Why Communication Is So Hard — and What It Really Means to Feel Supported

I made a mistake recently.

I didn’t communicate my needs. I didn’t say what I was feeling. And then I felt disappointed and let down when those needs weren’t met. Have you ever done this? Slipped into that quiet place where you hope someone will just know what you need, without you having to say a word?

Sometimes it feels impossibly hard to communicate. Naming what we want can make us feel vulnerable, or selfish, or too much. And sometimes, if we’re being honest, we just want the people around us to step up without being asked, to hold us, to care for us, to say, I see you and I’m here.

But that’s not always the case. People can’t read our minds.And in grief, this becomes an even sharper truth.

So many people struggle to talk about grief. To understand it. To know how to support those of us who are living with it every single day. And I realized something important: I can’t wait for others to magically meet me where I am. I have to guide them. I have to tell them what I need, even when I wish they would already know. Especially when I wish that.

It raises the question: Why is grief so hard to talk about? Why are any of the hard things so hard to share?

I think it’s because opening up cracks us open. It makes us vulnerable.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned:

Grief gets lighter when it’s spoken aloud.

Anxiety softens when we give it a name.

Fear loosens its grip when we point to it and say, “This is what scares me.”

Worry is cut in half the moment we tell another human being.

But that kind of honesty requires us to take the first step — to invite someone in and say, Please see me. Please help.

And sometimes we’re met with resistance. Not because people don’t care, but because they aren’t ready to feel what we feel. They aren’t ready to look in the mirror and face their own grief, or fear, or discomfort. Supporting someone in grief means touching your own pain, and many people would rather not go there.

I now understand: If we want to survive this life — especially after loss — we must be willing to go first.

We name our needs.

We speak our truth.

We let people know how to support us.

That’s our part.

What they choose to do with that information is theirs.

I wish communicating were easier. I wish it felt like childhood, when we could stand in the middle of the room and simply announce what we were feeling — tired, hungry, sad, scared — and trust that someone would catch us. Somewhere along the way, we lost that ease. We learned silence. We learned to downplay. We learned to minimize our needs so we wouldn’t be a burden.

But here’s what I know now: If I want something, or need something, I have to say it out loud. I can’t control how anyone responds, but I can control how I move through the world. And that clarity — that willingness to use my voice — is one of the most powerful things I can offer myself.

Because saying what you need isn’t selfish.

It’s how we find support.

It’s how we feel held.

It’s how we stay alive.