What Not to Say to People in Grief: Words That Wound and What to Offer Instead

Grief is a language most people don’t speak until they’re forced to. It’s not just about missing someone, it’s a tectonic shift in your inner world.

A thousand quiet collapses. A deep, aching silence where there used to be a heartbeat, a laugh, a rhythm of shared everydayness.

And yet, when you are grieving, especially early in life, what hurts almost as much as the loss is the feeling that the world doesn’t quite know what to do with you.

I became a widow far younger than I ever imagined I’d have to face such a loss. The man I thought I’d continue to build a life with, my love, my partner, my future, was suddenly gone. And while the initial shock brought flowers, messages, and tearful condolences, what followed was something lonelier: invisibility.

No one in my immediate circle truly understood. Most of my peers were still building their lives with their partners, assuming, rightly so, in their reality, that they had decades ahead. They didn’t have a reference point for the kind of grief I was in. I wasn’t just heartbroken. I was disoriented. Altered. Holding something sacred and shattering that no one else around me knew how to approach.

And when people don’t know how to hold grief, they often default to words that miss the mark, phrases that attempt to comfort but leave the grieving feeling more alone, more unseen, and often, more hurt.

Well-Meaning Words That Hurt

Grief has a way of making others uncomfortable. In that discomfort, people often reach for familiar phrases, things they’ve heard before, or sayings that once gave them comfort. But these phrases, however well-meant, can deepen the wound rather than soothe it.

Here are some common expressions and why they often miss the mark:

“Everything happens for a reason.”

This phrase tries to insert meaning into chaos, but for someone in raw grief, it can feel like you’re justifying their suffering. Sometimes, there is no reason that feels acceptable. Sometimes things are just devastating.

“They’re in a better place.”

Even for those with strong spiritual beliefs, this can feel hollow or avoidant. It shifts focus away from the mourner’s current reality, that their loved one is not here. Being in a “better place” doesn’t erase the ache of absence.

“God has a plan.”

Intended to comfort, this often silences grief by spiritualizing it. For those questioning their faith or reeling from loss, it can feel like their pain is being dismissed in favor of some divine logic they may no longer trust.

“Time heals all wounds.”

Time may soften the sharp edges, but it doesn’t erase the loss. This phrase assumes a linear path to healing, when grief is anything but. In truth, people often feel more acutely in year two or three, when support has long faded and the shock has worn off. Healing isn’t a straight line, and it doesn’t happen on society’s schedule.

“At least you…”

• “At least you got to say goodbye.”

• “At least it happened quickly.”

• “At least they didn’t suffer.”

• “At least you’re young - you’ll find love else.”

• “At least you still have your children.”

• “At least you had time with them.”

  
  

  Any sentence starting with “at least” is often an attempt to shift perspective, but it usually lands as dismissive and invalidates pain. Love is not replaceable. Loss is not something you simply “move on” from.

“You’re so strong.”

This can feel more like a command than a compliment. It tells the griever they’re doing a good job making others comfortable. It doesn’t leave room for collapse, for vulnerability, for the mess that grief truly is.

“They wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

or “They would want you to move on” or “They would want you to be strong.”

This can feel like a silencing tactic, even if it’s meant with love. Grief is sadness. And it doesn’t dishonour the deceased, it honours the depth of connection. Mourning is not weakness, and it’s not selfish. It’s sacred.

“You’ve got to stay busy.”

This advice stems from our culture’s discomfort with stillness and pain. But busyness doesn’t heal. It can delay, distract, or bury feelings that will eventually need to rise. Grief must be felt to be moved through.

“Others have it worse.”

This phrase may be said aloud or simply implied through tone, posture, or “tough love” sentiments, but it’s deeply damaging. Comparing grief diminishes the validity of someone’s unique pain. Loss is not a competition. You don’t need to justify your sorrow based on a tragedy scale or from now-on become the holder of everyone else’s grief.

Grievers often hear things like, “At least it was (or wasn’t) sudden,” or “My cousin lost her whole family in a car crash,” or “Some people lose their children, you’re lucky it was your husband and not your child.”

These comments, even if offered with the intention of bringing perspective, invalidate what the person is actually feeling. It leaves them with the sense that their grief is excessive or inappropriate, when in fact, it’s simply human.

Comparing apples and oranges…

Alongside this, there’s a tendency some people have to respond to grief by immediately telling their own story. “I know how you feel, when I lost my dog/mother/friend…” and then a ten-minute monologue follows. Sometimes it’s heartfelt. Sometimes it’s a nervous reflex. But in either case, it shifts the focus away from the grieving person and back onto the speaker. Instead of holding space, it inadvertently fills the silence with their pain, leaving the griever feeling unseen, or worse, like they have to comfort you in their moment of need.

There’s a time for sharing stories of loss, but only when it’s truly in service of connection, not comparison. A simple, “I’ve walked with loss too, and I know how lonely it can feel, I’m here with you,” can open a door without taking over the room.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

While often said with genuine care, this puts the burden back on the grieving person to figure out what they need and to ask for it, something that may feel impossible in the fog of early loss. Most people don’t even know what they need while grieving, let alone how to articulate it.

This was something I heard from a lot of people in the early days of my grief. To some I said: Please be there when everyone else is gone. At first, it seemed comforting, like support would be there if and when I needed it. But as weeks became months and the trauma fog slowly began to lift, I realized how alone I truly felt. Few people were checking in anymore. The meals stopped within weeks. The messages faded. The world kept moving while I was still in pieces. And when I finally did know what I needed, when I had the clarity to ask, there was no one left offering help. The window had closed.

It’s not that people are cruel, it’s that most don’t realize grief lasts far longer than their attention span. That’s why specific, consistent offers of help matter so much more than vague promises. A simple “I’m in the neighborhood tomorrow, want me to stop by?” and “I am going to the store, what do you need me to bring?” or “I’ll text you next Sunday just to check in” can carry more weight than a hundred empty “Let me know”s.

Why These Words Miss the Mark

Most of these comments come from a place of care, but also from discomfort. In a grief-avoidant culture, we’re conditioned to fix, to explain, to wrap pain in platitudes. But grief cannot be fixed. It cannot be hurried. It doesn’t need answers, it needs acknowledgment.

When I was in the deepest depths of my grieving, I didn’t need someone to give me a reason or a lesson. I needed someone to see me. To witness the shape of my sorrow without trying to edit it. To let it be what it was.

Being the First to Grieve Deeply

Being the first in your circle to experience deep loss is its own kind of burden. You become the silent teacher, carrying grief others can’t yet relate to. You might notice people pulling away, unsure what to say, or worse, saying things that only deepen your sense of disconnection.

It can feel like being dropped into a wilderness with no map. Your peers might still be celebrating milestones, engagements, weddings, pregnancies, graduations while you are holding the ashes of what should have been. You may smile at their joy while swallowing your pain. You may wonder if anyone sees how hard it is to stay present when your world has broken open.

This invisibility is a grief within the grief. And yet, it’s real. It’s valid. And it deserves space, too.

What to Say Instead: Words That Soothe

If you want to support someone in grief, the best gift you can offer is your presence, not your solutions. Here are some simple, grounding things you can say:

• “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.”

  This acknowledges the magnitude of the loss and the inadequacy of words without abandoning the person.

  
  

• “This is unfair, and I’m so sorry.”

  Validate the reality. Let them know they’re not wrong to feel gutted, angry, or lost.

  
  

• “Tell me about them.”

  One of the most healing things you can do is invite the griever to speak their loved one’s name. To remember. To share.

  
  

• “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

  This gives permission for vulnerability, an invitation to be real, not perform.

  
  

• “Would you like me to come and sit with you?”

  Sometimes presence is the deepest comfort. No words, no fixing, just shared space.

  
  

• “I’m going to the store, can I bring you anything?” or “Can I take the kids for an hour?”

  Concrete, specific offers of help go much further than vague promises like “Let me know if you need anything.”

When Silence Is Sacred

There were moments when the kindest thing someone did for me in grief was not speak at all. They didn’t try to rush me. They didn’t ask for a lesson or a silver lining. They sat beside me. Held my hand. Made space for my heartbreak.

We don’t always need to be wise or poetic in the presence of grief. We just need to be there. Your willingness to hold space, to not look away from pain, that’s what creates healing, not your ability to say the perfect thing.

Grief has no timeline

Grief has no timeline. Despite what our productivity-driven culture implies, people don’t just “get over it” within a neat span of months or even years. Often, the early years of grief pass in a haze, what many describe as a fog of trauma. Time becomes abstract, days blur, and functioning can feel like moving through water. By the time the world expects you to have “moved on,” you may just be starting to feel the full weight of what’s been lost. There is no deadline for healing. There is no expiration date for missing someone. Grief moves in cycles, not in straight lines, and its rhythms belong to the mourner, not the calendar.

If You’re Grieving and Feeling Alone

If you’re the one carrying grief right now, and you’re feeling unseen, I want you to know: you are not broken. You’re not “too much.” Your grief is not inconvenient. It is love; transformed, intensified, and aching to be acknowledged.

And if you’re walking this path without peers who understand, you’re not doing it wrong. You are just carrying something heavy that others haven’t yet had to lift. That doesn’t mean your sorrow is invisible to everyone. Your pain matters. You matter.

In Closing: Leading with Love and Presence

Grief doesn’t need to be fixed. It needs to be felt. If someone you love is grieving, let go of the urge to offer answers. Instead, offer you. Your presence. Your humility. Your willingness to sit in the unfixable.

And if you’re the one grieving: you are allowed to take up space in your sorrow. You are allowed to feel what you feel without apology. Let this be your permission to honor your grief without minimizing it, comparing it, or rushing it into silence.

You are not alone. Even when it feels like no one gets it, you are deeply, quietly held.

With tenderness,

Maja LOVE

Life & Business Design Coach | CoachMaja.com

Helping leaders and humans find presence, purpose, and peace; even in life’s hardest chapters.