How To Not Say The Wrong Thing

This needs to be heard, understood, and practiced!  How Not To Say the Wrong Thing In Death, Illness,  Divorce and Other Crises by Susan Silk and Barry Goldman (HT: United Methodist Church of North Texas)

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan’s colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn’t feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague’s response? “This isn’t just about you.”

“It’s not?” Susan wondered. “My breast cancer is not about me? It’s about you?”

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors, but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie’s husband, Pat. “I wasn’t prepared for this,” she told him. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”

This woman loves Katie, and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan’s colleague’s remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.

 Illustration by Wes Bausmith / Los Angeles Times

The ‘Ring Theory’ of kvetching works in all kinds of crises — medical, legal, even existential.

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. For Katie’s aneurysm, that’s Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie’s aneurysm, that was Katie’s husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan’s patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, “Life is unfair” and “Why me?” That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you’re going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn’t, don’t say it. Don’t, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don’t need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, “I’m sorry” or “This must really be hard for you” or “Can I bring you a pot roast?” Don’t say, “You should hear what happened to me” or “Here’s what I would do if I were you.” And don’t say, “This is really bringing me down.”

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie’s friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn’t think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat. She dumped IN.

Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn’t do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to her principal caregiver may be the best thing you can do for the patient.

Most of us know this. Almost nobody would complain to the patient about how rotten she looks. Almost no one would say that looking at her makes them think of the fragility of life and their own closeness to death. In other words, we know enough not to dump into the center ring. Ring Theory merely expands that intuition and makes it more concrete: Don’t just avoid dumping into the center ring, avoid dumping into any ring smaller than your own.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you’re talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.

And don’t worry. You’ll get your turn in the center ring. You can count on that.

Supporting the Hurting

If you have friends or loved ones suffering from any form of emotional trauma - Grief, betrayal, depression, abuse, etc. please read this - Things Your Friends in Crises Wish You Knew by Bo Stern from Charisma Magazine:

Let me start by saying: I certainly do not speak for everyone in crisis. There are a million different kinds of people and a million different kinds of battle. I've tried to stick to things I've heard many times from many people, but this list reflects my four years in the trenches more than anything else.

1. Sometimes your life is hard to look at. I will try to attend your daughter's wedding, and I will be so happy for her. But I will look away when her father walks her down the aisle and I will leave before the daddy-daughter dance. These things are too much for me. I'm not mad; I'm just swimming through some deep-water feelings about the future. I don't need hugs or help; I just need a little room to breathe, and none of it is your fault. This is my heartache. For some, it's seeing an anniversary celebration on Facebook or flirtatious banter between a husband and wife. For others, it's witnessing the baby milestone while imagining how old their own would be. Different things are difficult for different people. Just know that while we love you, sometimes your world is hard to look at. We know you have problems, too, and we're not jealous of your life—we're jealous for the life we used to have before our battle broke out (or the life we're wishing for that hasn't quite started yet). Action point for armies: Don't stop inviting us into your lives, but give us grace when we need to look away for a bit.

2. How much we feel like talking about our battle can vary wildly. Some days are very difficult and so I will answer questions abruptly in order to save us both from my messy emotional breakdown. Some days it's very cathartic to talk about it. So, how can you as my friend, know which day it is? You can't. And this is when it's hard to be you (and I'm sorry); but what you can do is ask: "How are things with Steve?" followed up immediately by, "I understand if you'd rather not talk about it." Perfect. You've shown me you care and also given me an easy exit should I choose to use it. And let me add—even when I don't feel I can give a detailed answer, it really does matter to me that people ask. (So thank you, sweet friends, for the question. And thank you for understanding when I can't linger over the answer.)

3. We're secretly afraid you'll grow weary and disappear. We don't fear it because we doubt your character, we fear it because we would probably choose to leave our battlefield too, if given the option. Through tears, I type this: I can't imagine what I would do if I lost my friends as well. I just can't imagine. I know so many people who run out of steam in supporting a friend and then they're embarrassed to step back into the battle again. Don't be embarrassed...just give a call and say, "I miss you. Can I bring over some mac and cheese?"

4. We still want to fight for you, too. Don't stop telling us what you're going through, don't stop asking us to pray. It gives me comfort to know I'm not the only one in a fierce fight, and it gives me courage to know that I still have something to offer the world outside my war.

5. We love you. And we'd be lost without your friendship. Even when we lack the strength to say it or show it, please just know it.

6. We don't need answers as much as we need you. Everyone who deals with a difficult diagnosis also deals with a landslide of medical advice from friends, acquaintances and complete strangers. It's exhausting. I'm working really hard to get through the demands of each day—taking time to read a book about a miracle cure that Steve's doctor has never heard about is, honestly, just not an option right now.

I have a small group of trusted advisers who have tackled some of that research for me and made recommendations based on their findings, but we cannot pursue every option out there, and I sometimes feel people are frustrated with me for not trying their suggestions. Action point for armies is simple: Extend advice cautiously, if at all, and make sure that your friend knows you'll love them whether or not they try what you're suggesting.

I would add one thing to this list: Never use the phrases "get over it" or "just deal with it." Those words are almost always felt as minimizing their pain. Sometimes we just need to be there, even when we don't understand, and say nothing but "I love you."

The Dark Side of Mother's Day

In churches all over America tomorrow morning, a moment will be taken to honor all the mothers in the congregation. That is certainly a good thing, something to be encouraged. However, pastors and church leaders, let's also remember and publicly acknowledge the darker side of Mother's Day.

1. Some people in your audience tomorrow will be mourning the loss of their mothers, and in some cases the loss may be fresh, raw and extremely painful. We need to acknowledge the pain of those who may be in mourning.

2. There may be some in your congregation who did not have good mothers. Due to alcoholism or drug addiction, or their own history of abuse, some women aren't good mothers, and in turn hurt, neglect and abuse their own children. We need to acknowledge the pain of those present in church tomorrow who hurt from abuse, neglect or abandonment from their mothers. They need to be helped to walk through grief, anger and forgiveness.

3. It is possible that there are women in your audience who are suffering from infertility; desperately wishing to be mothers but unable to conceive. Mothers Day can be painful for them, and for their husbands. Don't forget them tomorrow. A public compassionate word of encouragement and support may mean all the world to them.

Let's all praise and honor our mothers, and the mothers of our children. But let's not forget those who hurt on Mother's Day.

See also: When Mother's Day is Hard

Links Worth A Look

Some links that are worth a look:

Nine Things You Should Know About Duck Dynasty

Top 10 Theological Challenges Coming Our Way

Here Come the Radicals - Chan, Idleman, Claiborn & Platt

Radicalism & Reality - A Response to "Here Come the Radicals"

The Sin of Silence - In the face of abusive church leaders

Why Studying Doctrine is the Best Medicine - Tim Keller
 
Charismatic Renewal: 10 Strengths & Weaknesses

The Painful Side of Hope...and Healing

On the subject of hope for those suffering from abuse, addiction and emotional pain, here's an excerpt from Redemption by Mike Wilkerson.

Which is more painful? To live without hope or to catch a glimpse of hope only to have it disappear? Often, this is our experience on the eve of redemption. Certainly, God is not a fickle redeemer. He is faithful. But if we expect redemption to be mainly about comfort, we may be disappointed when—at least for a season—it brings more pain.

Or you may have come to God with a life that was a mess with sin and were relieved to find that he accepts you in Christ, just as you are. But in time, you were confronted with the reality that some of those sins from your former life still had a powerful hold on you. Some new Christians at this point are so discouraged they question whether they were ever saved at all.

Or you may have found that after years of harboring the pain of abuse in secret, it’s time to talk about it. You may have to revisit some painful memories or confront someone who has harmed you. The battle to decide to speak out is pain unto itself, intensifying the pain of the original abuse. Maybe you’ve made your secrets known, and your confidants, rather than comforting and protecting you, have hurt you further by suggesting that you keep quiet or have even blamed you for stirring up trouble by digging up the past.