You know those personality tests you take (mostly online now, but I’m from the stone age when I had to take some of mine on a Scan-tron), and they supposedly tell you what careers you’d be good at or what traits are your strongest? Well mine always came/come back teacher, or counselor. Which was a good thing, as I always knew I’d be a teacher, and when it came to my family and friends, even as a kid, I might as well have hung out a sign (a la Lucy from Peanuts) when it came to the counseling thing. Life wound up having slightly different plans for me, but that’s still a very large part of me, that ‘let me help, let me listen, let me… do SOMETHING” instinct that never went away.
But the thing about being that type of person is that a lot of times you feel like you’re in WAY OVER YOUR HEAD, regardless of any training you might have, as life starts throwing more and more complicated situations at you and your people. Somehow you wind up being the only one holding somebody’s hand while they’re dealing with dementia, or you have to explain to a 14-year-old that this time their mom’s cancer is more serious, or your friend has lost another baby and you are 15 states away and you’re staring at the inside of an empty card, waiting for inspiration to strike. And in those moments, it doesn’t matter how much you think you are good at comforting people, the only thing you can truly be sure of is that you are inadequately prepared for THIS. So I decided I could use a little refresher, and picked up The Art of Comforting: What to Say and Do for People in Distress by Val Walker.
Walker does a great job of even writing in a comforting way, of somehow talking you down from the panic attack she must know precipitated you buying this book in the first place by assuring you that there truly is no such thing as a person who is ‘qualified’ to give comfort. By breaking down the lies surrounding comforting – showing that our society has created all sorts of myths about people being “innate comforters”, or that there are certain types of comforting that are ‘better than’ others; that comforters are always available, or that their job is to cheer people up or that they need to have had a similar experience to the troubled person in order to be helpful in anyway. (I know for a fact that this is not true, because, despite my always single status I have comforted my sisters, friends, and roommates through about a million breakups.)
Comfort, she explains, is both an art and a practice: it is something you can observe, it is something you can learn, it is something people – even the most tenderhearted, generous people – struggle with all the time. Walker, as a longtime bereavement counselor herself, is certainly qualified to know, but she doesn’t just rely on her own experience. Through a series of interviews with other effectively comforting individuals – people whose jobs require a certain level of empathy, respect, et al from the list below – Walker manages to make the point that comforting comes in many varieties, is applicable in all settings, and is often a conscious choice that is being made – that it is a deliberate way of interacting with the world that, through practice, a person could become better at.
Each of the interviewed comforters had a fascinating story, a reason why they had chosen their professions, a lesson life had given them that enabled them to see that being comforting was the better choice for them, and I found many of the stories moving, and their perspectives invaluable. Many of them had endured tragedies or difficulties or health issues of their own, which made me think a lot about what breeds those comforting qualities, what kind of ground they grow best in. That it carries through to their other interactions with people – that they are not just comforting in one situation, but, the more they do it, and the better they get at it, the more it translates across the board – was both reassuring and daunting.
What exactly does it mean to be comforting? It means to be present, a startlingly difficult goal in our time-pressured, always-on-the-move society. Comforting does not mean fixing it, which is part of why people are so uncomfortable with it – it’s actually the antithesis of so much of what we value in our culture – to be comforting we have to listen rather than advise; we have to take time and be patient, rather than rushing through things; we have to work without a specific script in mind, letting the the distressed person take the lead; we have to give them our full attention, rather than multitask. We have to allow them to “feel what they feel” rather than expecting them to “cheer up or be strong”, and we have to be able to put many of our own instincts – ego, curiosity, impatience – to the side.
Good comforters, states Walker, share some defining characteristics – The first being that we are capable of giving our full attention. Being empathetic – (rather than competitive – don’t down play or compare situations, don’t get into the suffering Olympics… try to understand that a person’s pain or sadness is their pain or sadness and it is deep and real to them, regardless of other peoples’ experiences) is also essential. Other qualities of truly comforting people – sincerity, respectfulness, patience, caring, reliability (remembering that the situation doesn’t end after you send a card, or once the first round of chemo is completed, for example), warmth, calmness, being non-judgmental, humility, supportiveness, hopefulness, gratefulness, generosity, gentleness, wisdom, adaptability, and strength. Best of all, Walker recognizes that not every person will excel at all aspects of comforting: She advises that we play to our strengths, figure out which of these qualities we embody and embrace them in our quest to become better comforters. And then build up our weaker spots as we can.
(For example, one that I have a particularly difficult time with is setting boundaries – it’s hard not to say “whatever you need, whenever you need, I’ll be there.” But I was impressed by the sections on clarity and realistic boundaries being important – to both the comforter and the comforted. It helps to create & maintain balance in the relationship (nobody feels like they’re taking advantage/getting taken advantage of), and having realistic limits gives the person who needs help the opportunity to reach out knowing that you’re able to help. I’ve really got to work on this, because, in all honesty, I tend to over-help, and then, yeah, I do sometimes feel like “wow, everyone has forgotten that I am also an actual person with feelings and who sometimes needs help too.” Setting boundaries; goals to meet. )
Sections on what to say to avoid the dreaded platitudes that make people want to punch you in the face (“God only gives us what we can handle,” “I know exactly how you feel,” “But you don’t LOOK sick,” “Life’s hard for everybody, you’ve just got to deal with it better,” etc) should perhaps be required reading. Walker also provides other no-nos – interrupting, asking a lot of questions, fidgeting, playing with your cellphone, (some of these would hopefully be common sense, but I have literally seen people on their cell phones at funerals, so maybe not) that everyone would benefit from knowing, as well as a chapter on how to replenish your own comforting stores when you’re running low, which? Also helpful.
I like to write notes & send cards (a holdover from my both my grandmothers, I’m sure), especially if the choice is that or making a phone call, so the section on how to write comforting notes – and taking care to recognize that one note is usually not enough of a presence to actually be all that comforting – was also quite helpful. And Walker not simply disregarding email (or Facebook, or texting) as too gauche or impersonal for comforting purposes is a relief, because I often think the potential of social media in certain situations is underestimated – maintaining communication with people in tough places is one of the absolute highlights of technology, for me, as a chronically ill person. I wouldn’t have been able to keep tabs on my cousin and her preemies in the NICU, if they hadn’t had a blog. I wouldn’t have been able to easily update everybody on my grandmother’s condition while she was in hospice care if 9/10ths of my family hadn’t been in a Facebook group together. And the ability to just check-in on people – and have them get back to you at THEIR convenience – is yet another plus in technology’s favor.
Walker also talks a lot about how to use art as a comforting tool – even if it just means sending your friend a funny cat video, drawing with grieving kids, or sitting and watching movies together – and then backs that up with a huge section at the end with list upon list of comforting (‘quirky’ ‘escapist’ ‘gritty’) media (books, movies, music, TV, YouTube videos), which is a great resource. And she concludes with a ton of books, websites and other resources for further, more specific reading.
The thing about being able to comfort people is that, when you get it right, it’s the best feeling in the world: A person you love needs you, needs SOMETHING, and you were able to help out, even if just for those two seconds. And I feel like this book has reminded me of the ways in which I am innately comforting, and the ways in which I could use some work (boundaries, hopefulness, adaptability) and given me some more tools to add to my toolbox. Trust me when I say that in those moments, when it’s just you, and someone you love, and something awful or difficult or so big it’s impossible to believe it’s actually happening to you, you’ll be glad to have every.single.one you can get your hands on.
(Yes; yes, I did use a West Wing quote as my title. Wanna make something of it?)