​I have been on all sides of griefs, if grief has sides. A loss of thirteen family members and close friends in seven years is my qualification for experiencing grief; living life is my qualification for comforting someone in grief.  And yet, neither grieving nor comforting get any easier.

I’ve taken grief classes, been part of grief support groups, read many books on the subject, worked as a hospice volunteer and still I am, like many people, paralyzed when it comes to saying the right thing at the right time.

There is a whole swath of phrases people are cautioned not to say to a grieving person. I don’t say those things. But, everyday it seems, there are more things you shouldn’t say. The latest comes from a very articulate, thoughtful cancer survivor who explained how telling someone how strong they are can actually put more pressure on them to act that way--especially when they are feeling vulnerable and anything but strong. To have your strength recognized can make a person feel like a failure when they break down; to offer positive words of hope--“you’ll get through this”-- may make them feel trapped and invalidated, as if what they feel is small enough to capsulize.

So, when you are trying to be mindful, trying to comfort without making things worse, trying to help without minimizing someone else’s pain, you are often left without safe words. And so, you don’t say anything at all. That too, is perceived badly. All of these well-intentioned guides to what not to say and do can immobilize, leaving those who want to offer their love and support hesitant and unsure about what is acceptable to say.

We are careful with those who are grieving, recognizing that they are not wholly themselves; that they are in a different space and their lives have forever changed. We treat their words and actions gently, knowing that they are speaking and acting from a different perspective. We cut them some slack.

But, speaking from the other side of grief, maybe the comforters should be cut some slack as well. They are trying to show love and support; they are trying to help. It’s especially difficult to know what to say or do if you’ve never experienced great loss. You send flowers, agonize over a sympathy card, and offer to do anything your grieving friend might need. The flowers and cards are eventually swept up and thrown away and your friend never tells you what they need because, usually they are too caught up in surviving every day to think about someone else and how they could help.

 You stop calling because your friend doesn’t want to talk and time goes by. You, too worried about making it worse, stop calling. You live your life.  There’s nothing wrong with any of this. But there is something wrong with making people so concerned that their words will be misunderstood or add more pain, that they stop saying anything at all.
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Grievers, please see those imperfect phrases as coming from love. You are hearing them from a place of pain and pain is a poor filter. Comforters, understand that your words might not be welcome or understood in the way you meant them. Say the words from your heart anyway. Don’t worry about saying the perfect thing. Offer your love even if it is thrown back at you—because often it will be. Let’s cut each other some slack. 

Don’t we all go into a new year with hope and expectation? Expectation that this year will be better, that our grief will be less, our joy more, our problems resolved. We hope that we will do better and be better even though there is a sneaky feeling in the pit of our stomach that those expectations might not be realized because fulfilling those hopes of weight loss, fitness, job change, being more compassionate and loving, depend upon us, not Divine Intervention.
 
Optimists and traditionalists use the new year to make resolutions; realists and pessimists refuse to make them, suspecting they will be broken within days. Pundits offer advice as to how to keep resolutions do-able, how to break big ones down into achievable goals and they give their blessing on the occasional cheat day so you don’t beat yourself up if you skip working out to have an extra glass of wine.
 
Personally, I no longer do resolutions on New Year’s Day—not because I don’t think they work or because I think they are ridiculous. Instead, I make resolutions all year long, using my own timeline for my starting and ending dates. It’s because things change all year long and so my resolutions have to keep up. Losing ten pounds might change to upgrading my internet plan or spending at least one morning a week walking the beach.

It’s a question of priorities and priorities change—at least mine do. The big ones—family, home, dog, friends—don’t, but all the other ones shift around.

I can’t make resolutions to change the political system, but I can resolve not to watch the news every day which can also affect my personal energy and attitude.
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Whatever dims your light—be it watching the news every morning and evening, hanging out with friends who make you feel small, eating things that make you feel lumpy and slow, arguing with your spouse and children, a toxic work environment or one that is going in a direction that no longer works for you, driving a car that you feel is going to fall apart on the freeway—resolve to change. Resolve to open up and do all that you can to allow your personal light shine. I think that’s really all you need to focus upon. The other stuff—career, finances, relationships, logistics—fall into place once you focus on removing that which blocks your light and in deliberately doing that which causes it to flourish. Eas
Easy to say; harder to do. First, of course, you have to identify the people, things or situations that dim the light. Then you have to figure out how to remove them. Last, you have to deliberately allow that light to shine and figure out what makes it grow. And do or be those things.