When Someone Is at Their Lowest, Let Compassion Lead

Last week, I wrote about the things we sometimes hide within ourselves—the gifts, the dreams, the parts of who we are that we're afraid to let people see.

I wrote about worthiness.

About having the courage to step out from behind the fear of judgment and let ourselves be seen.

This week, something has been weighing heavily on my heart.

And it has made me think about what happens when we see someone else.

Not when they're thriving.

Not when they're happy and successful and everything appears to be going right.

But when they're struggling.

When they're messy.

When they're hurting.

When they don't know how to pull themselves back up.

Do we judge them?

Or do we sit beside them?

When someone is hurting, we don't always know the whole story.

The recent death of actress Hayden Panettiere has brought a lot of conversation about mental health, motherhood, addiction, depression, and the very public struggles she experienced throughout her life.

Hayden spoke openly about postpartum depression and the difficult years that followed the birth of her daughter. She also spoke about the heartbreaking decision to give her daughter's father full custody while she was struggling, because she believed her daughter needed stability while she worked to get well.

And yet, even after she explained her decision, people judged it.

They called it abandonment.

They made assumptions about a woman whose life they could only see from the outside.

I didn't know Hayden.

I don't know what happened in the days and months leading up to her death.

And I don't think any of us should pretend that we do.

Her cause of death has not been made public, and there is no place for speculation here.

But I do know this:

A hurting person is still a person worthy of compassion.

We don't always need to fix someone.

I learned this in a very personal way through my daughter.

There were times when she was struggling so deeply that I didn't know what to say.

And there were times when she didn't want my advice.

She didn't want me to tell her everything was going to be okay.

She didn't need me to solve the problem.

Sometimes, she just needed me to listen.

So I learned to listen.

To validate what she was feeling.

To let her know that her feelings were real without letting those feelings define her future.

And sometimes, when someone is standing in a very dark place, that's what we can offer.

Not answers.

Not judgment.

Not a lecture.

Just our presence.

“I’m here.”

“I hear you.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“You don’t have to figure everything out today.”

Sometimes we can be someone's strength until they are strong enough to find their own again.

What if we stopped asking, “What’s wrong with you?”

And started asking, “What happened to you?”

What if we remembered that the person who is angry may actually be hurting?

That the person who pulls away may be overwhelmed?

That the person who makes choices we don't understand may be fighting a battle we know nothing about?

That the person who looks like they have everything may be barely holding themselves together?

We don't have to agree with someone's choices to have compassion for their pain.

We don't have to understand someone's struggle to sit beside them.

And we certainly don't have to know their entire story before deciding that they deserve kindness.

We are all going to have a lowest point.

Maybe not the same kind.

Maybe not for the same reasons.

But at some point in our lives, most of us will have a moment when we feel like we're not enough.

When we're exhausted.

When we're lost.

When we can't see the way forward.

And when that day comes, I hope someone meets us there with compassion instead of criticism.

I hope someone listens instead of lectures.

I hope someone reminds us of our worth when we can't remember it ourselves.

Because we don't know what someone is carrying.

And we don't know how close they may be to giving up on themselves.

So perhaps our job isn't always to pull someone out of the darkness.

Sometimes our job is simply to sit with them until they can see a little light again.

We talk so much about being strong.

About overcoming.

About becoming the best version of ourselves.

But there should also be room to simply be human.

To have a bad day.

To fall apart.

To ask for help.

To make mistakes.

To need someone.

To not have the answers.

And when someone has the courage to show us that vulnerable side of themselves, maybe the greatest gift we can give them is not judgment.

Maybe it's safety.

Maybe it's compassion.

Maybe it's simply saying: “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Last week, I wrote about having the courage to let people see what we're made of.

This week, I'm thinking about the other side of that courage:

When someone lets us see what they're going through, let's be careful with what we do with what they've shown us.

Let's not use their vulnerability as a weapon.

Let's not reduce a complicated human being to their worst moment.

Let's listen.

Let's stay.

Let's be kind.

Because sometimes, the calm signal someone needs isn't a solution.

It's another human being saying, “I’m here.”

And sometimes, that is where healing begins.

— Suzzanne
Calm Signal Co.

Pause. Breathe. Return.