by David D. Horowitz.
“I just learned my beloved aunt has brain cancer and only three months to live!”
“I just learned my son in tenth grade has a serious cocaine habit. How come I didn’t know about this earlier?!”
“I lost ten hours per week at my job, and now—now!—I learn that I need knee surgery, and I’ve already maxed out this year’s health insurance coverage. And this is on top of my mortgage and car payments and my daughter’s braces! I’m sick of bills!”
“Don’t say anything. Nothing. The pressure, the stress, the demands of academic life: I can’t take it anymore. Is it okay if I can’t produce juried masterpieces every minute?! Is it okay if I’m only human?!”
“My son tells me two bullies at school have threatened to beat him up next time they see him. He’s scared. I’m scared, and I’m angry. School? It’s more like a holding cell at a juvenile detention center, and I can barely afford food and rent, much less tuition at some fancy private school. We’ll deal with this—somehow. I’m just so distressed….”
Distress comes in all degrees and types. There is no one surefire way to help another endure it. How well and long have you known the person? How much do you know about the person’s job, interests, family, sexuality, faith, and possible addictions? How much money does the person have? Could they afford a therapist or doctor, if necessary? Does the distressed person own and use guns? Are they prone to depression? There is much to consider before trying to help.
And yet, some strategies tend to work better than others. Listen to the person in the moment. Let the person talk—or stay silent if that seems wiser. Hold the person’s hand, or not, depending on what seems most helpful. Adjust to circumstances, and be gentle, especially if distress descends into outright depression. A little humor might help. A little humor might not help. A physical pleasure like ice cream or a stroll around a park on a warm afternoon might help reinvigorate. Or, simply sit with them on a couch for hours. Stay in the moment with the distressed person, and let the person know you’re there to help in whatever way seems best.
And, sometimes, the storm and the clouds pass, and the horizon brightens. Solutions might work; the distress might dissipate. Don’t lose hope, even if the person you try to help has lost hope:
“My wife just got a raise and can handle our car payments, and we’ll stay near home for this year’s family vacation. That’ll save a lot of money. I’m still stressed—but less so.”
“I spoke to the school principal, and he is aware of the situation. The two students who threatened my son have been warned about causing any violence, and I am to call the principal directly if I learn of any new threat. Okay. It’s not perfect, but that’s better. And I’ll find a way to home school or transfer my son or do whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe at school. We’ll deal with it. There’s hope.”
Ah, the magic words: “There’s hope.” It might be a cliché—but for good reason. Sure, hope alone might not cure brain cancer or everyone’s distress, but it can help us through a lot of suffering. A twig might twist and turn and be all gnarly and barky—but it might still yield delicious fruit.
