Welcome back to our series on grief support! So far, we’ve looked at how people can show up in ways that truly help — and how some well-meaning words or actions often miss the mark.
Today, I want to flip the lens. Instead of focusing on how to offer support, this piece is about what it means to receive it when you’re the one grieving.
This feels like a natural follow-on from one of my very first posts, “Rethinking how we support others through grief”. That piece focused on what not to say and do, and how to really be there for someone who’s mourning. Many of you told me at the time how much it resonated with you — and ever since, I’ve wanted to explore the other side of the equation.
Accepting support isn’t always easy. Grief can make us feel vulnerable, uncertain, or guarded. It can be hard to know what to take in, what to set aside, and how to protect your heart while staying open to help.
Just like in that earlier post, I’ll share practical tips I’ve learned from my own experience of grief and from supporting others about receiving care with kindness and grace — both toward yourself and those offering it.
Welcome to Grieve Fully, Live Fully! A space for honest, heartfelt reflections on grief, growth, and the messy, beautiful middle of being human. I’m Ruhie — writer, doctor, mum & grief advocate. Whether you’re navigating loss, facing life’s uncertainties and challenges, or simply seeking a little hope, you’re in the right place.
INSTEAD: Take in what’s helpful and release the rest
In my last post, I talked about some of the phrases and platitudes people often say in grief — things like “be strong!”, “everything happens for a reason”, or “just stay busy.” They usually mean well, but it can come across hollow or dismissive when you’re hurting.
I wish we could all reach more often for kinder, more meaningful ways to speak to those who are grieving. But the reality is, we can’t control what others say or how they try to help. People speak from their own experiences, personalities, and conditioning. What we CAN choose is how we receive their words.
A dear writing buddy, Claire Tak, who’s been navigating her own health challenges, put it beautifully in a comment on my post last year about rethinking grief support:
“I've learned that I have to let these comments roll off my back because they mean well”
Her words echo something I’ve learnt too — most people are just trying their best. When someone’s words fall flat, my first reaction is still visceral because I’m human. But then, I try to give them the benefit of the doubt and see the intention behind their efforts — the same grace I’d hope for when I get it mess up.
That doesn’t mean it’s easy! And sometimes, people’s actions or comments are out of line. But in most cases, letting go of what doesn’t serve you isn’t about excusing missteps — it’s about protecting your own emotional wellbeing.
INSTEAD: Appreciate whatever support you do receive
A couple of years ago, I cared for a patient who lost her husband at forty-five. Overnight, her world turned upside-down and she found herself the sole caregiver for their four young children.
Her in-laws weren’t the most emotionally supportive. They’d say things like “Don’t cry in front of the kids” or “This was God’s plan”. Words that, instead of bringing comfort, made her feel even more isolated.
And yet, their practical help was a lifeline. They drove the kids to school and activities, cooked dinner, and organised cleaning. Yes, their words missed the mark, but their presence and actions carried weight. Over time, she made the choice to focus on what they could offer, instead of what they couldn’t. She stopped expecting them to be her source of emotional support, and instead leaned on close friends and a therapist who could hold space for her.
When you’re hurting, it’s natural to notice what’s missing. But I’ve come to see how shifting focus — appreciating the help that does show up, however imperfectly, and seeking the rest elsewhere — can soften disappointment and spare a lot of added pain.
INSTEAD: Be open and honest about what you need — even if you don’t know
One of the hardest parts of grief is not always knowing what you need. The people around you want to help, but more often than not they can’t guess what would actually be useful.
After my dad died, I heard “Reach out if you need anything!” over and over again. It was thoughtful, but it also felt impossible. It put the responsibility on me to figure out not only what I needed, but how to ask for it — when most of the time I didn’t even know myself. Some days I wanted to be left alone; other days, solitude felt unbearable and I needed company or distraction.
What I’ve learnt is that when you do know what you need, it helps to be as clear and straightforward as you can:
“Thanks, but I would prefer to be alone tonight.”
“Are you free to hang out tomorrow? I really need to get out of the house”
“Can you please take Joey to soccer practice on Thursday? I don’t feel up to it this week.”
That kind of directness can feel awkward at first — but I’ve found most people are relieved to have something concrete to do that actually helps.
On the flip side, there are times when you have no clue what you need. Even then, honesty is just as important. Admitting “I’m not sure what I need right now, but I’m glad you’re here” or “I can’t figure it out today — can you check in again tomorrow?” keeps the connection open instead of leaving people guessing or shutting them out.
You don’t have to have it all figured out. But the reality is, no one can read your mind… no matter how well they know you or how desperately we wish they could. Being open about where you’re at — whether you’re clear or uncertain — helps others meet you where you are, and can make grief feel a little less lonely.
INSTEAD: Honour your own journey and focus on what you can control
Resentment and comparison are really common and natural parts of grief — because grief shines a spotlight on what you’ve lost. Suddenly, you notice all the ways other people’s lives seem intact. Families still whole, milestones unfolding, futures you once hoped for.
Before we had our kids, I suffered a miscarriage. I’ve touched on it in previous posts. It was at a time when we so desperately hoped Dad would live to see a grandchild. And it felt like everywhere I turned, I was surrounded by pregnant women and babies. Friends announcing pregnancies, strangers on the street, social media feeds full of baby photos — it was relentless, as if the universe was taunting me.
It’s easy to get caught up in comparing, noticing what others have that you no longer do, and feeling hurt and resentful. But the hard truth is that comparison doesn’t change anything — it only layers on more pain.
A writer and Substack friend I deeply admire, Chris Anselmo, who shares with honesty and courage about facing life’s challenges while living with a rare neuromuscular disease, wrote something last year that really struck a chord with me:
“At the end of the day, whether my disease is fair or unfair, it doesn’t change the underlying issue. I have it, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’d rather focus on what I can control.”
The same is true in grief. We can’t change what has happened or how other people’s lives unfold. What we can do is focus on what’s within our reach — caring for ourselves, remembering and honouring the people we’ve lost, and making small, everyday choices that soften the weight of grief.
Over time (and it’s taken time to get here), I’ve also found it grounding to remember that everyone carries a hidden ache. We all have something someone else longs for. I might look at a woman laughing with her dad and feel the sting of comparison — but she might look at me with my kids and wish with all her heart that she could conceive. This shift in perspective isn’t about toxic positivity, and it doesn’t erase the pain of loss, but it offers a kind of balance: alongside mourning what’s gone, perhaps we can also hold gratitude for what remains.
INSTEAD: Express gratitude for those who supported you in your time of need
When someone you love dies, saying thank you is not top of mind. You’re in survival mode. You may offer words of gratitude in the moment, but grief is so consuming that they can get lost — and it can take months, even years, before you have the space to truly acknowledge what someone’s support meant.
Many cousins, friends, and family were there for us after Dad died. A few special people really went above and beyond. I know I thanked them at the time, but I sometimes wonder if they know how deeply I appreciated their love and care. My cousin, for example, stayed with us for a full week, just six weeks before her wedding — an Indian wedding with multiple events and all the planning that entails! No one asked her to do this. It wasn’t expected. She simply showed up. She held my mum’s hand when she cried, shared a room with my little sister so she wouldn’t be alone, and played with my baby when I was too broken to cope. She made us tea, brought us food, quietly did the dishes, and kept us company.
I would have thanked her then, but I wish I’d circled back to tell her just how much her presence and generosity carried us through the darkest days.
Gratitude in grief doesn’t have an expiry date. When you’re ready, thanking those who stood by you — even months or years later — can be a powerful way of honouring the love that helped you through.
INSTEAD: Develop your own ways to navigate and live with loss
Support from friends, family, and community can be a vital source of comfort when you’re in the throes of grief. But grief is not something others can fully heal or take away.
Over time, support inevitably ebbs. Calls and messages become less frequent, leaving you to face quieter, more solitary moments. This can feel overwhelming, but it also creates space to discover your own resources: the rituals, reflections, or practices that help you process grief and keep moving forward.
Cultivating this inner strength doesn’t replace outside support — it complements it.
In the next and final post of this series, I’ll share some practical ways to build that internal foundation — so we can live alongside grief, not just survive it.
Until next time,
If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear about it!
Have you ever found it hard to accept support while grieving? What made it easier — or harder?
Sharing our stories is how we can all learn and grow on this journey, together.
Thank you for being here and supporting my work. I am truly grateful!
If you got value from this and you think others might too, please:
1️⃣ Click the HEART button 💟 to like this post and leave me a COMMENT 💬 — it means we can connect on a deeper level and allows my writing to reach more people who need it
2️⃣ SUBSCRIBE for free to “Grieve Fully, Live Fully” — a supportive space to help you navigate loss, embrace life wholeheartedly, and find strength through life’s challenges
3️⃣ SHARE my newsletter with someone you think would appreciate it
Share Grieve Fully, Live Fully
4️⃣ And don’t forget to
🌈 Live Fully
💛 Love Deeply
😁 Laugh Often
⏳ Make the most of the time we are given
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.