Please Don’t Tell Me Everything Will Work Out

Nope, not going dark here. But yes, these past several months have been dark. Uber dark, actually. Thank goodness for friends and family who bring their light into the darkness.

The outpouring of light and love has been sustaining. Words of encouragement, sweet cards in the mail-some of which are custom works of art!-financial support, meals, hugs, books and oh, my gosh, so much love.

It is humbling. And I wish that every human on this planet could experience the outpouring of love I have felt during cancer treatment. Wars would cease. No one would go hungry. There would be enough for everyone.

I know it sounds utopian, so call me naïve, but this is my belief. Love is really all we need.

So, what’s my bitchy sounding title mean? Please don’t tell me everything will work out. I mean seriously; I tell you all this gushy stuff about love and light and support and then I pull out a hand slap on what not to do.

I don’t mean it to sound that way. And I hope what I’ve learned can help me become a kinder, more empathic human.

Here’s the thing. When someone has just had their teeth kicked in, the other shoe has dropped and there is clearly an emotional comet coming in hot to their life, some things are better left unsaid.

Things will work out is one of those things. And so is, “When God closes a door, he opens a window.” I mean seriously? What the hell does that mean? I digress.

I appreciate the well-meaning platitude, but when someone is down and out and on the receiving end of what feels like an eternal punching bag, believing for a rosy outcome is stretch. Personally, it can plunge me into further despair.

When we are told things will work out, it comes preloaded with expectations. The cancer will be gone. The adult child struggling with addiction will be free. They will have a better job with more money. The fractured relationship will heal.

Oh, and by the way, be sure to nod your head yes in acknowledgement that things will work out, even though you feel you’ve just been sucker punched.

Is it just jaded ole me again blustering over words intended to encourage?

I’m not sure. I do know I will not utter those words to someone who has just received devastating news. And truth is, I don’t know that things WILL work out. My introduction into the cancer world continues to teach me.

I have a ringside seat watching others’ cancer journeys unfold.

The cancer has spread. The cancer is more aggressive than we first thought. It’s in your pancreas. It is incurable.

This is not “okay” by any measure, people. This is gut wrenching difficult shit. Especially when it’s a young mom wondering if she will be around to see her kids graduate high school.

I think when we offer those words, the speaker is trying to encourage themselves.

What is more helpful is to be reminded that right now, in this present moment, I AM OKAY. I can breathe. I am loved.

I don’t know about tomorrow. I don’t know that things will be okay as I define what okay looks like. I just know that right now, I am okay.

And yes, I know that things have worked out over the years. Yes, I know I got through great difficulty.

But the wounds and cost of survival have left their mark in life-changing ways.

When you’re with someone in pain, may I suggest some alternative things to say? (I trust you’re nodding your head yes.)

This must be really scary for you. How can I best support you? I am with you. I am all ears. Can I bring you a meal?

Again, I hope I don’t sound prickly. That’s not my intention.

Bringing your loving presence to someone in pain, words not needed, are one of the greatest gifts we can bestow.

We are hindered in doing this though, because we simply are not comfortable with our own pain. We want to wish it away. We want to dismiss it with things will be okay. Look on the bright side, right?

Great pain and great love are inseparable. To experience love means we will suffer. And suffering is the path to transformation, where love flows freely.

Love is what will sustain and carry the most broken among us. It’s what love does.

It’s uncomfortable to admit to ourselves that we are sometimes powerless over difficult circumstances. We are used to fixing things. And in the religious world, they admonish us to keep the faith. (It is a moral failing to believe else wise! Oh, please hand me a barf bag.)

When it’s unfixable and hard to believe in a happy outcome, can we just be with one another?

I believe this is the most healing thing we can do.

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