by Angela Miller
When you lose a child so many people tell you how strong you are. For those of us who have lost a child “strong” is usually the exact opposite of how we feel. It often shuts down the conversation, inhibits us from taking off our mask and being honest about how we’re really feeling. It stops us from asking for help when we need it. It stops us from saying, “Hey, I’m drowning here.” Or I’m a mess. Or I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next five minutes, the next hour, the next day.
People often say “you’re so strong!!!” to those who are suffering— which usually results in that person feeling even more isolated, alone and misunderstood. When “you’re so strong” is offered like a cliche, it can be really off-putting. It may be intended as a compliment, or encouragement, but it often doesn’t come across that way to the person receiving it. I’d throw it right in the pile of other cliches and platitudes.
People in pain need a safe space to speak their truth, without judgment.
Please, for the love of everyone who is hurting, let’s stop telling people in pain how STRONG they are, and instead let’s ask how they’re really doing. Let’s ask more open-ended questions. Those who are struggling and hurting need more safe spaces, places of refuge, havens of support and unconditional love. More soft places to land.
Over the years I’ve always cringed inside whenever someone would tell me how strong I was. Honestly I can’t stand that phrase. I find it so painfully unhelpful and untrue. The truth is, I didn’t feel strong then. And honestly, I wasn’t strong. I was barely making it. I was struggling to survive. I was wishing I wouldn’t. I’d never felt more alone and broken in my life. The weight of grief and pain was unbearable. I wanted the pain to end. Most days in the early years of grief post-loss the thought of not waking up in the morning would have been a welcome relief from the horrific pain I was experiencing. I wasn’t suicidal, I just didn’t care if I woke up in the morning or not. I just wanted to be with my son. I didn’t want to live without him. I didn’t think I could. Being separated from him was unbearable, like torture. I felt I had nothing to live for after he was taken from me. I didn’t want a “new normal.” I wanted the real normal I’d had with my son. I honestly didn’t know if I’d survive the pain of living without him. It felt like much TOO MUCH all the time. There was no reprieve. No roadmap. No guarantee I would make it to the other side, if there was one.
How was I supposed to keep living after the death of my son? How could I live without my flesh and blood, without the very beat of my heart? I didn’t know. And I really didn’t care to find out. I didn’t want this life and I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want to be a bereaved mother. I wanted to be the normal mom I was before my life became impossible to want.
Here I am a decade later. I’m still standing. I still don’t feel strong. I haven’t reached the other side of grief. I now know there isn’t one. (Grief feels more like an ocean or a spiral, instead of something linear— start here, end there, done.) Still when someone says how strong I am I feel thrown off balance, disoriented. I can’t relate. Surviving and getting through this doesn’t feel like it has anything to do with strength. I’ve gotten through this because I’ve had no other choice but to get through it. I’m no more or less strong than anyone else. I didn’t have a choice, and I still don’t have one. I (kicking and screaming) took the hand that was dealt to me. I did what I had to do to survive. I keep doing what I have to do to survive… to keep living and loving and honoring my son.
The people who seem the “strongest” are often struggling the most. We usually don’t feel strong… we often feel like we’re barely making it, frantically treading water to keep our head above water. Trying our best to survive and put one one foot in front of the other in this version of life we didn’t ask for… one that is often impossible to want. Those who seem the strongest often feel the most alone. We often wish we had someone— anyone— we could really talk to… someone who gets it.
No matter the cause of heartache and suffering, it can feel extremely isolating and lonely. The pain is unbearable. Overwhelming. You wonder how much more you can take. It often feels like you are the only one bearing this burden. Finding a village to help carry the burden is crucial. Finding one person who cares can make ALL the difference in the world. Be the one who asks. Be a safe place.
Yesterday I saw a graphic that read, “Check on your strong friend.” I thought, yes. YES. We need more of that, please.
That friend who you think is “so strong,” going through what you “could never imagine” and “doing so well”— or so you think— please check on him or her and ask how are you really doing? Then listen— really listen— with all your heart.
It matters more than you know. It could save a LIFE.
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If you’re struggling, please know you are loved and you’re never alone.
1-800-273-TALK
Available 24/7/365
SuicidePreventionLifeline.org
Angela Miller is an internationally known writer and speaker on grief and loss. She is the author of You Are the Mother of All Mothers and founder of the award-winning online community ABedForMyHeart.com. Angela’s piece 7 Things I’ve Learned Since the Loss of My Child has been shared almost 1 million times. Her work has been featured in Forbes, Psychology Today, CBS News, The Huffington Post, MPR, BlogTalk Radio, The Gottman Institute, and FaithIt, to name a few. To date Angela’s writing and her book have comforted the hearts of millions of grieving parents around the world.
Join her compassionate village at A Bed For My Heart.
Text and images © Angela Miller A Bed For My Heart 2012-2018. All rights reserved.
I agree! I’ve never felt more weak!!
Angela, your words are so very true and exactly how I’m feeling.
So soooo true!
The comment that gets to me the MOST is ‘things happen for a reason’….
What good reason EVER can there be for a mother to lose her only child after 20 years????
People mean well, but don’t think before they speak. They want to comfort, however if one does not know the pain, PLEASE just love and listen.
I feel isolated much of the time, although I do have a few very strong, loving, kind supporters in my grief. To the world: Do not say the inane phrase “new normal” to me. What is this supposed to mean? A mother’s entire being is transformed the minute she sees her newborn. “New normal” seems to imply that she will somehow return to a preparenthood state after a grieving period. Utterly impossible!
This is so true! Someone said the same thing to me, and I wondered why it felt bad but couldn’t quite figure out why. You explain it perfectly. And I think people really believe that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle and so the logic follows that people who have lost a child are especially endowed w super strength. That’s what people hope, because it gives them comfort that it won’t happen to them, that life make sense and has order, and they don’t need to come any closer to find out how much pain the person is really in, because it’s too scary.
:-). Simple truth!
Thank you so much for this powerful reminder. I appreciate words of wisdom from other mothers….I have lost two sons in the past two years. I could not have survived without my strong faith in God.
Hi Angela this is so unbelievably true and I thank you for writing it. Do you have a book with all of this in it. I already have you are the mother of all mothers. Thank you x
Beautifully written from the heart Angela. Thank you. I am the co-creator and facilitator of an Infant & Pregnancy Loss Doula program and your words will help me as I move forward in my work and continue to teach others as well as support parents who have experienced the loss of their baby.
I hear that too all the time – I feel inside exactly the way you describe! I am still here!! With – a despite it all – a huge will to live!!! So my thought is – I AM STRONG!!!! and maybe hearing it – as much as it sometimes sucks – is what keeps me going! Somewhere there is a saying “fake it till you make it”
A good friend that also lost a child (its been 24 years for her) told me that all this hurt is not for nothing- so as a mother that lost a child to another mother that lost a child – all I can sometimes say is “stay strong mama” ❤️
It’s nearly 24 years since I lost my baby boy, Joseph. I used to think that surviving his death made me stronger. In truth, it just changed my perspective on things. Things that might have bothered me before don’t, because I have survived the worst thing. Did I survive because so strong? No. I survived because I had to.
The boy I lost is an identical twin to my living son whom I see every day. On bad days, I look at him and get mad at how we’ve both been cheated. He never got to grow up with his twin brother. I tried so hard when he was growing up not to feel sadness at every milestone as if it was only half of what is could have been. I tried, and still try to be grateful to have idea of what Joseph would have been. I try to be the mother To my living sons that Joseph would have been proud of.
I stopped trying to make sense of it all years ago. It doesn’t and never make sense when children die. It’s the most nonsensical thing ever.
My sister also lost a son, and she has made it her daily goal to find some joy every day, even on those darkest days when a speck of joy is hard to find. She’s an inspiration to me.
Are we strong? Not sure. We’re survivors. And that is our blessing and our curse.
I am guilty of saying this because my therapist said it to me. Thank you for this enlightening article. I will try never to say it again, even though I thought it was empowering.
Just because I went through losing 3 of my children and didn’t curl up into a ball doesn’t mean I’m strong. Don’t judge me by what you perceive is true. You don’t know how much I am screaming with pain inside.
Thank you for this posting. I had just told someone that I feel like people may think I am “cold” and have been told many times that others feel I am so strong. Indeed it is truly that I think if I start crying, I may never stop. Thank you for your comments – they really touched me and felt like they could have been my words…..
So true. Thank you
Thank you. This is the most accurate description of how I feel. People keep telling me how strong I am, and I can’t even begin to explain what it does to me, I am not strong, I am completely broken, and the more I tell people this, the more they tell me how strong I am, it makes me feel like screaming. I am not strong, I am surviving, I appear strong because of the way I want to understand what happened to my 18 year old daughter, because I do research, because I will raise funds and awareness for the UK Sepsis Trust for the rest of my life to make some good come from her death, NOT because I am strong, people just do not get it. The more they tell me how strong I am the more damaged I feel.
I thought that I was the only person who felt this way. I hate it whenever someone says “your so strong”. Thank you for putting into words what I have been thinking all along. Friends would say this to me and I always felt almost shame inside. I felt like I was a fake. I was not strong at all. Stop telling me that I am strong. I am dying inside and I want to scream “You know nothing at all!”. After a friend told me the “your so strong” line once again, I told her that she should have seen me earlier that morning when I had a complete meltdown in my closet. she was stunned. It happens with no warning all the time. The look on her face was priceless. My friends have no idea what it is like to live with grief from the loss of a child. I am not strong at all. I am just trying to get through today so that I can go back to my closet and cry my heart out once again.
This is my first time viewing your website and thusfar fond it very comforting. I am passing along to others who shares this special bond. Thank you for being there. Its been almost 16 years for us. I don’t like to count the years;that never matters; the pain is still there!!!
Angela,
You always know exactly the way I’m feeling, I too lost my child. My only child. Sara Wynette is always on my mind. It’s been over 2 years now. The pain is STILL so real. I pray for understanding , comfort and strength. I talk to God daily.
NOTHING takes the pain away.
Sara 20 years old on January 1, 2016 was murdered at a red light in Denton Texas.
She was the designated driver at a New Years party.
Thank you for understanding how I feel.
I miss my son so much. There’s not one day that pass without my son on my mind. I drive and the tears just flow. July 12 marks one year without my son. A strong handsome , intelligent, successful young man. So many dreams, so much more to achieve. Only 33 years old. My boy.
First let me say, “I am so very sorry for your loss! Life truly does suck sometimes!!!
Second, Thank you!! Thank you!! Thank you!! for sharing your journey, your pain, and your wisdom. Thank you for endeavoring to help others understand how to walk with us who are trudging through the unimaginable. We have experienced so many similarities in feelings, emotions and encounters with friends trying to “help”.
May 13th marked 5 years since we lost our 19 year old daughter, Grace, to cancer (along with our faith as we knew it). I often tell people what I have discovered while going through these dark times… “The good news is, You’re not going to die… The bad news is, You’re not going to die”.
Sadly, most people will never understand the depth to which our lives have changed or why we emerged a totally different person. Still, it is important to try and bridge that gap.
Thank you again for your truthful, raw honesty and for being a voice in the night!
Thank you for your blog! A friend posted iron Facebook. I am always taken aback by remarks of well meaning friends. I don’t talk about my grief because no one really wants to hear about it, no one wants to listen or be put in the position of trying to comfort me. NOTHING can comfort me! My adult son died 7 years ago, suddenly of pulmonary embolism. There is no reason for me to EVER feel better about it. You expressed my feelings so well. Thank you. I actually feel somewhat normal after reading your blog.