When “At Least” Isn’t Helpful: What I Learned About Grief, Support, and Setting Boundaries
I didn’t know how loud silence could be until after I lost someone I loved. In those early days, I moved through the world wrapped in a fog, doing my best to hold myself together while everything around me had changed. People meant well. I know that. But the things they said—those well-intentioned, painfully misguided words—often made me feel more alone.
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“At least they’re in a better place.”
“You’re so strong—you’ll get through this.”
I know those phrases were offered from a place of care, but what I really heard was: Don’t feel too deeply. Don’t show too much. Let’s skip over your pain and get to the part where you’re okay again.
What I needed was for someone to simply sit with me in the mess.
To say, “This is hard. I’m here.”
It’s a strange thing—how grief can make you feel like you’re on display. People watching, waiting, wondering when you’ll be “back to normal.” Some tried to cheer me up with platitudes or distractions. Others offered advice I didn’t ask for. A few avoided me altogether, unsure of what to say, so they said nothing.
At first, I tried to smile and nod. I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I felt guilty for being so sad for so long. But the truth is, trying to protect everyone else’s comfort came at a cost. I started suppressing my grief. I stopped talking about my person. I felt like I was grieving wrong—too much, too visibly.
It took time, but I began to realize that part of healing was learning how to protect my space. I needed boundaries—not walls, but gentle, firm edges around my grief. That meant being honest with myself and with others about what I could and couldn’t handle.
Sometimes I’d say: “I know you’re trying to help, but that comment doesn’t feel supportive right now.” Other times, I’d offer guidance: “It helps more when someone just listens without needing to fix it.” If a conversation felt too heavy, I gave myself permission to step away. And if someone continually dismissed my pain, I made the hard choice to take space from that relationship.
Setting boundaries wasn’t about shutting people out. It was about inviting the right kind of support in. The kind that says, “You don’t have to be okay. I’m here anyway.” It can feel very uncomfortable to start setting these boundaries at first. Using grief counselling to help craft these responses and practice saying them was immensely helpful.
If you’re grieving and people are saying the wrong things—know that you’re not alone. Their discomfort isn’t your burden to carry. You have every right to feel what you feel, to grieve in your own way, and to ask for the kind of support you need. Boundaries aren't barriers—they're acts of self-compassion.
And if you're supporting someone who’s grieving, don’t worry about having the perfect words. Sometimes the best thing you can say is, “I don’t know what to say, but I care about you.” Just being present matters more than you realize.
Grief is not something to be fixed. It's something to be witnessed. And we all have the power to do that—gently, respectfully, and with an open heart.
