been through and weren’t at all prepared for. The emotions we experienced during that week, and in the weeks that followed, were quite intense. I felt sad, confused, and even relieved, although the feeling of relief was coupled with a deep feeling of shame, and some hardcore self-judgment and self-criticism. Michelle’s experience, although similarly mixed emotionally, was different from mine, which just added to the complexity of it all.
As we moved through this painful experience, Michelle and I both got to a place of peace and gratitude—choosing to believe that this happened for a reason. While it was difficult, it turned out to be a very rich time of growth and connection for us.
One of the most complicated aspects of the whole experience was sharing it with others, which we were forced to do given that we had told a lot of people about the pregnancy as soon as we found out. Many people don’t talk about their pregnancies until the second trimester, since the majority of miscarriages take place in those first three months. I understand, even more so now, why people keep this private—talking about a miscarriage can be quite emotional and uncomfortable for everyone involved.
However, even though it was an intense process for us and many of the people we talked to about it—especially those who had gone through this same experience—Michelle and I were so grateful for the amazing love and support we received. We were also blown away by how many other people had experienced a miscarriage—some we knew about, but many we didn’t.
Even in the midst of this personal and emotional experience, I was fascinated by the human phenomenon of authenticity at play. There is such power available for us when we get real. And while I do believe that it’s important for each of us to make conscious choices about what we share and with whom, far too often we choose not to share certain thoughts, feelings, or experiences because we deem them to be inappropriate or too much for people to handle. In other words, we don’t allow ourselves to let people know what’s really going on with us due to our fear of making them uncomfortable, of being judged, or of being disappointed by their response.
Sadly, in this process of withholding our true experiences and feelings, we miss out on opportunities to connect with people in an authentic way, get support, and share love, wisdom, and empathy. We also tend to focus so much on our own experience and our fears about what other people’s perception of us might be that we forget that having conversations about difficult things can actually be liberating and healing for everyone involved. A number of people I talked with about our miscarriage thanked me, and, in some cases, when I talked to people who had been through this same experience, I both appreciated their wisdom and insight and could tell that talking about it with me was helpful and healing for them. I even chose to write a blog post about it and to share this experience with a larger group of people, which I was a little concerned about initially. The response to my blog post was overwhelmingly positive, and lots of people responded with their own stories, as well as with an overall statement that it’s so important for us to talk about things like this, even if it’s hard. When we do, we learn that we don’t have to go through these things alone; there is a lot more support out there for us than we realize.
This is also true when the difficult experience is something that someone close to us is going through. Talking to them about it and supporting them can be tricky for different reasons—the nature of our relationship, their personality, or what type of support they want or need (which we may or may not know specifically). However, the biggest factor has to do with us—our awareness, empathy, and willingness to engage. While of course we want to respect their process, too often we make erroneous assumptions about what will best support them or we avoid engaging with them because we’re not sure how to handle it (or because what they’re going through is something we can’t relate to).
When I was in seventh grade, my good friend Brian’s dad died. I don’t even know how old his dad was—but he wasn’t an old man, he wasn’t sick, he just had a heart attack and died one night. It was sad, scary, and confusing for me, especially at 13 years old, to think about someone’s parent dying. While it wasn’t the first time I’d experienced death, it was one of the first times a close friend of mine had lost a parent and it was hard for me to comprehend. I felt for Brian and his family, and couldn’t imagine what he was going through. It also scared me as I thought about my own parents dying and what that would be like—although I did everything I could not to “go there,” since at that age thinking of my mom or my dad dying was beyond terrifying.
Brian was out of school for a little while and when he came back, I didn’t really know what to say to him. I felt uncomfortable being around him because I assumed he was upset and grieving the loss of his father. However, not knowing what that felt like and not wanting to say the wrong thing, I mostly avoided him. The few times we did talk, I tried to keep the conversation light and talk about relatively positive and superficial things so as not to upset him.
About a week or so after Brian came back to school, he pulled me aside to talk.
He said, “Mike, you haven’t said anything about my dad or asked me how I’m doing since he died.”
“Wow, Brian,” I said. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”
He looked me square in the eyes and said, “Well, you could’ve just said that.”
While this conversation was difficult and uncomfortable, and I walked away from it feeling guilty and embarrassed, I’m so grateful that Brian had the awareness and the courage to say that to me—quite an important life lesson in seventh grade. His humbling feedback taught me that it’s more important to say something and to let people know we care, than it is to say the “right” thing. I’m grateful to have learned that at such a young age, although there are certain times and situations where I still have to remind myself about this.
Life can get messy and things happen that we’re not sure how to handle. We aren’t supposed to have it all figured out or know the “right” thing to say in every situation. The important thing to remember is that when we’re willing to be real about the tough stuff that happens, we give ourselves the opportunity to learn, heal, grow, and connect—all things that are fundamentally important to the journey of life.