‘Thinking of you’, ‘stay strong’: Why words like these can fail when a loved one is going through the worst

‘Thinking of you’, ‘stay strong’: Why words like these can fail when a loved one is going through the worst Michelle Bong Lejtenyi has spent her career finding the right words, but when people she loved faced cancer and grief, she struggled with knowing what to say. She’s learnt that sincerity can matter more than finding the perfect words. I write for a living. Over two decades, I’ve conjured a small forest’s worth of cover stories, feature profiles, op-ed pieces, product snippets, press releases and social media posts. Writing feeds my family, covering insurance premiums, school fees, holidays, Pokemon cards and more TV channel subscriptions than we need. I’ve spent most of my life finding the right words for other people’s business needs, product launches and brand stories. So, there’s really no excuse for situations when all I can muster is worse than silence. My Achilles’ heel, I have found, is conveying consolation. Faced with situations of loss, grief or uncertainty, I shut down mentally. As the line from a beloved indie film from the mid-90s goes: “Can you define ‘irony’?” My track record has been abysmal, at best. I remember when an aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer years ago. I was so lost for words that I opted to text a feeble, “I’m sorry to hear about your condition”. When my former boss and dear friend was diagnosed with the same years later, all I could blurt out was, “oh s***”. Hardly Pulitzer Prize-winning. Then there was the time when an acquaintance was hospitalised for stomach cramps. Turns out, it was late-stage ovarian cancer. After much ruminating, I decided I would ask her how she was feeling. A clumsy “How are you?”. She never replied my text, because she was too incensed. My husband received an earful from her and sheepishly told me about it. “Why is your wife asking me how I am?” she seethed. “I have f*cking cancer, okay? What do you mean ‘how are you?’” I had never felt such mortification in my life. WHY THE WORDS DISAPPEAR How is it that my professional fluency deserts me in such situations? Perhaps it’s because conveying consolation is the toughest brief to hit. In my work, there’s usually an endgame for each sentence I write. Sell a product. Explain a challenging situation. Paint a compelling picture. In contrast, “Make someone feel less bad about their cancer/divorce/job loss/any other relevant negative situation” is almost unachievable. For work, getting a sentence wrong on the first try costs nothing other than time. I can simply hit backspace several times, or Ctrl+X it all away. I can spend as much time as I want on getting the sentence right, polishing till it sounds perfect. No one would know how many attempts it took. Text messages, theoretically, should offer me the same luxury. But they don’t. Too polished, and it reads insincere. Too blunt, and it can wound. Too careful, and the words seem found, not felt. Here I am, trying to capture overwhelming emotions within a WhatsApp chat window. Two thumbs tapping on glass, stringing letters together that will hopefully articulate my feelings of sadness, fear and pain over what people I love are going through. When words must be formed and delivered in real time, the stakes are higher. There’s no backspace button to stab at, no taking back a terrible choice of words once they land. THE DANGEROUS TRAP OF COMFORT CLICHES Just recently, I found myself struggling again. There were two shocking cancer diagnoses in my extended family: my cousin with late-stage ovarian cancer, and my aunt with late-stage pancreatic cancer. I also attended the wake of a good friend who lost her mum to pancreatic cancer. Around the same time, my sister-in-law in Canada had to undergo surgery for a brain tumour. Inwardly cursing myself for my ineptitude, I audited my brain’s word bank for the best options. Several ridiculously trite comfort phrases crossed my mind, but I had the good sense to bury them in the graveyard of platitudes. “I know how you’re feeling, stay strong”: It’s the equivalent of “thoughts and prayers”. With all due respect, no one can fully comprehend what someone is going through, even having experienced the same. We all deal with adversity differently. On top of the physical and emotional toil of fighting a chronic illness, no one deserves the additional burden of displaying a show of strength for whoever is watching. These words are neither an emotional prop nor supportive. Pathetic. “Thinking of you”: As heartfelt as that sentiment might be, it’s the sentence equivalent of self-protective distance disguised as empathy. The message is clear: I’d like to think I know what you’re going through. I really cannot come up with something better to say. Oh, and I just made you waste a few minutes of your life trying to figure out what I mean. Embarrassing. “Let me know if you need anything”: A weak mash-up of “I’m here for you” and “I’m just a phone call or text away”, this sounds generous at first. But it’s quickly recognised as an exit door disguised as an open one. What kind of person puts the onus on someone already going through chemotherapy to reach out for help? Horrific. “You’ve got this”: Here are words meant to instil confidence but actually fall flat. Really? How can I say this to a woman who did not, in fact, have this? Flippant times 3,000. WHEN YOU LEAD WITH HONESTY Here’s what I managed instead. “I know you will do what you need to, and I will be on this journey with you”: I texted that to my cousin, the same woman who changed my diapers, introduced me to the fascinating world of the English language, and attended my wedding. “I will miss her too; she was so kind and lovely”: I said that to my good friend as I sat next to her at her mother’s wake. Her smile spoke volumes, and for a few moments, we were lost in memories of how her mother used to welcome us to her home and affectionately chide her for the smallest things. “I’m shocked but quietly confident you will get through this.”: I texted these words to my sister-in-law before her surgery. Nothing profound, just a warm, tight hug conveyed with words. I believe my words landed because they did not try to fix anything. My sister-in-law replied with a positive update before sending love to my boys and me. We’ve since exchanged more texts. My cousin texted back a simple heart emoji that somehow said more than a thesis could. I’ve visited her and she’s in good spirits. LESS ELOQUENCE, MORE HONESTY Have I gotten better at expressing myself in such situations? I’m not quite convinced. I’ve just gotten marginally less bad at it, I guess, as I commit to always finding the right words for the people who matter most. Call it age, but I reckon as people get on in years, what they want to hear when life seems to be falling apart aren’t stock phrases that ring hollow, but acknowledgement. The presence that someone is aware of what you’re going through and sitting next to you in an uncomfortable truth without drenching it in the emotional shield of optimism. It could be in response to anything: a challenge faced at work, a failing marriage, kids who won’t listen, the impending passing of a beloved pet. Meaningful communication is all it takes in an era of social media perfection and good-vibes-only mindsets. Stock phrases that cost nothing to say only relieve the discomfort of the one saying them. Maybe that’s all anybody needs to do. Forget eloquence. Heartfelt beats clever turns of phrase or polished platitudes any time. CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. 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