Last week, I shared why “I understand what you’re going through” creates more harm than healing for grievers—how it demands emotional labor, erases uniqueness, and builds walls instead of bridges. Today, I want to show you what actually works. But first, there’s one more way “I understand” misses the mark that I’d like to address.
The Timeline Trap
The worst part of “I understand” statements? They often come with an implied timeline.
“I’ve been there” suggests you’ve reached the other side and learned grief’s lessons—meaning the griever should too, right?
Wrong.
What grievers like me actually need to hear isn’t “I’ve been where you are and made it through.” It’s “I can’t imagine where you are, but I’m here for however long it takes.”
Because some losses don’t have an “other side.” Some grief doesn’t resolve—it just changes shape. Scripture acknowledges this: there’s “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:4). Notice it doesn’t say how long each season lasts or that they follow a predictable order. The timeline is between you and God, not you and someone else’s expectations.
So, if “I understand” doesn’t work, what does?
Why “I Care a Lot” Works
My mentor’s card gave me permission to grieve without pretense. “I understand a little, but I care a lot” acknowledged what most people won’t admit: understanding has limits. She wasn’t claiming to know my exact pain—just committing to stay anyway.
That honesty was revolutionary.
“I Understand a Little” = Honesty About Limits
When my mentor wrote “I understand a little,” she acknowledged our common humanity without claiming identical experience. This gave me permission I didn’t know I needed: permission to have grief so specific that even well-meaning people couldn’t grasp it. I recognized God’s voice in her humility—His comfort doesn’t explain everything; it just stays with everything.
“But I Care a Lot” = Commitment Without Comprehension
“But I care a lot,” shifted focus from her experience to my needs—centering me by promising to stay present in what she couldn’t fully understand. That’s care: not fixing, explaining, or comparing. Just staying.
The Theology of Presence
This mirrors how God meets us. When Jesus arrived at Lazarus’s tomb, He wept (John 11:35) before any miracle. He joined Mary and Martha in their grief. Presence mattered more than foreknowledge.
In the Black church, we’re taught to “bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2)—not claim we’ve carried the same weight, but help carry what we’ve never held before. Our ancestors knew we needed witnesses, not preachers.
The Language That Heals: Your Grief Support Toolkit
After my mentor showed me what worked, I began paying attention to what I said when others were grieving. Here’s what I’ve learned helps—and what doesn’t.
What NOT to Say:
If you’re tempted to say “At least they’re in a better place,” “Everything happens for a reason,” or “God needed another angel”—bite your tongue. Grief needs witnessing, not fixing.
Instead of “I understand,” try phrases that acknowledge the gap:
Scripture tells us to be “quick to listen, slow to speak” (James 1:19). These phrases honor that wisdom:
- “I can’t imagine what you’re experiencing. Can I bring you dinner this week?”
- “I don’t know what this feels like for you, but I want to learn.”
- “I understand a little, but I care a lot.”
Instead of “Everything happens for a reason,” try phrases that honor mystery:
Scripture promises, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you” (Isaiah 43:2)—presence in suffering, not explanations for it:
- “You don’t have to talk, but I’m right here if you want to.”
- “I don’t know why this happened, but I know you’re not alone. I’m here.”
- “This is beyond my experience, and I’m sorry it’s yours.”
Instead of “God needed another angel,” try phrases that center on their needs:
“Carry each other’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2) means seeking to know their actual needs, not assuming:
- “I’m so sorry. If you ever want to share a story about them, I’d love to listen. No timelines.”
- “What do you need right now?”
- Literally anything else—because sometimes silence is wiser than theology (Proverbs 17:28).
I’ve learned this: When my first instinct is to compare stories, I need to bite my tongue and open my arms instead.
How to Check in Without Pressure:
When my world ended, I needed someone to sit with me in the ashes until I could see light again, not explain the wreckage. This is what I explore in When Your World Ends—rebuilding through presence, not platitudes.
Show up with practical care: text “Thinking of you” without requiring a response, bring coffee and sit in silence on the porch, drop off meals without demanding thank-you notes, set calendar reminders for anniversaries and birthdays when grief hits hardest.
The Follow-Up Matters Most:
Here’s what most people miss: “I understand a little, but I care a lot” isn’t just an opening line—it’s a commitment to sustained presence. Show up six months later when everyone else has disappeared. Ask “What’s hard today?” not “Are you over it yet?” Remember the dates that matter. Send the random Tuesday text when there’s no occasion, just remembering.
Because grief doesn’t follow timelines, and neither should your care.
Reframing Our Role as Comforters
Here’s what I’ve learned about comforting grievers: We don’t need the right words. We need the right heart posture.
Our job isn’t to make grief go away—it’s to make love stay.
You don’t have to be a counselor, have a theology degree, or have experienced the exact same loss. You just have to care enough to show up imperfectly, willing to say, “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here anyway.”
Those seven words from my mentor became my model. When someone tells me about their loss, I don’t rush to share mine or fix their timeline. I acknowledge the gap between us and promise to bridge it with presence.
It’s Okay to Admit You Don’t Know
You don’t have to be grief-literate to be present. Jesus’s friends fell asleep in Gethsemane, argued about greatness, and abandoned Him at the cross. Yet He kept inviting them close anyway.
God doesn’t require perfect comfort—just honest love. Show up without answers. Sit in uncomfortable silence. Stay when you don’t understand.
It’s okay to say, “I understand a little, but I care a lot.” Sometimes the most healing thing is admitting, “I don’t know what to say.”
The Invitation to Honest Love
My mentor didn’t need to understand my exact pain to show up faithfully. She just needed honesty about her limits and commitment to stay.
That’s what grievers need—not someone who’s been where we are, but someone who’ll stay where we are.
So, who in your life is grieving right now? What would it look like to offer presence without pretense?
Here’s a breath prayer to ground you as you show up:
Breathe in: “God, make me gentle.” Breathe out: “Help me care a lot.”
Do it five times. Notice your heart softening. That’s God making space in you for His kind of comfort—the kind that doesn’t require understanding everything, just caring enough to stay.
Scripture quotations taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
—Written by Dawn Sanders. Used by permission from the author.
