There is an art to supporting others who are in crisis, and most of us are terrible at it. We tend to shy away from acknowledging or talking about ugly, sad, terrifying or unrelatable situations when they come up. We don’t know what to say, or we are afraid of saying the wrong thing, so we say nothing, or avoid the person/situation entirely. Or, we say something we think is helpful, but is not, and could even potentially be harmful and make the situation worse. Given these options, avoidance of the subject seems like a natural instinct to avoid conflict and potentially causing further emotional harm, but if we can put aside our own fears of not getting it right, and focus on just being present with the person in crisis, we really can’t get it wrong. And lord knows we are more disconnected than ever these days; avoiding people who are in crisis because of our own insecurities or ego is not going to help evolve our ability to grow together and bring more love, joy and peace to this tumultuous world.
In the third year of what ended up being six years of a fertility journey to attempt to build a family, we were finally ready for the crucial step that all fertility/IVF patients strive for–a healthy embryo ready to transfer and hopefully grow into a tiny human. Many patients never even make it to this step, and even when they do, the odds are probably slightly less than 50% that the embryo will actually implant and survive to be a living human being. This statistic is debated, but the community is pretty aligned on the fact that the odds of success given to you when you start the process are overinflated. We had chosen to take some additional steps to increase our chances of success, things that cost us time and money, but which would, we thought, pretty much guarantee a successful transfer.
After the procedure you wait 10-12 days for a blood test to confirm that the embryo implanted and had started to grow (i.e. a positive pregnancy test). I had not told many people that we even had the embryo transfer, and no one at work knew. One day during the 10-day waiting period I was speaking with one of my work colleagues and learned that she had been through IVF years prior and had suffered a couple of miscarriages after successful transfers and was now pursuing other options to grow her family. Hearing about her journey, I felt a kinship with her and revealed to her that I was actually carrying an embryo at that very moment, waiting to see if it was growing or not. We had not had many interactions previously, due to the remote-work nature of our jobs, but I knew that she understood what I was going through.
About a week later I went to the phlebotomy lab to get my blood drawn and a few hours later I received the shocking news that the transfer had not worked. I didn’t understand…the statistics said we had a 65-70% chance, the extra preparations we had done should have increased that even further, there was no reason in my mind why this wouldn’t have worked and I was completely unprepared for this outcome.
The intensity of my emotional reaction was foreign to me–I watched myself in an out-of-body experience as I raged through the anger and victim stage and then as I melted into a puddle of the completely helpless stage. I didn’t want to talk to anyone because I was certain they would say something “stupid” like “well you can always try again!” Or “at least you have 3 more embryos!” Or, “this one wasn’t meant to be, but you’ll get your rainbow baby!” In this situation I set my own boundary to protect myself and did not even give others the option to try and be supportive–a proactive approach that kept people from showing up for me because I couldn’t trust them to do it in the way I needed. But it also meant that I was moving through this tragedy alone. Lying on the couch, tear ducts approaching 0% humidity, I picked up my phone and texted my colleague who knew about the transfer. I told her I felt even though we didn’t know each other that well that she may be one of the few people who could relate to what I was going through and I asked if I could call her.
I was correct in that she was the perfect person to handle my emotions in this unique experience. When we spoke I told her that I didn’t feel I could let anyone in my life into my space at this moment because I didn’t want to snap at them for trying to be “helpful” with their optimistic perspectives. She related to me that when she had her second miscarriage her husband had said, “Well at least it happened early this time,” to which she replied, “there is no room in my emotional portfolio for optimism right now.” I will never forget that phrase. It was such a great example of boundary-setting and rejecting the “toxic positivity” that often pervades these difficult situations. She then encouraged me to feel whatever I needed to feel during this time, which was also excellent advice.
If we try to move forward while we are still trying to pull our feet out from the quicksand we are stuck in, we’ll just fall on our face. Grief, loss, trauma, unexpected outcomes, all of these things take time to process. Often others want to move us too quickly out of the mire and back to neutral just to make them feel more comfortable. (I’m using “they” and “others” here, but “we” are probably all guilty of exhibiting this behavior at one time or another).
By nature people are not comfortable being uncomfortable, but we need to work on this if we are going to be able to support one another through difficult times. We need to have the kind of friends, and to be the kind of friends, who are willing to “sit in the suck.”
On our third transfer attempt we finally got a positive pregnancy test, but we were cautiously optimistic, protecting our hearts from being broken by unforeseen obstacles yet to fall into our path. We were right to feel this way. Five weeks into my pregnancy I started bleeding and thought I was having a miscarriage. After rebounding from that scare, twelve weeks in we got news from an ultrasound scan that made it very likely we would never meet this baby. This spurred several months of testing, followed by waiting for test results, that left us in another space where we felt no one could really meet us. We shut people out, literally setting a boundary that we wouldn’t talk about the pregnancy until we had all of the results back and knew the outcome. Once again, we took control of the situation because we just couldn’t trust that others would know the right thing to say, and maybe we also wanted to protect them from us lashing out if and when they did say the wrong thing. It felt easier that way for everyone. But two individuals showed me a different perspective on this and how we could have trusted others while still maintaining our emotional boundaries, and sitting with all of the feelings that we needed to sit with before trying to move forward.
During the time we were waiting for test results I had made plans to go paddle boarding with one of my best friends on a Sunday morning, but after getting out of bed and brushing my teeth, all I wanted to do was go back to bed and cry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on inside my body and was basically having a funeral in my mind for this unborn child every single day. I texted my friend and told her I wasn’t up for going paddle boarding and that I was just going to stay at home. She responded, “Okay, well I’m coming over anyway and I will sit in your bedroom with you while you cry or sleep or do whatever you want. But I’m going to be by your side.” I didn’t know it before she said it, but this was exactly what I needed. Someone willing to “sit in the suck” with me. She wasn’t going to pretend that everything would be ok, she wasn’t going to try to pull me out of my funk, she was just going to be present with me while I went through what I felt I needed to go through. This is all most of us need a lot of the time. Knowing that no one can change our situation or tell us how to feel, people just need to feel less alone and that they are seen–they need witnesses to their pain to validate their experience.
In the other example, when I was finally ready to talk about my fears around these test results and what could potentially be wrong with our child, a friend who has very strong faith immediately said, “Nope! This isn’t happening. God is good and your baby is healthy.” This response took me back a bit, and may be a bit controversial to some. I myself am not religious or a god-worshipper, but I understand why many people are. I wasn’t offended by her direct response. I didn’t push back and tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about, because part of me wanted to believe her. Part of me wished I could be that strong in my beliefs that everything would be ok. But as I’ve written previously, I’m more comfortable being prepared for the worst-case scenario. I decided in that moment that I would let her hold that space of optimism and certainty for me. I couldn’t get there myself, but I was happy to have someone else carry it for me.
For the people who aren’t afraid to show up for us when we are in crisis, but who do it in their own way, maybe we can compromise and allow them to hold space for us and for emotions that we are not able to hold ourselves during difficult times. I couldn’t hold space for optimism or hope, or as my friend had said, “there is no room in my emotional portfolio for optimism right now,” but I felt comfortable letting other people hold those emotions for me. It couldn’t hurt, right? I don’t pray, but for someone who does, and who has offered to keep me in their prayers, that’s a really nice offer and I accept. Not everyone may feel comfortable with this, but do what works for you.
When reflecting on our fertility journey with my husband this week, I credited him with being the one holding on to hope and optimism when I was really done with the whole process. He actually asked me during our journey if it was okay that he remained optimistic, or would that bother me. I told him he was free to do so but just do it silently (ha!). Looking back I told him that he deserves some credit for taking that responsibility and that it was helpful for me because I wanted to believe, but just couldn’t. I told him “You carried the torch, I carried the tears.” And I maintain to this day, both were necessary to get us through that time period.
We all need people in our lives who are willing to sit in the suck with us, and we can also train ourselves to be that person for others. It requires putting our own discomfort aside and connecting with the common basic human need to feel less alone. People in crisis aren’t looking for others to save them, they know that’s not possible. They’re just happy to have someone willing to carry the torch of just “being” during a time when even the work of simply existing amidst their plight feels impossible. We warriors can open ourselves up to be supported by those who carry the torch of hope or optimism for us while we shed the necessary tears to process the despair we may feel in a particularly difficult moment or phase. And we can also train ourselves to be the torch-bearer for those who need that supportive light, but who don’t need to be pushed out of a darkness they’re not yet ready to leave. Whether we’re carrying the torch or carrying the tears, we are warriors for being willing to sit in the suck knowing that eventually we will rise again.
Additional resources on this topic:
For those of us who need some guidance on how to show up for others in crisis, in addition to the examples I’ve shared above, I offer the following resource from a Tim Ferriss guest blog post by Laurel Braitman, PhD, who offers “10 recommendations for how to show up for someone going through something shitty that I’ve learned firsthand.” https://tim.blog/2023/03/16/how-to-show-up-for-someone-in-a-crisis/