“Don’t worry!” “It won’t last forever. I know you’re frustrated right now, but things are looking UP. I can FEEL it.” “This too shall pass.” “Oh, your injury doesn’t even look bad!” “You’re gonna be walking within a week” — said moments after the injury occurred. “I know things are hard right now, but they will look up!”

For a species whose most necessary organs are predicated on negativity bias, we spend copious amounts of time assuaging others from this very impulse. I understand, of course I do: we’re trying to make them (and ourselves) feel better. Where one person might feel awkward, lazy, pollyanna, or unsure of what to say, they default to optimism.

But each instance highlights something deeper, something important: our widespread inability to hold space. We are too tired, too hungry, too overworked, overstimulated, over-humaned. Perpetually inundated with information via computer, TV, phone, and the general internet. The patience we possess in stillness doesn’t even reach ourselves, let alone extend to others. Captives of our own anxieties and neuroses, we fundamentally lack the capacity (or perhaps the knowledge, awareness, empathy) to simply sit with another’s pain.

Few were raised to name, tolerate, and process feelings. Heaven knows I wasn’t. This emotional illiteracy is often coupled with a perception of time scarcity, where people feel they don’t have the time to go deep (got to get to those dishes! Call the doctor! Talk to my housemates I see everyday! Spend a few hours scrolling on my phone!). My sneaking suspicion is that this isn’t the cornerstone, though. That in addition to general empathy fatigue (already being overshadowed with their own lives and cricses), they fear their own pain. Because sitting with yours means risking the activation of theirs.

There is a ubiquitous misunderstanding that we must fix the other person’s emotions. Oh no, they’re sad! Quick – suggest something. Quick – point out the positive. And while wallowing in sadness indefinitely is detrimental (that should go without saying), we veer so far in the opposite direction. We fundamentally fail at sitting with emotion. As if everything needs a bandaid, immediately, always. We must be 😀, 24/7.

This is counterintuitive. The system becomes self-perpetuating. By blanketing our emotions and cushioning ourselves, we render our souls weak. How many people do you know that are genuinely okay when they have to sit with hard emotions? How many people enjoy the experience, even feel revitalized after? I feel even more alive, grateful, and renewed after sobbing my eyes out. Perhaps because I couple the moment with neurophysiological understanding: that crying is a self-regulating mechanism. When we cry, our parasympathetic nervous system activates, and we feel soothed. The knowledge of this comforts me.

By mindfully choosing to hold space (for ourselves and others), we release unprocessed emotional energy, create neural integration and resilience, and build authenticity in groundedness. Which reinforces the connection in the person you engage with in this way.

It is not truly about comfort. This is about our collective inability to hold emotional space. To hear a person say “I’m scared I’ll never walk again” and respond with, “That is a terrifying thought. I’m here with you,” requires emotional stamina. But most people never learned to do this, and never sought out to learn how. We are trained in society to alleviate discomfort (theirs and ours) as quickly as possible.

Because in the end, no amount of forced optimism can replace what people actually need: someone willing to stand in the reality of their pain with them, without turning away.