Jeannie, I would have had a similar reaction. Thank you so much for courageously sharing this here, so that many more people can understand how platitudes such as this can be so damaging. Education around loss of all kinds is so badly needed in the UK and USA. Grrr!
I agree about needing to educate people more about how to accompany people in their pain, Jane. That’s what you are doing, and you are doing it so well by example!
I love your poem, Jeannie, but GAH I would also have wanted to slug that woman. And I know, I know people deserve some grace (I hope she at least brought good food) but I wish the people actually wading through grief didn't so often have to be the grace-givers.
Good last line, Kendall: “I wish the people actually wading through grief didn't so often have to be the grace-givers.”
It really is exhausting to be in that position. For me, it has added pressure to perform and please, too. I actually had people get mad, or at the very least miffed, at me when they'd bring us dinner while Sarah was in one of her surgeries, because I forgot to write them a thank you note.
Seriously.
At the time, I felt immensely guilty, but now I'm like, if that's the reason they were giving us a meal - to get some sort of recognition or pat on the back - then it was the wrong reason, in my view.
Isn't it interesting that performative love lends itself to performative gratitude, and that real, no-strings-attached Love allows us to sit in the kind of gratitude that actually feels like relief? Such a brilliant reminder of how to show up for our people when they're spent and exhausted. Thank you again.
Ah, I appreciate the phrasing here, Kendall—”performative love.” I had not given language to that phenomenon, and you did it for me. Thank you!
I guess all I can say is that I wish I knew what no-strings-attached love was like from another. I don’t. At the same time, it helps me try to show up differently for the people in my own life.
Yes! It’s wrong, if anyone expected anything of you, while you’re child is in surgery- omg- (I remember that experience many years ago) then I believe it’s healthy for one’s self esteem to allow that anger. I’lll gladly carry some anger here too. Rrrrrrrr
I do not have special children, but I myself does have a disability I was “gifted” by genetics. I’ve had too many people tell me that God doesn’t give me what I can’t handle. I’m now at the point where I want to tell them that God doesn’t have to live with this constant, never ending pain so please! Just. Shut. Up!!! I don’t say this out loud but if they can read thru my facial expressions, they should know.
Yes, Caroline! Your rage is justified. I’m glad you are honoring your feelings. That’s another one we could talk about—”God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” Well, you know what? Yes, sometimes we DO have much more than we can handle in life! I think this platitude is a distortion of a Bible verse, and I can’t recall which one it is in this moment.
This is right up there with people telling me that God had a special plan for us after all three of miscarriages. It just pisses me off that people would think this way. Wouldn’t having the baby I was pregnant with NOW be a special plan. 🙄😑 And I must be REAL special with my “special” child because she’s a piece of work. 🤣❤️
Oh, Stephanie, I am so sorry you heard that. I can’t understand why someone would say that! This is another example of how some people weaponize God or their warped sense of theology. You’re right—saying “this is God’s special plan” is another one of those really hurtful cliches we should avoid. How can any of us know God’s plan? How can any of us explain why some people live, and some people die? We can’t. All we can do is be with someone in their pain and let them know we aren’t there to judge, just be a loving presence to them.
True, the platitude is neither true nor meaningful, but it IS true that you are a special mom and a special woman. And I mean that in the most admiring way.
Ugh, yes! I have been told this as well because I was a special education teacher and then adopted a child with autism and other disabilities. And yes, I had more skills for working with people with disabilities than some other folks, *however* parenting is a whole different ball game from a job.
Platitudes are so rarely helpful. I agree with another commenter that often we can see someone’s good intent behind their words if we try, but man, that feeling of wanting to slug someone after a comment like that is very relatable to a lot of us who are parenting kids with unique needs!
I understand. Thanks for putting your feelings into a beautiful poem to help others feel seen.
Oh, Breeann, it is so good to know you understand this, and it also hurts me to know you have experience something similar!
I just want to say how grateful I am that you are here and that we have connected. It helps when I realize there are many of us out there who can relate to stories like this and know we aren’t alone.
Yes! Thanks, Jeannie. I’m grateful you are putting your story out in the world. I think truly that’s what the most meaningful writing does — makes people feel less alone in some way. You have done that again - brava. 💜
I know that imagination feeling of slugging someone in the face. It appears like an Ally McBeal flash in my mind. And poof, it’s gone, banished by that power that over rides everything. Sensibility.
I’m still learning how to tell Sensibility to take a hike. When I’m successful, wow. Watch out world! Here I come!
I can totally imagine you wanting to punch her in the face. While you ARE a very special person, like all special and un-special (is there such a person?) people, you deserve the best, and a healthy child. And while Sarah is super special (meaning, extraordinary!) - she deserves all the health and love in the world. You being "special" does not invite special challenges. And all the while I keep learning from you both everyday, I don't wish these challenges on anyone. Sending you a very special hug
I love how you wrote “is there such a person who isn’t special” because YES! You’re so right to point that out, Imola! How can we say that some of us are set apart as extraordinary from other humans? Each of us has a particular life, a particular path or journey, and who is to say that some of us are “chosen” while others are not?
I send you a very special hug back, because you are a very special friend!
Although… as in every joke that lands the wrong way… a platitude is a platitude because there is some grain of truth in it. So, perhaps with was the tone— or the mention of God’s gift— but we all have important roles and it is critical to recognize what is real.
I’ve also heard the expression that God gives his strongest warriors the toughest trials— or something to that effect. Perhaps this is so.
All I know is this: it’s the ‘special’ people I’ve met in my life who seem to really understand what life is all about, and it is their warrior advocates who become the most dedicated soldiers of Love’s Army
This might be true on some level, and I also understand that it’s not helpful when someone is wrestling with their grief. It’s not helpful to hear anything cliched, however slight a sliver of truth might be present.
When Sarah was born, I didn’t want to hear about how special she was, or I was, or how “strong” I was, or that God chose me for such a tough assignment. These only made me feel angrier.
What helped most was when someone would hug me and say, “I’m so sorry. You’re right. This isn’t fair. It’s hard. I’m here to listen if you need someone.”
In times of raw emotion, especially grief, most of us simply need presence, not platitudes. That’s been my experience, both personally and when I once wrote and spoke to others around the US about their own experiences with grief.
When we are deep in our sadness or grief, words just fall flat. Most words just can’t adequately offer what the heart wishes to say. This is one reason I always turn to music. In my opinion, only music can soothe the aching soul— I don’t know if that is true for others, but it has been the balm for my agonies all of my life.
I love the posts you make - especially the ones with Sarah. You are genuine and strong and her wisdoms are so well received on this end. As a teacher who misses the engagement of bright child lights in their life, I offer nothing but gratitude. She has the power to warm the world with her sweet ways.
I really appreciate this. It’s so good to know you are using your gifts with music to communicate something that most of us can’t convey with words alone. I truly believe that music can bring us together, can speak into someone’s pain, can uplift or encourage. Keep doing it! :)
Idle platitudes are not what people need to hear. I can totally understand your anger, expressed in your incredible poem. These platitudes gloss over the very real issues in life.
When I first saw the title of your poem, my heart sank.
I thought I was going to have to agree to disagree.
Thank goodness you wanted to slug the woman who said this to you.
Yep, we're still on the same page. 😂
This is one of the most obnoxious sayings, I've ever heard.
On one hand, I believe most people who say things like this, or "well, now your daughter is normal," after Sheila died, mean well--they are just misguided.
I feel angry when I hear what other people have heard, Nancy. Like what you wrote here—”Now your daughter is normal.” I mean, on what planet would that ever sound compassionate?! I cannot imagine saying something like this.
What I’ve tried to do is remember that MOST people are well-intentioned when they trip over their words. They often don’t know what to say. Of course, the best course of action is to say little. Maybe something like, “I’m so sorry. This sounds so hard. You’re right—it’s not fair. How can I be a friend to you right now?”
Before Sarah was born, I likely repeated these same types of platitudes to others, and after this particular experience, I realized how hurtful they really were. Now I am more careful with what I say, knowing that everyone experiences grief differently.
Jeannie, I would have had a similar reaction. Thank you so much for courageously sharing this here, so that many more people can understand how platitudes such as this can be so damaging. Education around loss of all kinds is so badly needed in the UK and USA. Grrr!
I agree about needing to educate people more about how to accompany people in their pain, Jane. That’s what you are doing, and you are doing it so well by example!
I love your poem, Jeannie, but GAH I would also have wanted to slug that woman. And I know, I know people deserve some grace (I hope she at least brought good food) but I wish the people actually wading through grief didn't so often have to be the grace-givers.
Good last line, Kendall: “I wish the people actually wading through grief didn't so often have to be the grace-givers.”
It really is exhausting to be in that position. For me, it has added pressure to perform and please, too. I actually had people get mad, or at the very least miffed, at me when they'd bring us dinner while Sarah was in one of her surgeries, because I forgot to write them a thank you note.
Seriously.
At the time, I felt immensely guilty, but now I'm like, if that's the reason they were giving us a meal - to get some sort of recognition or pat on the back - then it was the wrong reason, in my view.
Isn't it interesting that performative love lends itself to performative gratitude, and that real, no-strings-attached Love allows us to sit in the kind of gratitude that actually feels like relief? Such a brilliant reminder of how to show up for our people when they're spent and exhausted. Thank you again.
Ah, I appreciate the phrasing here, Kendall—”performative love.” I had not given language to that phenomenon, and you did it for me. Thank you!
I guess all I can say is that I wish I knew what no-strings-attached love was like from another. I don’t. At the same time, it helps me try to show up differently for the people in my own life.
Yes! It’s wrong, if anyone expected anything of you, while you’re child is in surgery- omg- (I remember that experience many years ago) then I believe it’s healthy for one’s self esteem to allow that anger. I’lll gladly carry some anger here too. Rrrrrrrr
I do not have special children, but I myself does have a disability I was “gifted” by genetics. I’ve had too many people tell me that God doesn’t give me what I can’t handle. I’m now at the point where I want to tell them that God doesn’t have to live with this constant, never ending pain so please! Just. Shut. Up!!! I don’t say this out loud but if they can read thru my facial expressions, they should know.
Yes, Caroline! Your rage is justified. I’m glad you are honoring your feelings. That’s another one we could talk about—”God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” Well, you know what? Yes, sometimes we DO have much more than we can handle in life! I think this platitude is a distortion of a Bible verse, and I can’t recall which one it is in this moment.
I am glad you expressed your anger here: you help us all to develop greater empathy
Thanks, Amy. I appreciate you being here.
This is right up there with people telling me that God had a special plan for us after all three of miscarriages. It just pisses me off that people would think this way. Wouldn’t having the baby I was pregnant with NOW be a special plan. 🙄😑 And I must be REAL special with my “special” child because she’s a piece of work. 🤣❤️
Oh, Stephanie, I am so sorry you heard that. I can’t understand why someone would say that! This is another example of how some people weaponize God or their warped sense of theology. You’re right—saying “this is God’s special plan” is another one of those really hurtful cliches we should avoid. How can any of us know God’s plan? How can any of us explain why some people live, and some people die? We can’t. All we can do is be with someone in their pain and let them know we aren’t there to judge, just be a loving presence to them.
True, the platitude is neither true nor meaningful, but it IS true that you are a special mom and a special woman. And I mean that in the most admiring way.
Thanks, Susiebelle. I appreciate that sincerely.
Ugh, yes! I have been told this as well because I was a special education teacher and then adopted a child with autism and other disabilities. And yes, I had more skills for working with people with disabilities than some other folks, *however* parenting is a whole different ball game from a job.
Platitudes are so rarely helpful. I agree with another commenter that often we can see someone’s good intent behind their words if we try, but man, that feeling of wanting to slug someone after a comment like that is very relatable to a lot of us who are parenting kids with unique needs!
I understand. Thanks for putting your feelings into a beautiful poem to help others feel seen.
Oh, Breeann, it is so good to know you understand this, and it also hurts me to know you have experience something similar!
I just want to say how grateful I am that you are here and that we have connected. It helps when I realize there are many of us out there who can relate to stories like this and know we aren’t alone.
Yes! Thanks, Jeannie. I’m grateful you are putting your story out in the world. I think truly that’s what the most meaningful writing does — makes people feel less alone in some way. You have done that again - brava. 💜
Thanks, Breeann! XO
I hate when people say this, too.
Hugs, friend.
The platter of food is the sign of a good heart behind the thoughtless words.
Absolutely, Rafael, and I knew that even in the moment this was happening.
I know that imagination feeling of slugging someone in the face. It appears like an Ally McBeal flash in my mind. And poof, it’s gone, banished by that power that over rides everything. Sensibility.
I’m still learning how to tell Sensibility to take a hike. When I’m successful, wow. Watch out world! Here I come!
Ally McBeal! Oh wow, a blast from the past! Yes, to personify Sensibility makes sense to me here.
Sensibility has been one of my greatest assets, and my greatest fun-deterrants.
When I see that word I think of Jane Austen—”Sense and Sensibility.” Otherwise, I rarely use the term, Teri Leigh! :)
Thank you for sharing such raw emotion. This is a fantastic poem, and gosh, SO understandable.
Why, thank you, Maria. I appreciate that.
I can totally imagine you wanting to punch her in the face. While you ARE a very special person, like all special and un-special (is there such a person?) people, you deserve the best, and a healthy child. And while Sarah is super special (meaning, extraordinary!) - she deserves all the health and love in the world. You being "special" does not invite special challenges. And all the while I keep learning from you both everyday, I don't wish these challenges on anyone. Sending you a very special hug
I love how you wrote “is there such a person who isn’t special” because YES! You’re so right to point that out, Imola! How can we say that some of us are set apart as extraordinary from other humans? Each of us has a particular life, a particular path or journey, and who is to say that some of us are “chosen” while others are not?
I send you a very special hug back, because you are a very special friend!
Aww. Well, you are very, very special to me.
To receive special love.
Although… as in every joke that lands the wrong way… a platitude is a platitude because there is some grain of truth in it. So, perhaps with was the tone— or the mention of God’s gift— but we all have important roles and it is critical to recognize what is real.
I’ve also heard the expression that God gives his strongest warriors the toughest trials— or something to that effect. Perhaps this is so.
All I know is this: it’s the ‘special’ people I’ve met in my life who seem to really understand what life is all about, and it is their warrior advocates who become the most dedicated soldiers of Love’s Army
This might be true on some level, and I also understand that it’s not helpful when someone is wrestling with their grief. It’s not helpful to hear anything cliched, however slight a sliver of truth might be present.
When Sarah was born, I didn’t want to hear about how special she was, or I was, or how “strong” I was, or that God chose me for such a tough assignment. These only made me feel angrier.
What helped most was when someone would hug me and say, “I’m so sorry. You’re right. This isn’t fair. It’s hard. I’m here to listen if you need someone.”
In times of raw emotion, especially grief, most of us simply need presence, not platitudes. That’s been my experience, both personally and when I once wrote and spoke to others around the US about their own experiences with grief.
Yes, I totally agree.
When we are deep in our sadness or grief, words just fall flat. Most words just can’t adequately offer what the heart wishes to say. This is one reason I always turn to music. In my opinion, only music can soothe the aching soul— I don’t know if that is true for others, but it has been the balm for my agonies all of my life.
I love the posts you make - especially the ones with Sarah. You are genuine and strong and her wisdoms are so well received on this end. As a teacher who misses the engagement of bright child lights in their life, I offer nothing but gratitude. She has the power to warm the world with her sweet ways.
I really appreciate this. It’s so good to know you are using your gifts with music to communicate something that most of us can’t convey with words alone. I truly believe that music can bring us together, can speak into someone’s pain, can uplift or encourage. Keep doing it! :)
Thank you. I’m striving.
Striving is an apt word. ♥️
Hi Jeannie,
Idle platitudes are not what people need to hear. I can totally understand your anger, expressed in your incredible poem. These platitudes gloss over the very real issues in life.
Thanks, Beth. Yes!
When I first saw the title of your poem, my heart sank.
I thought I was going to have to agree to disagree.
Thank goodness you wanted to slug the woman who said this to you.
Yep, we're still on the same page. 😂
This is one of the most obnoxious sayings, I've ever heard.
On one hand, I believe most people who say things like this, or "well, now your daughter is normal," after Sheila died, mean well--they are just misguided.
I feel angry when I hear what other people have heard, Nancy. Like what you wrote here—”Now your daughter is normal.” I mean, on what planet would that ever sound compassionate?! I cannot imagine saying something like this.
What I’ve tried to do is remember that MOST people are well-intentioned when they trip over their words. They often don’t know what to say. Of course, the best course of action is to say little. Maybe something like, “I’m so sorry. This sounds so hard. You’re right—it’s not fair. How can I be a friend to you right now?”
Before Sarah was born, I likely repeated these same types of platitudes to others, and after this particular experience, I realized how hurtful they really were. Now I am more careful with what I say, knowing that everyone experiences grief differently.
Platitudes make the person saying them feel good, but they don't help the recipient. Sigh…
When some says to me, “I don't know what to say…” I reassure them, that saying that is preferable.
Yes! I say that, too, Nancy.