Listen to the audio version of this post here.
Tell me about your sorrow.
Still with me?
What went through your mind when you saw that title, “Tell me about your sorrow”? Did you contemplate skipping this one, moving on to some other, cheerier subject line? “10X your business before summer” or something like that?
Mostly, we shy away from even acknowledging sorrow or suffering. When it’s our own, we might ignore it, eat about it, drink about it, or use drugs to block it out. Or maybe we stay busy, trying to bury it in frenetic activity,
There are a lot of ways to turn away from our own sorrow.
And when it’s somebody else who’s suffering?
We can avoid them—it’s too depressing to be around them and anyway they’ll understand if we just can’t handle it right now.
Or maybe we minimize their feelings. They’ll get over it; after all, God never gives us more than we can handle. And the sooner they start getting over it, the better it’ll be for everyone, including them.
Some of us assert that we know exactly how they feel, and we launch into our own story about our own sad situation, past or present. That keeps us from deeply attending to their feelings.
You might guess, I’ve experienced that range of responses and then some in the past few months. It’s made me spend some time thinking about how I handle somebody else’s sorrow. Am I open to them? Do I really listen?
These questions have been top of mind since I read a Los Angeles rabbi’s essay about an ancient ritual at Jerusalem’s Temple Mount.
Sharon Brous wrote in The New York Times about thousands of Jews entering the temple’s plaza, turning to the right, and circling counterclockwise.
“Meanwhile, the brokenhearted, the mourners (and here I would also include the lonely and the sick), would make this same ritual walk but they would turn to the left and circle in the opposite direction: every step against the current. And each person who encountered someone in pain would look into that person’s eyes and inquire: ‘What happened to you? Why does your heart ache?’”
The answers, of course, were as varied as the people giving them.
A dead parent or a dying partner. A sick child. Betrayal by a friend or a spouse. These sad people had a chance to name their sorrow, knowing that in that moment, someone was genuinely interested. In their sadness and in them.
Then, Rabbi Brous explained, “Those who walked from the right would offer a blessing: ‘May the Holy One comfort you,’ they would say. ‘You are not alone.’ And then they would continue to walk until the next person approached.”
“This timeless wisdom,” as she says, “speaks to what it means to be human in a world of pain. This year, you walk the path of the anguished. Perhaps next year, it will be me. I hold your broken heart knowing that one day you will hold mine.”
Wow. “I hold your broken heart knowing that one day you will hold mine.”
Some dear friends and family have held my broken heart these past few months. I count them among my enormous blessings.
And I’m committing to do my part.
We can’t take away each other’s pain, of course. We can show up, though. Wholeheartedly. Determined to be present for one another.
Talking about presence is more familiar ground for me. Much more comfortable than focusing on sorrow and suffering and misery. I’ve been speaking and writing for years about executive presence, professional presence, powerful presence. All of them quite important. And all of them involve being present in our body, right here right now.
There’s something bigger though, when we talk about being present to a person in pain. Being with them, for real. Inviting them, “Tell me about your sorrow.” And then listening—really listening—to what they say.
It’s a tall order.
You think we’re up to it?
Dear Catherine,
I’m not sure if you remember me. We both took Lou’s class (several years back) on how to create videos and I am the German gal with what you called a ‘charming accent!’ (I’m still smiling about your remark).
I just had to tell you that I absolutely loved your email!
I am an Energy Medicine Practitioner and work with people just like that. Individuals that had a loss, were rejected, abandoned, forgotten, had perhaps a difficult childhood etc. and who keep storing the sorrow, sadness and feeling unheard deep inside of their subconscious mind.
Mostly, because others around them have a hard time connecting to them, or as you mentioned, they don’t know what do say, ignore the fact that they are deeply hurt or giving thoughtless advice that adds to their ’emotional’ suffering and pain.
By the time I connect wuth then, their self-esteem is often so low that they feel they have nothing to offer or often look to heap more self-blame on their already burdened shoulders.
UNTIL … we work together and figure out where in there body all these pent-up, trapped emotions are located and than we gently release and balance their overcharged emotions.
I’m not even sure why I’m sharing this with you, but I guess I understand the, what it seems like having endless heartaches, since I personally been there many, many times during my life.
Having compassion and often just listening is such a powerful gesture, yet such a vast amount of people have difficulties with that, hence many hurting individuals are by themselves in their despair.
Thank you again, for sharing this lovely example of love, caring and the undeniable power of our words. This e-mail truly made my heart smile!
Sending lots of hugs, (I hope that’s ok to say that) Angela 🏵
Yes, it’s okay to send lots of hugs, Angela! I’ve always been WASPy about that–my friends joke about my well-known aversion to hugging. I got over it while I was taking care of Frank. When people didn’t know what to say about my dying husband, a hug was just perfect.
I’m so glad your heart is smiling about this article. And yes, I remember you–and your accent–from the video class. I was surprised that you remembered what I said about your accent concerns. Funny how we often don’t know when we’re saying something will make an impact. It’s a reminder to be careful with my words!
I read that NY Times article too – beautiful tradition! I posted this on LinkedIn a few days ago:
“ THE GREATEST GIFT 🎁 you can offer to someone who has experienced the death of a loved one – or any kind of loss (job loss, empty nest, relationship breakup, etc.) – is to empty yourself of your own agenda and JUST LISTEN. Without judgment.
Without jumping in with advice or suggestions.
Without trying to cheer them up (this invalidates what they are feeling).
Without trying to fix (this is really, really hard).
Find more of these practical suggestions on how to understand and support a person who is grieving (and what NOT to say or do) in my book “GRIEVING: A SPIRITUAL PROCESS FOR CATHOLICS.” (Link is in comments.)
May this book finds its way
to those who need it most. 🙏🏻☺️”
Yes, Paula, sometimes it is hard to resist that impulse to try to fix the situation. I’ve learned first-hand how useless most of that fixing is. Thanks for encouraging all of us to listen instead of advising, suggesting, or cheering.
this was truly beautiful. Thank you for sharing
Thank you for reading, Sally! I’m so glad you found something valuable in it.
Wow Catherine, what a beautiful and moving piece. I love the ritual. With all the pain and suffering in the world today on a global and personal level, it’s easy to be overwhelmed. Thank you for reminding us that we each can make a difference to someone, if not everyone. I think of you every day and hold your ❤️🩹 in mine. 🙏
Thank you for holding my heart, Linda. I wondered as I was writing this whether it might be too personal, too dark, too much for people to read. I’m so happy to see it getting positive response. I do think, given the times we’re in, it helps to ponder what to do with our sorrow. And everyone else’s.
Many people cannot handle pain or grief. They don’t know what to say. They forget it’s fine to just listen to a friend who is grieving.
Exactly, Ellen. We don’t have to fix each other, if we can just be with each other.
Hard to read but needed today. Thanks for the reminder to be fully present even in hard times.
Especially in hard times, Kathy — that’s when we most need to be fully present, and we’re most likely to be out of our minds, beside ourselves, or otherwise not all there.
Beautiful
Thanks, Kathleen. I’m so glad you think so. I worried a bit about being too grim. I hope it lands in the right place for most.
Thank you for this! I love the story about the ritual at the Temple. And your suggestion: “Tell me about your sorrow” and really listening.
I am currently reading Matthew Kahn’s book “All for Love: The Transformative Power of Holding Space.” He offers several ways to hold space for others – and ourselves. He suggests using the phrase: “I am here with you.”
Regardless of how we do it, it takes intention to hold that space and listen.
And thank you, Dawn. “I am here with you” — there’s real power in that, isn’t there? And yes, all of it takes real intention and energy.
Dearest Catherine, A strong and necessary piece – to read, but more importantly, methinks, to write. So sorry to learn of your husband’s death. I feel very blessed to know you, have learned from you, and now to hold you in my heart from afar.
All the best as you heal and assist others in their painful places.
Kathryn
Thanks, Kathryn. I’m thinking I might be able to assist others in their painful places. Still trying to figure out exactly what that looks/sounds like. I’m contemplating some speaking opportunities focused on caring for a sick loved one and end-of-life issues. You might guess, I have a few things to say about that.
Wow- this story gave me goosebumps! It’s so important that we remember that just being present & listening helps relieve others’ burdens
Goosebumps? I love that, Rachel. I’m so happy to hear it made an impact. And yes, being present and listening is what we can all offer in response to sorrow.
This touched me in so many ways as a person who has lost my beloved spouse and who also has watched a friend recently go through his Mothers journey home:
I hope I can offer him support along his journey as mentioned in this article.
You’re wonderful to let me know you were touched, Carol. I’m sorry to hear you lost your Love; you are not alone.
Catherine!
This piece is so moving and so uplifting. Yes, uplifting.
Talking about the “hard” stuff is important. There is no one on this planet better equipped than you to bring a powerful impact to this topic. Keep writing –and speaking!– on this. (Hey world! Invite Catherine to speak to your group!!) Caring for a loved one and end-of-life issues — we need your insights and perspective. THANK YOU for being you. You can teach us how to listen, really listen. And yes, we are up for it.
You’re right about the hard stuff, Kelly. It is important. It’s also tempting to shut it out, to turn away, to change the subject. I’m heartened by the comments here–it seems a lot of us are ready to talk. And listen.
Sometimes, just sitting with a grieving person, in silence, can be healing and affirming for the person grieving. Sometimes, one doesn’t have to talk in order to feel heard. Just being there, maintaining a quiet mind, and a willingness to listen should the grieving person choose to speak can be an act of spiritual generosity.
Absolutely, Patrick. Our Presence can be a gift to someone in sorrow.
Such a much-needed message Catherine. When my dad was in the hospital and we weren’t sure he was going to make it, my spiritual teacher (https://www.jonbernie.org/) said to me that the most compassionate thing I could do it to be there fully with him, not try to push away or avoid the pain. I think we often do the latter, but the former is so much more helpful for them and for us.
I think you’re right, Jennifer. We are often tempted to push away or avoid pain — our own, as well as somebody else’s. It takes real intention to sit with their pain and take it in. And if I had a guess, I’d say a spiritual practice of some sort makes it more likely we’re able to do that. It’s not easy.