All I could think in those moments when my name would be written on the board was, my cheeks are saying more than I ever would out loud. I hate that scene from grade school when I would be called out. There was no dunce hat on a stool in the corner, but it sure felt like it. My friends, my crushes, my nemeses were all inwardly raising their eyebrows at the mention of those syllables my parents gave me at birth. It’s her, I imagine them uttering. Gah! The shame.

The same flush happens every time I stumble upon one of those lists. You know the ones: 100 things to never say to a bearded woman; 15 things to avoid saying to someone who’s just been bit by rabid monkeys; 5 ways to encourage a friend who has decided to live solitary in the woods for two years. All right, not quite like those but I think you get the picture. Every time I see one I fight the urge to raise my hand in a guilty plea of confession. It’s me, this list is going to expose all my ignorance.

Yep, nearly 10 times out of 10 I’ve said the wrong thing to a hurting person. If I haven’t said it, I’ve thought it. My only saving grace is that there might be more on the list I haven’t said than ones I have. I scour through the items doing a mental check.

I said that.
And that, but that one isn’t so bad. I mean, it’s true.
Oh. Oh dear. This one’s bad. I need to make a call, and offer my firstborn.

But can I take a second for us nincompoops? I get it. I’ve been through enough crises and traumatic events to know how grating the wrong comment, the total missed mark, the insensitive feels. It sucks. And I also know that on the other side, in the space where we come eye to eye with you who are in knee-buckling pain, we desperately want to go there with you. We want to see it, feel it, and come alongside you in it, even though it’s like we’re groping for a light switch in a dark room. With grief that can mold into different shapes at any given moment, with processes that are never alike in two people, it’s difficult to know what the exact right thing is at the exact right time.

I had a friend who was depressed. I’ve been there and I thought I knew what I was doing with her. I texted, invited, said I’d be there to talk it out because that’s what I have needed in those situations. More people. She, was the opposite. I actually Googled: How to Love Someone Who’s Depressed. It turns out she needed blankets wrapped over her head and groceries in her pantry without ever stepping into a store. She needed quiet and sleep and presence without any demand of words she didn’t have. 

So know, we buffoons who you want to slap, we care.

And at least we’re saying something, even if it’s the wrong thing. Teach us the language. Plus, you never know when someone might have great shaving tips.