Have you ever been standing next to someone going through something really hard, and your brain just… went completely blank? You wanted to say the right thing. You cared. And then something came tumbling out of your mouth, and even as you were saying it, you were cringing. Or you said something, thought it landed okay, and then watched the other person’s arms cross, felt them pull back, and realized: that was the wrong thing.
I think this is one of the most universal feelings there is. And it’s one of the reasons friendships quietly break down after a loss. Not because people stopped caring. Because they stopped showing up. And most of the time, the reason they stopped showing up is that they didn’t know what to say.
Today’s guest has spent over a decade working with grievers. And what she noticed, over and over, is that every single griever, no matter the loss, was telling themselves one of the same three stories: I’m crazy. I’m alone. My life is going to feel like this forever. Once she saw the pattern, she built three phrases, one for each story. And once you have them, you always know what to say.
Shelby Forsythia is a grief coach, author, and podcast host. She’s the founder of Life After Loss Academy and the author of Of Course, I’m Here, Right Now, a book that gives you actual words to say when you don’t know what to say. Her work has been featured in Huffington Post, Bustle, and Oprah Magazine. This episode is the one I’d give to every person who has ever frozen in a hard moment with someone they love.
Why the Words Matter More Than You Think
Most of what we’re taught about supporting someone who’s grieving is action-based. Bring the casserole. Take the kids. Run the errands. And those things matter. But Shelby made a point early in our conversation that I’ve been sitting with ever since.
In more than 10 years of working with grievers, the number one thing that destroys a relationship after a loss is hurtful words.
“God just needed another angel.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “You can have more kids.” “You’ll get another dog.” “I can’t believe you’re not over it by now.” These aren’t said by bad people. They’re said by people who panicked and reached for something that felt like comfort. And grievers say, over and over: if people just changed the words they used, I would feel seen. I would feel safe.
The right words, said imperfectly, by someone who is clearly trying, can change the entire landscape of a grieving person’s world. Even just the world inside their head. That’s what this episode is about.
Shelby also made the point that words aren’t just for in-person moments. So many of our friendships exist at a distance now. Different cities, different time zones, different schedules. The casserole requires proximity. Words don’t. They’re free, portable, accessible, and they work in a text, an email, a voice memo, a card. There’s no prerequisite to using them. You don’t have to be a therapist. You don’t have to be qualified. You just have to care enough to try.
The Three Stories Every Griever Tells Themselves
Here’s the framework at the center of Shelby’s work, and I want to give it to you clearly because it’s the thing that makes everything else make sense.
After ten years of working with grievers, one pattern kept surfacing: no matter the loss, whether it was death, divorce, diagnosis, a broken engagement, a chronic illness, or something smaller that still hurt, grievers were cycling through the same three internal stories.
I’m crazy. My dad died seven years ago. Why am I still this sad? Something must be wrong with me.
I’m alone. Nobody understands what I’m going through. Nobody even remembers that I’m still grieving.
It’s going to be like this forever. I can’t see a way out of this. The pain will never end.
Once you know those three stories, you know what you’re responding to. Every griever is somewhere in one of those three. And Shelby built a phrase for each.
The Three Phrases (and When to Use Each One)
“Of course.”
This one answers the “I’m crazy” story. When someone says they’re still sad about something that happened years ago, or they’re breaking down in the grocery store cereal aisle, or they’re crying in a way that feels out of proportion to the moment, the instinct is often to reassure them that it’ll get better, that they’re strong, that time heals. But what a grieving person actually needs to hear is: that makes sense. Of course you’re still sad. Your dad is still dead. Of course the grocery store is hard. Of course you would fall apart today. It resets the story from “I’m broken” to “someone gets how I feel.” That’s it. That’s the whole job.
“I’m here.”
This one answers the “I’m alone” story. And Shelby was clear: showing up doesn’t always mean being physically present. It means not disappearing. It means texting on the anniversary. It means saying, “I haven’t forgotten that you’re grieving.” It means sending a message that has nothing to offer except: I remember. I’m still here. I haven’t moved on just because the world has.
She made a point that hit me hard. Grievers say the thing that breaks their heart most is not the people who said the wrong thing. It’s the people who vanished. And most of those people vanished because they didn’t know what to say. The words are literally the bridge between the two groups.
I’d also add: vanishing doesn’t always mean physically disappearing. I hear from people all the time who say their friend group has vanished, not because nobody shows up, but because nobody in the room will acknowledge what happened. They’re sitting right there. And they are waiting for anyone to say something. If you’ve been in that room, or you know someone who has, go listen to Episode 172 with Erin Snow, about what it costs to show up as a smaller version of yourself just to stay in rooms that don’t feel safe. It’s linked in the show notes.
“Right now.”
This one answers the “it’s going to be like this forever” story. And it’s the subtlest of the three, which is part of why I love it so much. You don’t say: it won’t always be this way. You don’t say: you’ll feel better. You don’t promise a happy future. You just say: right now this is as hard as it feels. Right now hope is hard to find. Right now we don’t have to do anything except sit here.
What “right now” does quietly, without announcing itself, is frame the moment as a moment. Not a permanent state. Not a verdict. Just: this is what’s true right now. And what goes unspoken in that phrase is: and that is subject to change. You’re not forcing hope on anyone. You’re just cracking the tiniest sliver of possibility into the room.
Shelby told me her wife used all three on her the night before her book launch, when she was sobbing in her arms, missing her mom and her best friend Tami, both gone, neither of them going to be in that audience. Her wife didn’t say: they would be so proud. She said: of course you’d miss them. I’m here. Right now this is the hardest part. And Shelby said: I felt like garbage, and I also felt seen. That’s the goal.
If you want to hear Shelby walk through each of these in depth, including the specific moments she’s pulled them out for everything from death to political uncertainty to a kid who didn’t get the part in the school play, go listen to the full episode.
It Works for Everything. Not Just Death.
This is the part that surprised me most, and I want to make sure it lands.
These phrases were built in the context of big grief: death, divorce, diagnosis. But Shelby has been using them for years now across every scale of loss, from the catastrophic to the micro, and they work every time. The kid worried about the school play is telling herself: I’m crazy for being this nervous. I’m alone in caring this much. What if I never get cast in anything? Of course. I’m here. Right now.
A friend who didn’t get the promotion. A neighbor whose dog just died. A coworker going through a divorce. A family member who’s scared about what’s happening in the world. Someone who launched something they worked hard on and it flopped. These are all grief events. And the three stories show up in all of them.
Shelby’s goal, and honestly mine too, is that one day these phrases are just… how we talk to each other. Not because we studied grief. Not because we became experts. Just because it became normal to say: of course you feel that way. I’m here. Right now this is really hard. Imagine if that was just the default.
The full episode goes much deeper into this scaling effect, including a “day in the life of a comforter” section that Shelby wrote at the end of the book.
The Fixer Impulse (And What to Do With It)
One thing I pushed Shelby on near the end of the episode: the urge to fix. Because I think for a lot of people listening, the instinct when someone shares something hard isn’t to panic about the words. It’s to immediately start problem-solving. Offer solutions. Make it better. Make it stop.
Shelby was direct about this: the urge to fix almost never comes from the griever. It comes from the supporter. Grievers are almost never looking for a fix to their grief. They are looking to be seen, heard, and not left alone inside it.
That doesn’t mean you can never offer practical help. If you have the ability to help with something specific, and you want to, offer it. But offer it as a question. “I could help with that if it would be useful. Does that sound helpful?” Give them the option to say no. And before you get to any of that, do the first thing first: acknowledge the hardness. Just say it out loud. “That sounds exactly as hard as it is.” “I can see why you’re buried right now.” “I hate that you’re going through this.” That is not nothing. For a grieving person, that is everything.
You Will Mess Up. That’s Fine.
I want to say this clearly because I think it matters: you will not get this right every time. Nobody does. I’ve been the person who showed up, who got on a plane, who sat in someone’s grief for two weeks, and I have still said the wrong thing, walked out of the room, and come back twenty minutes later to apologize.
Grievers are not expecting perfection. Shelby quoted Emily McDowell and Dr. Kelsey Crowe on this: grievers don’t need you to show up perfectly. They need you to show up with the kindness that compels anyone to simply try. They are fantastic at detecting genuine effort versus platitude. They know the difference. And they will forgive fumbling. What they will not forgive, and what breaks them most, is disappearing.
So if you take nothing else from this post: don’t disappear. Say something. Say “I don’t know what to say, but this is really hard.” Say “I haven’t forgotten.” Say “of course.” Say “right now.” Say something that makes them feel like one person in the world is in the room with them.
Shelby’s goal is that if everyone did this one out of every ten times, instead of reaching for the platitude or going quiet, the ripple effect would be world-changing. Not because you became a grief expert. Just because you tried more often.
Go pick up a copy of Shelby’s book, Of Course, I’m Here, Right Now, linked in the show notes. And if someone in your life is going through something specific right now, go to the Friendship IRL episode catalog and search. There are episodes on losing a best friend, infant loss, divorce, friendship breakups, and more. Chances are there’s one for exactly what you’re facing.
Have you ever been in a moment where you said the wrong thing to someone grieving, or felt totally frozen? Drop it in the comments. I’d love to know what you wish you’d said instead.
If any of this hit home, go listen to the full episode. For the complete conversation, including Shelby’s framework for what to do when you genuinely want to help and don’t know how.
