When the Dark Gets Darker: Why We Need to Let Someone In

When the parts of ourselves we fear being judged for remain hidden, shame gets to tell the story without anyone interrupting it. And shame is a pretty unreliable narrator. It tells us to hide the very things that most need tenderness and connection. It convinces us that if someone really knew what we were thinking, grieving, regretting or struggling with, they might see us differently. So we protect ourselves by staying quiet.

Unfortunately, that protection can also become isolation.

Of course, sharing is only half of the equation. Someone also has to be willing to listen. And this is where we humans can be wonderfully terrible at feelings. Someone we love says they’re hurting and suddenly we become an unpaid consulting firm. Have you tried exercising? Everything happens for a reason. Or perhaps the crown jewel of attempted comfort: At least... Ah, yes. At least. The two words most famously capable of making almost any painful situation better. Our instinct to fix usually comes from a loving place. It’s hard to watch someone we care about hurt. Doing something makes us feel useful. But connection doesn’t always require a solution.

One of the misconceptions we have about sharing difficult things is that the other person needs to know what to do with them.

They don’t. There are experiences in life that cannot be solved with the right advice. Grief cannot always be reframed. I sometimes joke with clients that there is, unfortunately, nothing profound I can say that will bring someone they love back. Heartbreak doesn’t disappear because someone points out the silver lining. Even if your ex was, objectively speaking, a bit of a douchebag and your life is significantly better without them, your heart can still hurt. And anxiety rarely responds particularly well to “Just try not to worry about it.” Right. Excellent. Why didn’t we think of that?

Sometimes what we need is much simpler: another human being willing to sit beside us and acknowledge that something hurts. There is something powerful about being able to say, “I’m not doing very well right now,” and having someone respond without panicking, minimizing, judging or immediately trying to make the feeling disappear. Being witnessed doesn’t necessarily change our circumstances. But it can change what it feels like to carry them.

This doesn’t mean we need to tell everyone everything. Vulnerability is not the same as complete exposure, and not everyone has earned access to the most tender parts of our lives. The goal isn’t indiscriminate vulnerability. It’s finding the relationships where honesty feels safe enough. And sometimes letting someone in begins with one somewhat vague, imperfect sentence that life has felt hard lately. That might be the whole conversation. And it might be enough.

I don’t think the opposite of darkness is pretending everything is okay. Sometimes the light is simply allowing someone else to see where we actually are. It isn’t because connection magically fixes pain, but because suffering tends to become heavier when we also have to hide it.

We are relational creatures. There are things we can work through privately, and there are things that become a little more bearable when another person helps us hold them. So if you’re in one of those seasons, the kind where you’re answering “I’m fine” when you’re anything but, you don’t need to find the perfect words. You don’t need to understand exactly what’s happening. You don’t need to tell the whole story. Maybe you just start with one honest sentence, to one safe person. Sometimes that is the crack that helps the light get in.