Walk in healing

Posted on October 8, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Have you noticed the number of walk-in medical care places? They are popping up in grocery stores, in pharmacies, and strip malls. They are urgent care, quick care. They are fast – no appointment. It is designed to be easy and available for people who don’t have primary care doctors or don’t have insurance.

Why not have a faculty for quick care for other needs? Spiritual, mental, emotional – these areas need attention too. There are plenty of three a.m. crises that happen. What if you need to talk to a counselor and it is past office hours?

It isn’t severe enough to need a crisis hotline. You aren’t about to kill yourself. Those phone lines are the equivalent of the emergency room. Sometimes it isn’t just an emergency, it is just inconvenient.

And sometimes the issue is just too big or too heavy for friends. Sometimes friends are helpful and sometimes they are a hindrance. Sometimes the issue is so personal, so embarrassing, that you need to talk to a stranger.

Just like with primary care providers, some people don’t have primary faith providers.

These places could also do other services that people need, like performing marriages. There are plenty of people who don’t have a faith community that they belong to. There are plenty of people who feel betrayed by the church, but still want the rituals.

We humans need rituals to mark transitions. Graduation is more than just finishing high school or college. There is more to it than just getting a diploma. We dress up, have special words, and there is a meal afterwards. We know something different has happened, that we are different. The ritual helps us to know that. Sure, people could get married at the courthouse, but sometimes they want a place where they can invite their family to see them get married and to wish them well.

While I’m all for the idea of the idea that every person become self-reliant to the fullest extent possible, there are some things that we can’t do for ourselves. I reject the idea of hierarchy in faith – I believe that we are called to walk together in our faith journey, not be lead like sheep. I believe that everybody is called by God, and everybody has special abilities.

But sometimes we can’t do it all ourselves. Sometimes we need a compassionate listener. Sometimes we need someone who can listen to our pain and help us find a way out of that hole. Sometimes we need someone who can say “that sucks!” or “that has to be hard for you” or “take a nap and call me in the morning.”

You need to be able to validate the other person’s feelings and experiences, to let them know that they aren’t going crazy, that life is in fact really hard right now.

It isn’t easy to be a good listener. You have to show that you are interested. You have to be patient. You can’t get distracted. You can’t start telling people how it is so much harder for you. That is the worst. Bad listeners are like my aunt, who when you say “I may have cervical cancer”, she says “my daughter had a bad case of melanoma last year.” Don’t be that person.

You can’t go into this to tell people off or tell them what to do. I know way too many people in ministry who think that is what they are called to do. Being a good minister is about kenosis. It is about emptying yourself out and letting God fill in the space. Being a good minister is about being like a shaman. It is about connecting the here with the there. It is about reminding people that “there” is right here. Being a good minister is like being a musician, where you can “translate” the needs of the moment into a song that is healing, except it is with prayers.

This all takes a lot of practice. It takes a lot of faith.

Not everybody wants to be a minister, in much the same way that not everybody wants to be a nurse. Not everybody can handle the intimacy of the soul or the body when it is exposed. So while I think that everybody is called by God, and that everybody can minister in their own way, perhaps there are some people who are just better suited to be good listeners. I think that everybody needs healing, whether it be physical or metaphysical. There is a lot of healing found in just being able to listen, and I mean really listen, to someone else.

Perhaps that is what we all want. We all want to be heard. Perhaps those phone sex lines aren’t about sex at all, but about connection. Perhaps that is why bartenders and hairdressers are so sought out. It isn’t for the beer or the bob cut. It is for someone to listen.

Big library/little library

Posted on August 21, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

There are twenty branches and one main library in our system in Davidson County. One of them is closed for the foreseeable future because of flooding. The entire basement flooded, six feet up the walls. Men in hazmat suits have had to go in and clean things out. All the books have been removed to prevent them getting moldy. The employees have been reassigned to other branches.

This is a big deal. The branch that closed was a tiny branch, and my branch is a huge branch. There are patrons that went to my branch when it opened and shortly learned that it is not their style. They now are having to come back to us. It isn’t very easy for them.

It reminds me of when I tried to leave Bank of America. I was sick of being treated like a number. I was sick of stupid rules that made no sense. I should be able to write my account number on a check I’m depositing when I go through the drive through, rather than park my car and come in to get a deposit slip. But, they didn’t see things my way. They have a lot of customers. They can’t make exceptions. I opened an account at a smaller branch and was greeted by name every time I went in. The turnover of the tellers was minimal. I got to know them, and enjoy going in. I refinanced my mortgage that was with BoA in order to begin the process of leaving BoA. Sadly, the mortgage was resold to BoA within two weeks. My master plan was foiled. I was stuck dealing with a huge entity.

These patrons are in the same boat. They want the personal service of a tiny branch, but that is impossible with a large branch. The employee who has been reassigned to us said that two hours on the desk at my branch was like a whole week at his branch. We serve 800 people a day. We can’t take the time to learn your name and the name of your children and husband and what books you like to read and how your medical history is going. We just can’t.

And I’m OK with that. It is a library. It isn’t a bar and we aren’t bartenders. It isn’t church and we aren’t priests. People forget that sometimes. There is something about a library that makes people think we want to hear all about their problems.

Sure, we care. We do. We are human. We enjoy stories. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t read books. Books are full of stories. But people aren’t like books. We can’t close them when they get to be too much. Books don’t get their feelings hurt when we get overwhelmed with what is going on. We don’t feel trapped when the problems in books are too big for us to handle. It is human nature to want to handle problems, to fix them, to make things better. That expectation isn’t there with books. Books are books, and people are people.

People are messy things. People are difficult and complicated and weird. They are amazing too. But there isn’t any training when you go to work for the library that tells you how to deal with people who feel that they need to tell you everything about their lives.

I don’t remember this happening in retail. Working in the library is a lot like retail and yet different. People treat you better, for starters. But they also share a lot of deeply personal stuff. Sometimes it is too much, too deep, too personal. Sometimes I want to run away. Sometimes I’m fascinated. Sometimes I’m grateful for the pastoral care training I’ve had that helps me to just be a calm presence for them.

Forgetting, forgiveness

Posted on August 16, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I know a lady who refuses to go to a certain church because they are OK with gay people. And by OK I mean the denomination not only welcomes gay people but also has gay ministers.

She says that homosexuality isn’t Christian.

I asked her what Jesus said about homosexuality. She got a little defensive and paused. She then admitted that she wasn’t completely familiar with all of what Jesus said. When I told her that Jesus said nothing about being gay, but said a lot about loving other people and a lot about not judging, she got even more defensive.

I wasn’t winning over a convert here. She thinks I’m wrong, and I think she is wrong. She thinks I’m twisting the rules to say that something that she has been taught is wrong isn’t actually wrong. I think she is using religion as an excuse to be a bigot.

The ironic part is that she is living with the father of her child, but they aren’t married. Their daughter is three. So by the same bag of rules that she was handed by society, she too is a sinner.

But she isn’t. And neither are gay people. Or, we all are, and that debt is paid.

No matter how you do the math, it is OK.

On one side, Jesus gave us two rules – love God, and love our neighbor as ourselves. If whatever you are doing honors those things, then you are good. If it violates these things, then stop doing them.
But then here’s the other side. Jesus paid for all of our sins. All of them. For all time. Jesus totally got that it is really hard to be perfect. He got that it is very hard to be human. We make mistakes. We try. We fail again.

When Jesus said “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” he might as well have said to us “That’s OK – just try again to do it right the next time, but I know you won’t get it right, and that’s OK too.”

This doesn’t mean that we are off the hook. This doesn’t mean that we can do whatever we want and forget the consequences. We need to be mindful. But we need to also be patient with ourselves because we aren’t ever going to get it perfect.

Alexander Pope said “To err is human, to forgive divine.” This bears remembering.

Perhaps what people are afraid of about gay people being welcomed in church is that they think there won’t be room enough. They don’t want to share space with them. They think there won’t be room for them to be in church with all gay people there. Maybe they think that church is only for perfect people – ones who have it all figured out and are living a blameless life.

Maybe they forget that nobody’s perfect, and we are all forgiven.

Maybe they forget that we are all called to love, in the same way that Jesus loved us.

This, too, is forgiven, this forgetting.

Like

Posted on July 31, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I’m really trying to resist telling the lady in the waiting room at the car dealership that the reason people think she is so young is because she acts young. Young as in immature.

She says “like” way too much. “And I was like…” “And she was like…” “And they were like…”

How did we get to the point that we can no longer conjugate verbs?

“Like” should be used as a comparative. The Mini is like the VW bug. The Ford F150 is not like a Honda Civic. “Like” can be used to say that you are in favor of something. I like Italian ice, but I don’t like hot fudge sundaes.

“Like” should not be used as a substitute for “said” or as a prelude to a description of someone’s behavior.

She’s telling her story very loudly to another stranger in the waiting room. She says that everybody assumes she dropped out of high school. That everybody assumes she is in her teens. From her story it sounds like she is 24. She acts like she is 16. She also dresses young. Converse. Jeans. T-shirt. She wears no makeup so her acne is openly visible.

I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to be kind. I’m not doing very well, but I’ve not said anything to her yet.

I remember one time I was in water aerobics class. I’d been going for over two years. This new lady starts showing up, 10 years older, fake tan, scratchy, twangy voice. Barbara had obviously spent a lot of time working out. She had no fat on her. She wasn’t muscular though. She worked out very hard in the class.

But I can’t stand her. She’s uncouth. She’s grating. She’s loud. She thinks it is funny to dunk people. I hate being dunked. She hasn’t done it to me, but I’m wary. I’ve got my eye on her just in case she gets too close.

One day she was near me when we were doing a move we’ve done many times before. And when I say we, I mean me and everybody else. She is an interloper. I’ve never seen her do this move. Maybe she has been in other water aerobics classes. I don’t know, and I don’t care.

Because she felt that it was her place to tell me how to do the move.

I ignored her. And I started disliking her more. And I kept on doing the move the same way I’ve always done it. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. Maybe her way is right. But I don’t care.

Right now, I’m trying not to be Barbara.

I want to tell this girl that at a minimum she must stop saying “Like” all the time. But she doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know that I have a degree in English. She doesn’t know that I’ve tutored students from kindergarten to college for over ten years.

She doesn’t know that I too have had a problem with people assuming I’m a lot younger than I am.

I want to fix her.

Really, I want her to stop yammering.

Really, she reminds me of me when I was that age.

So I sit here, and write, and pray, and hope for redemption and healing, for myself and for her. I wasn’t planning on having this kind of emotional turmoil while sitting in the waiting room getting my car fixed, but when you are stuck some place for 7 hours, anything can happen.

Peace (cat in a tree)

Posted on July 19, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I want to be a peacemaker. I want to take conflict resolution classes. I want to help people understand each other. I want to wake people up to their potential. I want to show them how to prevent problems.

My spiritual director says I need to focus inward. She says I need to take care of myself first. I guess this I kind of like when you are on an airplane and the pressure drops. You have to make sure your oxygen mask is on first before you help out the people around you. I guess it is like being a first responder. If you aren’t in shape, how can you rescue someone else?

This makes sense yet it also sounds backwards. There are already too many people who are totally self centered and selfish. There are already too many people who are unaware and unawake. To turn my desire to help others around onto myself seems like regression.

But perhaps the middle way is best. It would mean that I am balanced and grounded. It would mean that I can help others and not be depleted. If you overextend you may fall. Just like if you are rescuing a kitten from a tree, if you reach out too far, go past your balance point, you’ll fall to the ground.

Then, there is the idea that the kitten needs to learn how to get her own dang self down.

If you keep rescuing the kitten, she’ll keep needing to be rescued. Maybe there is something useful there in that thought.

Nobody rescued me. Nobody stood around and cheered me on to start getting healthy in body and soul. Nobody figured out how I could carve out time and money to go to the Y. Perhaps there is something in letting people figure out how to get there on their own.

Maybe there is something to being OK with the idea that they may never get there. Maybe there is something about being OK with where they are right now.

I just hate listening to the yowling of that stuck cat.

I want it to stop climbing up that tree. It has climbed up that same tree for years and it keeps getting stuck. I want it to pick a different tree or figure this one out. Or stay away from trees entirely.

I’ve got my own trees to wrestle with. I want to help, but I don’t want to rescue. But I also don’t want to feel like saying “I told you so”.

Easy (schooled by a kindergartner)

Posted on July 4, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

I have tutored ESL kindergartners for two years now. I participate in a program that is sponsored by the Mayor of my city. He allows Metro employees to tutor in Metro schools on work time for an hour a week. Since I have a degree in English and I’ve tutored students with learning disabilities before, I thought this would be a great thing to do. I paired up with a ESL kindergarten teacher that I knew from my work who is fun and enthusiastic. I wanted to support her in her mission.

The first year I was tutoring ESL students from as close as Mexico and as far away as Uzbekistan. There were some students who were from America that needed a little extra help as well, as the class has a mixed skill level. Many of these children had never been to school or been away from their parents before. There was a lot for them to learn, and it wasn’t all letters and numbers.

But there was also a lot that they taught me.

I remember one time it was raining very hard. I had two girls, one after the other, who wanted easy work. There was something about the rain that made them want to retreat, to not push. It is like comfort food, the easy work.

I had a range of tools to work with. The easy stuff was a board with magnetic letters. We could make words with it or just write out the alphabet and sing the song. I needed it for some of the other students on my list that day, but I was surprised that Mariela and Maftuna both wanted this easy work. They had gotten past that level a month earlier. But today they both insisted on working on the ABCs and singing the song.

I was amazed, and a little frustrated. I wanted them to work, to push, to grow – not to take it easy and go backwards.

I expressed my frustration with Maftuna, the second girl. Why do you want this? This is easy. You can do more than this.

And this tiny girl, this 5 year old who had just learned English this year, looked at me and thought about it. She figured out how to say her mind with the few words she had so far.

She said “It’s easy for you” with the emphasis on the last word.

True. You got me. It is easy for me. But it is hard for her. I’d forgotten. I wasn’t seeing it from her perspective.

This tiny girl with the dark eyes and serious face schooled me.

Maftuna reminded me that not everything is always easy for everyone. Sometimes we need a break. Sometimes we need to retreat to old standbys. Sometimes we need the simple stuff. And sometimes we forget that just because it is easy for us doesn’t mean it is easy for someone else.

We forget how much work we had to put in to get where we are. The marathoner may not know how to encourage the starting runner. The master gardener may not remember how hard it is to get the mix of fertilizer right to keep the plants alive. Sometimes you have done something so often and for so long you don’t even remember how you got to where you are.

Part of compassion is seeing things from other people’s viewpoints. Sometimes that means literally getting down to their level. That day I was put in my place by a 5 year old from Uzbekistan. And I’m glad. She gave me a gift that day.

“Free to a good home”

Posted on July 2, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

How often have you seen a message like this?

“Free to a good home. We are moving and we just can’t take Fluffy with us. She’s been fixed and she has all her shots. If she isn’t adopted in a week I’m afraid to say we are going to have to take her to the shelter.”

Or something like this – “Now that we have a new baby, we just can’t keep Spot. He’s really friendly but we just don’t have time for him.”

While I cringe at the new term “furbaby,” perhaps it is useful here. A pet is a member of the family. Fluffy and Spot were chosen to live at home, with you, by you. No, they aren’t children in the true sense. You don’t have to deal with morning sickness or labor with them. You don’t have to have someone with them until they are 12. You don’t have to save up for their college fund. You might have to worry about them coming home pregnant, but unlike real children you can prevent that problem with an inexpensive operation.

But they are family. They are dependent on you. They need you. You provide their food and shelter. You provide a home for them. Dogs and cats and any other pet are not accidentally in your home. You chose to have them there. You can’t back out and “take them to the shelter” when you find that you don’t have the time or patience for them.

Because “take them to the shelter” is just newspeak for murder.

Sure, some unwanted pets get adopted at the shelter. But most get “put to sleep,” or “put down.” Translation – killed. Does this term make you wince? It should. We are operating under a fantasy that when we take our pets to the shelter they will be adopted and loved. The shelters are overfull and understaffed. There aren’t enough people who come by to adopt. Pets that are there after a few days are killed. Is this fair for you to do to your pet, your “furbaby”? Oh, you might say that you aren’t killing Fluffy or Spot, but killing by proxy is still killing.

Do we do the same with our children when they get to be too much? No? Then why do we do it to our animal children? They are just as dependent on us.

Some people think they are giving their unwanted pets a second chance by releasing them out into the country instead of taking them to the shelter. Surely Fluffy and Spot will revert to their original non-domesticated nature and do just fine. I have a friend who lives out in the country and she assures me that she sees the results of this kind of thinking all the time. Fluffy and Spot don’t suddenly learn how to hunt for food. Instead, they become food for coyotes. Actually, they are lucky if this happens. Otherwise, they suffer a long slow death from starvation.

If you can’t commit to at least twelve years of supporting a dog or cat, don’t get one. They aren’t mandatory. You aren’t required to have one.

If you do get a pet, get it fixed as soon ask possible to prevent an unwanted litter. I’ve heard that guys are the least likely to get their male dogs fixed. They seem to take it personally that their male dog has no testicles. Trust me, dogs do not suffer from the same gender identity issues.

On compassion.

Posted on June 30, 2013 by betsybeadhead | Leave a comment

Jesus tells us we are to love our enemies. Let us take that as far as it will go. Everyone and everything is created by God. Everyone and everything is our neighbor. While it is easy to love the nice people, it is very hard to love the mean ones – but Jesus tells us they are exactly the ones we must be nice to.

They are the ones who need it the most.

So what about insects? Why do we consider a butterfly beautiful but a beetle creepy? Why do we celebrate one and crush the other?

Are you ready to love a wasp, or a roach, or a spider?

Are you ready to see them as created by the same Creator that made fireflies and lightning bugs?

Stay with this a moment. Breathe it in.

Then go further, and yet back.

Are you willing to be loving and gentle with the person who is attacking you or your friend? Are you willing to show mercy to the bigot, the racist, the homophobe?

Are you in a place in your head where you can love them for who they are, right now?

Do you have a space in your heart where you can see them as being the way God made them because He needs them this way, right now?

How about your own thoughts, your own bad habits? Are you able to love them, and see them as teachers?

How about your inability to get up early enough to go exercise? Your habit of spending all you make? Your love of greasy, fatty food? Your need to control others? Your need to be right?

Everything is a teacher. Everything is a gift, a guest in this house that is your soul, your life.

Compassion is a way of living, a way of loving. It is honoring each being, right where they are. It is seeing the beauty hidden behind all the walls, the veils, the shields that we all put up to prevent ourselves from being whole.

It is seeing the lotus growing out of the muck. It is knowing it is there, even if you can’t see it. It is about the potential. And it is about the present.

Our defenses keep us safe, we think. They keep us from having to get too close to ourselves and seeing ourselves in each other.

We are called to communion, to a union-with. We are called to wholeness. This is within ourselves, with every person, with every created being, and with God, the Creator of all.

Thank you for your concern for my soul.

Posted on June 27, 2013 by betsybeadhead | 6 Comments

Thank you for your concern for my soul.

Thank you for reaching out to me, exhorting me to “return to the gospel” and to “repent of my sins.”

Your fervent pleas, so heartfelt, only further me on my path.

I follow a Jesus who isn’t prepackaged. I follow a Jesus who offers the Word, instead of lines from a script.

I’m sad to report to you that your message to me reads very harshly. I’m pretty certain that it wasn’t meant that way. I’m pretty sure that you are motivated out of your idea of love. We have to gather in all the lost sheep, after all. We are taught this.

But your words remind me of the times that members of my family tried to shame me as well.

That is what this is.

It is the same as a parent yelling at a child, telling her loudly and firmly that she doing something wrong. They feel that she is doing something so wrong that it is essential to stop her right then and there, before she wrecks her life. They do this out of love, they think.

It is the same as a well-meaning aunt or brother calling the wrath of God down on this same child, for different reasons, for many years. These same people change wills to benefit themselves. These same people lie to get their way. These same people manipulate with other abusive weapons.

God and Jesus should never be used as weapons. They should never be used to abuse another person.

I offer you a new way of understanding God, and Jesus, and the world. I offer you a new way of interacting with them.

I invite you to try to see your words from the perspective of the non-believer. I invite you to see how throwing Bible verses at them does not lead them into the fold, but turns them away. It turns the bread of life into a stone, the same stones that were meant to stone the adulteress. Instead of feeding, your words condemn.

I invite you into an understanding of God as the source of love.

I invite you into this love.

God first spoke to me when I was twelve, standing in my back yard. God has spoken to me many times since, and everything He has told me that was going to happen has happened. I have wrestled with this knowledge, knowing that it is unusual.

Yet I stayed away from Christianity for a long time because of people exactly like you, who made me feel shame for who I am. I stayed away from Jesus because I couldn’t see him for the Christianists who stood in His way.

I invite you into a new relationship with Jesus, and God. I invite you to discover Jesus by serving Him, by finding Him where He is hiding in plain sight. I invite you to find Him in the soup kitchen, at the tornado site, in the mall. I invite you to find Him while you are teaching a foreigner how to read our language. I invite you to find Him while listening to the heartache of a stranger who has been excluded from church.

I invite you to discover the joy that comes from letting God work through you.

I invite you into a relationship with a Jesus who loves all, serves all, and died for all.

I invite you into a bigger love.

This path isn’t paved. This Way is narrow and hard to see. It is a beautiful journey.

I will pray for you, as I hope you will pray for me.

I wish you peace and blessings on your journey.

Pastoral Care class, the short version.

Posted on June 25, 2013 by betsybeadhead | 2 Comments

A lot of people don’t know how to be around someone who is grieving. We say insensitive things. We run away, not knowing what to do. I took a class about this, and I certainly don’t have it all worked out or understand it all, but I think some of it that I’ve gleaned might be of help, so I’m going to share it.

Sometimes we say “it will be OK.” I think this is spurred on by fear. The friend doesn’t know how to be with a person who is in pain. They are trying to point towards the future, to point out that this won’t always be this way. The friend isn’t OK with what is happening right now, and doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It is healthy to acknowledge the way things are right now. It is ok to say that things are terrible. Sometimes it won’t be OK. Sometimes it will get worse. You as the caregiver have to be able to be present in the middle of that feeling.

I feel that we are afraid of feelings, any feelings. We are afraid of our own feelings, and of other people’s feelings. We don’t know how to be with someone who is experiencing anything other than joy, especially if that someone is ourself.

The trick is just to be there. You don’t have to fix anything. You just have to listen.

This can be the hardest thing you have ever done.

I heard a story about a man who was trying to help his wife who had breast cancer. He said he didn’t know whether to bring the bucket or the toolbox. He didn’t know if he should just listen to the wails and laments (the bucket) or if he should try to fix things (the toolbox). Sometimes it is a little of both.

We are taught to fix things. We are taught to have solutions. The trick here is that the solution is to let the other person get it out. The way you fix it is to be present to their pain. Feelings have a way of getting stuck inside us. We need to get them out.

We help by letting the other person have a safe place to let them out. How do we make it safe? Listen without judgment. The subject just is, it isn’t good or bad. Listen with your full attention. Don’t check your cell phone or watch TV. Make eye contact. Listen – don’t speak, except to ask questions to further your understanding of the issue.

Ask the person how you can help. Let them guide you. Often what you think they need isn’t helpful at all. Sometimes we will suggest what we would like, rather than trying to understand what the person would like. Sometimes people foist their own wishes and needs off on someone else, and walk away, thinking their duty is done.

I’ll give you an example. My brother sent a lily plant to the house when our Mom died. He expected me to plant it and then take care of it as a living memorial to her. I’d spent a year taking care of her, and he left us alone and poor in that time. There was no way I was going to take care of a lily plant, with finicky rules about how you had to dig it up and store the bulbs in a cool dark place every year. I’d just spent a year watching Mom die. I wasn’t prepared to spend time watching this plant die. I chucked that plant into the English Ivy, to let it fend for itself. His gift was worse than useless.

If the thought is what matters, put some thought into it. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. If you can’t even get near that idea, ask them what would be useful, and do it.

Don’t ever say “I understand.” You don’t. Even if you have been through the exact same circumstance, you can’t understand what it is like for that person. Each person has a different history and a different emotional make-up. So what should you say? Don’t say anything. Ask. Ask the person to tell you more about it. Ask them to tell you how they feel. Feelings are what matter here.

One of the worst things you can ask is “why”. Don’t use the word “why” at all. “Why” puts people on the defensive. You can say “Can you tell me more about…” for instance.

Remember that it isn’t your pain. This may sound odd to say, but it may help you to have a sense of distance. By not trying to process your own pain, you can be there to help the other person process her pain.

Just wanting to be of help is helpful. It is OK to say you don’t know how to help. Just don’t leave. Keep up with your usual routine with each other. Have tea together, go to movies, have lunch. Make a point of spending time together.

If it is hard for you to be around her pain, remember that it is harder for her to be in the middle of it. You lessen her pain by sharing it with her. And you gain strength and knowledge for the next time you have a friend who is in pain.