Learning What Not to Say

by Jeri Glatter

 

The past two months of physical isolation have been rife with struggles for all of us—me included, of course—but I have been sensing as well an invitation to move beyond my own personal concerns. An invitation to expand. To find a deeper understanding and compassion for what others are experiencing at this time. To find the right words of support and comfort when I’m present to another’s suffering in the face of so many losses. The need to choose my words carefully reminds me of the time when I began my work as an end of life doula. 

One particular client helped me learn that some common expressions of empathy can sound very empty in the face of hard realities. Lynn (not her real name) was telling me how disappointed she felt that her life was ending before she could experience the weddings of her children, see the birth of grandchildren, and watch her children parent. She had not put words to that feeling of disappointment, nor tried to speak about it out loud, until that moment. 

Lynn and I were about the same age and so were our children. I felt an immediate kinship with her, a sisterhood. I remember my head gently nodding in agreement, my body leaning forward toward her, feeling sorrow for what she would never get to experience. And then I offered what I thought would be a helpful, compassionate response: “I understand how painful that is.” Lynn looked directly into my eyes and said: “How can you possibly understand?” I felt her anger rise as she continued: “In a little while you are walking out of here. You will go home to your life that isn’t about to end. You do not understand.” 

The directness of what Lynn said was one of the many wake-up calls that I would receive as a doula starting out. In the seconds of silence that followed I had a vivid realization that I could never truly understand how another person felt without being them, no matter how compassionate I felt in my heart. That realization prompted me to say: “You are right. How could I possibly understand?” And even though I felt some degree of embarrassment, I was able to add: “Thank you for saying what you just said. I will never forget this moment, nor speak those words so thoughtlessly to another dying person.” 

“I understand” was one of the conversational habits that I unwittingly relied upon. Deep active listening was a new skill I was learning. My early clients, like Lynn, would help me to see how hard it is to stay in the mind of listening; that it is a skill requiring self-reflection even in the immediacy of speaking a response to an emotional outpouring from a dying person or someone close to them. And if not then, certainly in assessing how a visit went afterwards when I was sitting in my car or quietly at home writing in my journal. Sometimes a client would gently point something out; sometimes they would be more direct, as Lynn had been.

I was grateful for the honesty that Lynn and others offered me as I served them in those early days. I came to see that until I am the dying person I can only inquire what it means to them to be facing death. I can only offer the space for emotions to be felt, for words to be spoken, and to hold that in the best way I can, without trying to change, negotiate, or fix what is being shared. The thoughts, emotions, and beliefs of the dying belong to each one of them in their individual way. My work as a doula is to be present to it all if invited into that very personal process of exploring what it means to die.

There have been many other learnings throughout my years as a doula. I have grown as a person. I was a work in progress then, and I continue to be even today. As I talk with family or friends about their fears or losses in this time of coronavirus, I still catch myself on occasion about to speak words of comfort that don’t acknowledge the depth of the feelings they are sharing. In our everyday conversations, it is easy to slip into old habits and offer clichés. But now, through what I have learned as I doula, I do mostly stop myself from going there. I am so much better today at active listening and knowing what not to say. They are among the many benefits of doing doula work. It takes courage and a large measure of self-honesty, but for me at least, I see it as well worth it.