What to Say When You Don’t Know What to Say
The courage to stay when things get hard
There’s a certain kind of quiet that happens when someone shares the hard stuff with you.
It’s the space after the record scratch - the nothing after the everything.
You want to be there for them.
You want to make it better… or at the very least, not make it worse.
But most of us were never taught what to do with that moment. We learned how to fix, reassure, or distract - not how to sit in that space with the feelings and look them right in the eye. And if we’re honest, our urge to jump into fix-it mode or start handing out advice isn’t really about helping them. It’s about moving ourselves out of that uncomfortable space.
In peer work, our job is to stay in that space - to get comfortable with what’s uncomfortable and to honor both the desire to help and the instinct to escape. We have to learn to notice that tension in ourselves, name the unhelpful habits it can trigger (what some might call listening roadblocks), and choose differently in the moment.
Most of us have been on both sides of it - the one aching for comfort and the one fumbling for the right words. The goal isn’t to say the magic thing or to get it perfect every time. It’s simply to keep the door open.
When you don’t have the right words
When we developed our Curious Communities training, we started by doing listening sessions with various community stakeholders to identify what the actual needs in the community were. Over and over, when asked what kept people from diving in and being there for others, the answers boiled down to being too afraid to say the wrong thing… so they said they’d literally say nothing instead. As in, they’d walk away from someone struggling (albeit likely in a Midwest Nice way because… Wisconsin)simply because they didn’t know what the right thing was to say.
The truth is, that there isn’t really one right thing to say, and the wrong things are easier than many think to avoid.
When you don’t know what to say, say that
First of all, let me just say that it’s 100% okay to name the uncertainty out loud and simply reassure them that you’re there.
Something like:
“I don’t have a script for this, but I’m not going anywhere.” Or “I don’t know what the right thing to say here is, but I’ll sit right next to you until I figure it out.”
I’ve found that honesty lands softer than trying to get it right most of the time. The vulnerability shows your humanness and helps support connection so much more than being an expert with all the answers ever will.
A few other examples of this could be:
“No rush. Just breathe, I can wait.”
“You don’t owe me a silver lining.”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat this or choose your words carefully right now.”
“I can tell this matters to you.”
Notice that none of these promise a solution. They just make room.
When silence shows up
Most people struggle with silence - at least in some situations. When someone’s hurting, silence can feel unbearable. But sometimes that’s where the real connection happens.
In my own experience, trying to explain what I’m going through can sometimes take every bit of energy I have left. And when all my effort is already going toward just surviving another minute, having to find words feels impossible. In those moments, the people who have simply been willing to sit with me (without needing explanations, without peppering me with questions) have given me some of the most life-changing support I’ve ever received.
That doesn’t mean you should clam up and stare at someone. There’s a difference between being present and being passive.
I’ve been in moments where someone didn’t know what to say, so they said nothing at all. And that silence felt different - like they were just waiting for my pain to stop, unsure how to help but too polite to leave. Even if that wasn’t true, that’s the story my mind told me and it only deepened the hurt.
It doesn’t take much to shift that dynamic. A few words can make all the difference:
“We don’t have to fill this space - I’m right here.”
“If quiet is what you need, I’ll stay in it with you. If you want to talk, we can do that too.”
That gentle naming of the moment gives everyone permission to breathe. It says, I don’t need you to perform your pain for me - but I’m also not going to walk away
It’s the little things
Sometimes care isn’t a deep conversation or a perfectly chosen phrase - it’s a blanket within reach, a granola bar placed nearby, or a box of tissues that are handy but not forced in a “dry your tears, they make me uncomfy” way.
There’s something powerful about offering care without demanding interaction. When someone is in a hard place, even simple questions like “Do you want something to eat?” can feel like decisions they don’t have the energy to make. Putting small comforts in front of them - a snack, a glass of water, a soft place to land - says, It’s here if you need it. No pressure. No expectations.
These gestures communicate, I see you, without asking the person to do any emotional labor in return.
You might quietly say:
“I’ll set this here in case you want it.”
“I’m nearby if you need anything, but there’s no rush to talk.”
“I can stay a bit or give you quiet - whatever feels right for now.”
Tiny kindnesses like these build safety over time. You don’t need grand gestures or the perfect words, just thoughtful presence and patience..
When you do say the wrong thing
Even the most seasoned peer supporters get it wrong sometimes. We’re all human, and sometimes our words don’t land the way we intend.
What matters is the repair.
“Wait - that didn’t come out how I meant it. Can I try again?”
“I jumped straight to problem-solving. I can slow down - I’m sorry.”
Repair shows you’re trying. It shows you’re human. And it models the kind of vulnerability that builds trust.
In many ways, those small missteps (when paired with honest repair) can deepen connection in ways that getting it “right” all the time never could.
Relearning how to show up for each other
I’m not sure how we got to this place in our culture - where walking away from someone in their hardest moments started to feel easier, even kinder, than staying. But somehow, we did. And because of it, so many people move through life feeling unheard, unseen, and unloved - surrounded by others who are either too busy or too afraid to lean into the messy, human parts of connection.
The thing is, those are the moments that build community. Not the polished ones, but the tender, uncertain ones.
It’s not about memorizing the right lines. It’s about rewiring how we show up for each other. About slowing down, choosing curiosity over comfort, and remembering that real connection doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.
That’s what our Curious Communities training is about - creating space to practice being human with each other again. No scripts. No jargon. Just presence, imperfection, and honesty.
Because you can’t build deep relationships by staying on the surface and you can’t build real community without the courage to dive in.
Learn more or register for Curious Communities Training HERE
Want to work with Renee? Book a session by clicking HERE.