A Silent Shoulder

This past week, I realized how much I hate seeing people cry. I hate the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that accompanies the intense need to help. I loathe not knowing what to say, and being terrified that what I say will make the situation worse. I am terribly afraid of contributing to an already depressing, and sometimes despairing, situation. Recently, one of my best friends had her heart broken. I sat with her for over an hour, trying to figure out how to make it. . .well, for lack of a better phrase, suck less. There's confusion, there's resentment, and there's an overabundance of tears. I used to think I was good in these situations. I used to think I was good at giving advice. Good at comforting. Good at knowing what to say. I realized, however, that I was just as clueless as the poor girl I was trying to help. Sitting there, and not knowing what to do, I felt an immense anger wash over me. Anger at the person responsible for her sadness. Anger at myself for my inability to fix it. Anger at myself for being angry instead of doing everything I could to help. What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say? It was out of my control. And I couldn't figure out how to rein it in and make it better.

The thing is, there's nothing we can do to fix these things. Certain aspects of life are completely out of our hands. Being helpless is actually helpful, in the long run. It allows us to admit that we can't do everything on our own. It allows us to branch out and ask others for assistance. It allows us to relate to other people in a way that strengthens relationships. By not being capable of dealing with everything on our own, we allow room for others to step in and give us a shoulder to lean on. My friend couldn't deal with the situation by herself. She needed someone. But not someone to tell her what to do. And not someone who would say all the right things. Because, sometimes, all we need is someone else's physical presence. Sometimes, all our human heart desires is to know its not alone. Sometimes, the best thing we can do for another person is simply exist in the same general vicinity.

Overall, the situation still sucked. It's a horrible thing, seeing someone you care about in pain. But it's a gift knowing that you don't have to be perfect in order to help. It's a gift, knowing that a silent shoulder can be more powerful than all the right words. And it's a chance to practice being okay with not having it under control, whether you're the one with the broken heart or the one with the comforting shoulder. Sometimes things get muddled when too many words are said. More often than not, it's better to listen. It's better to just be there. To be, for a short while, a quiet constant in someone's world of upheaval.