“Be Strong” Is Wrong (for Grieving Friends)

When someone dies, don’t tell survivors how strong they are. Tell them you’ll be strong beside them so they don’t have to — and follow through.

The first times people called me strong after my husband died, I had no idea how to respond. Their expressions and tones made it clear they’d intended to compliment me, but I couldn’t accept their words. I’d look at them, thinking, How can I say the expected “thank you” to such a blatant lie? 

I was as fragile as dandelion fluff.

Mourning made my feelings as fragile as overripe dandelion fluff. (photo by Teresa TL Bruce, TealAshes.com)

The truth was, I was broken, shattered into a million loosely gathered shards. The softest puff of sympathy or the least gust of gruffness might send my fragmented psyche as irretrievably into the wind as overripe dandelions in the hands (and breath) of enthused toddlers.

I was not strong. And it puzzled me that anyone might think I was.

I cried all the time. All. The. Time.

Everyday chores I’d mastered years earlier now confused me.

New tasks (including seemingly endless death-related business matters) overwhelmed me.

The sudden, sole responsibilities of single parenting had my knees buckling.

Strong, I was not. But that’s what was expected (and even demanded) of me. “Don’t cry,” some said. “You have to be strong for your daughters.”

Such words (though intended as encouragement) deeply shamed me. Being anyone else’s rock is a heavy burden when you’re scarcely able to hold onto yourself. 

Didn’t they realize how much strength seeped from me in getting out of bed each morning? Didn’t they know how much energy I exerted just remembering to breathe? Had they no idea how sucked away my strength felt after days and weeks and months of only sparse, grief- and nightmare-riddled, interrupted naps instead of genuine sleep?

Telling me how strong I was didn’t feel like a compliment. It felt like being told I could and should be able to handle everything on my own.

But I couldn’t.

Telling me I was strong didn’t make me feel capable. It made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of asking for help.

So I didn’t.

Sorrow saps strength. Grieving grinds it away. Bereavement burdens and bruises the body. Mourning makes mincemeat of memory.

So step in.

How can you offer your strength to grieving friends?

  • Help your mourning friends with physical tasks like mowing the lawn or shoveling snow or washing the car or doing the dishes and laundry. (*See important note about this below!)
  • Go along on emotionally charged errands (like changing car titles, account names, or banking business into the survivors’ names). Don’t make general offers like “call me if you want me to go” — they won’t. Instead, be specific: “Can I take you to the auto tag office Thursday afternoon to help you transfer the title into your name?” or “Would Tuesday or Wednesday be better for me to drive you to the Social Security office to submit the claim for the kids’ benefits?” or “The minute the funeral home says you can pick up the death certificates, call me. I want to help.”
  • Look out for your bereaved friends’ health. Bring a healthy meal, invite your friends on nature walks, share your favorite sleep soundtrack, take them for a massage, mention you need your own six-month dental cleaning and ask if they need you to call their dentist to schedule theirs …
  • Make a list. Mourning makes remembering anything a challenge. Write down tasks your friend might mention in passing. Offer reminders of appointments. Write down memories of their deceased loved one. Write down all the kindnesses other friends extend to your grieving mutual friend.
  • Be present. The loneliness of mourning a person missing from your life is difficult to describe. Acknowledge your awareness your friend is hurting. Sometimes the bereaved need reminders they (the deceased and the bereaved) aren’t forgotten and that they are valued for themselves — not just for who they used to be in relation to the ones no longer living. If you live nearby, sitting in silence alongside your friends will strengthen them just by your willingness to witness their sorrow. If you live far from them, you can still be “present” with phone calls, texts, instant messages, and even old-fashioned snail mail.

Here’s the irony:

Now, five-plus years later, I can honestly say, I’ve become strong. I’ve had to.  I’ve become stronger than my pre-widowed self could have imagined. The bones of my broken soul reknit into a construction of titanium lace.

But it took being broken — and much, much longer than six to eight weeks — to grow that strength.

(Sometimes, I also admit, the holes in that titanium knit lace soul of mine still feel more jagged than smooth, more broken than whole. Grieving, like living, is a process.)


*Please note: ALWAYS, Always, always ask before washing or putting away or cleaning up after the deceased person’s clothing, dishes, or even apparent trash! (Mourners may need and want to handle those newly sacred, last-touched items themselves.)

4 thoughts on ““Be Strong” Is Wrong (for Grieving Friends)

  1. I wanted to find a good support blog this evening. It has been 15 months since my loving husband was in a car accident and didn’t make It. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I think I must have been in shock and denial. This is so terrible. My Ernie can’t be not physically here. His soul is here I know. I want to be reunited with him. I have grown children and grand children so I take good care of myself. I just felt like telling someone. This s wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. I have trouble crying and may just explode. I need to cry 24/7. I wish I could.


    • Lana, I’m so sorry about the death of your husband and for the pain you’re in. I remember how it felt to muddle through the unreal wrongness of my late-husband’s absence. I understand the feeling thay it shouldn’t have happened. It was a 24/7 agony. I’m sorry you’re also having trouble releasing tears — grieving is hard enough without having to struggle over crying or not. (I sometimes had trouble not crying 24/7.) It may seem now like nothing will ever seem the same again. In truth, it won’t. But there will be times ahead when it won’t hurt as badly (or in the same way) as it does now.


  2. I realize this post came out a year ago so I am not sure you are still out there. I’m not really 100% sure what I was searching for today… but this is like looking in a mirror.
    Telling me how strong I was didn’t feel like a compliment. It felt like being told I could and should be able to handle everything on my own.
    But I couldn’t.
    Telling me I was strong didn’t make me feel capable. It made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of asking for help.
    So I didn’t.
    These two lines sum up quite a bit of my life today. It has been just over two months since I lost my guy so I am still in the thick of this emotional turmoil and as you alluded to, completely overwhelmed with the business side of death, estate closings and figuring out how to now just be a party of one (we have no children).
    And yes, people keep telling me how strong I am and I too feel it to be negative. The same one’s also keep telling me I am not alone and I should talk to someone, yet the funny part is, none of them have actually offered to listen or be there. So for me, it’s just words from people who don’t know what to say – but now they have at least said something – so I hope they are all feeling good about themselves.
    Truth is, I just want to scream – and I am exercising the little actual strength I have not to get into a self-destructive mode and just verbally blast all of them. It’s kind of being like a cartoon with a bubble over my head with my real thoughts and feelings… I just can’t let it come out of my mouth because I don’t think I would ever shut up. I too cry 24/7 – all alone.
    Actions speak louder than words in my world and out of all the people that say they care… my only bright spot this week was a small act of kindness from someone I really don’t know, and recently just met. Go figure! Who knows maybe some day I will call this person a friend – it would be nice to have just one.
    If your out there still… thanks for listening.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Jennifer, I’m so sorry. I remember how raw and overwhelmed I felt at two months. And I also couldn’t muster the words to ask even close friends to listen. More than seven years later, I still deeply appreciate those who called and said, “Can I come take you to lunch Wednesday, or Thursday be better?” instead of making nonspecific offers (like “call if you need anything” or “let’s get together sometime”).

      It really IS okay for you to not be strong right now. If your arms were broken, you wouldn’t be expected to lift weights with them; you’d need friends to help lift things for you while healing. A broken heart requires much more aid and understanding for much longer though it’s less visible.

      About a month after my husband died, one friend saw my silent tears, sat beside me, put her arm around my shoulder, and said simply, “It sucks. You go ahead and cry.”

      Her acknowledgment was empowering and supportive.

      Please be gentle with yourself, Jennifer. Grieving and adjusting to your altered life is hard.


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