What Not to Say to Someone Who Is Grieving

What not to say to someone who is grieving—and what to say instead. A heartfelt guide to showing up with compassion, presence, and words that truly help.

In Grief, Words Matter. Let’s Choose Them With Care.

Grief is a strange, quiet space. It’s loud with silence. Full of things people don’t know how to say—and unfortunately, a fair bit of stuff they blurt out anyway.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Maybe because grief is still camped out in the back room of my heart, moving furniture and refusing to shut the door. Or maybe because it keeps showing up in the lives of people I care about —and I watch them get hit with well-meaning words that land like a slap instead of a hug.

I remember the day after my husband's funeral, I found one of his socks under the sofa. Just one, balled up and full of dust. That's when I cried, really cried, properly. Just me, our dog and this ridiculous grey sock with a tiny hole in the toe.

Grief is sneaky like that. It doesn't care about timing, logic or whether you're wearing waterproof mascara. So if you've ever wondered what to say—or what not to say—to someone in that space, this is for you. Not from a therapist. Just from someone who has lived it, sat in it, and learned the hard way.

Honestly? I know most of it comes from a good place. People want to help. They’re trying their best to make things better. But that doesn’t stop some words from landing like a punch to the chest.

"Everything happens for a reason"

Oh my. This one is one I have heard more times than I care to think about.

I get it—they are trying to offer comfort. But believe me, when you are on the receiving end it doesn’t feel like comfort. It feels like someone trying to help make sense of the senseless. And when you’ve just lost someone you love, the idea that it was somehow always meant to be? It’s brutal.

When my husband, Stephen, died, someone whispered this to me in the hospital—like it was a secret I’d missed. I nodded, because what else can you do when you’ve got half a sandwich in your hand and no idea how to breathe?

Instead? Try something simpler. Something like, "I’m so sorry. This is so unfair." Because it is unfair and that truth deserves space.

"They’re in a better place."

Look—I know this one often comes from a spiritual place. But when you're grieving, you don't want them in a better place. You want them here with you. Taking up space. Laughing at terrible TV shows and leaving socks in odd places.

Even if someone believes there is another place we go to when we pass, it doesn’t stop the ache of an empty chair. Better might be: "I know how much they meant to you. I can’t imagine how much you miss them." (Or honestly, just a hug and a cuppa.)

"They wouldn’t want you to be sad."

You sure about that? Because I am sure the person I lost loved me enough to want me to feel. And that includes sadness.

Grief is not a sign of failure. It’s not weakness. It’s love that has nowhere to go. So when someone says, "They wouldn’t want you to be sad," it feels like being told off for loving too loudly.

Try instead: "It’s okay to be sad. Of course you’re sad. You lost someone who mattered."

"You’ll get through this."

Maybe. But in the moment? This feels like someone waving from the finish line while you’re still crawling at the start.

This phrase jumps ahead—past the pain, the mess, the raw bits. Most grieving people aren’t thinking about getting through. They’re thinking about how to get up in the morning and how to get through breakfast.

Try: "You don’t need to be okay right now. I’ll be here while you figure it out."

That lands differently, doesn’t it?

"Let me know if you need anything."

Spoiler: They won’t.

Not because they don’t need help—but because they can’t even think clearly. Asking feels like too much. Like admitting defeat.

So don’t put the onus on them. Offer specifics:

• "Can I drop dinner off on Wednesday?"

• "I’m doing a food shop—need anything?"

• "Want some company this weekend? I can just sit with you."

  
  

Make it easy to say yes. Even better—make it okay if they say no.

"Time heals all wounds."

Honestly... no it doesn’t.

Time just changes the shape of the pain. You learn to carry it better, to live with it. But it doesn’t disappear. Anyone who’s lost someone will tell you: the ache is always there. It just moves around.

Instead of talking about time, talk about presence.

Say: "I know this doesn’t get easier overnight. I’ll be here next week, next month... whenever."

"I know exactly how you feel."

You probably don’t. And even if you’ve been through something similar—no two people grieve in the same way.

Grief is personal. It’s messy. It’s wrapped up in decades of love and memory and inside jokes.

If you want to share your own loss, make room for theirs too.

Try: "I’ve lost someone too, and it broke me—but I know this is your story, not mine. I’m here if you want to talk." or “I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing, but I really want to be here for you.”

That honesty? It’s enough. Often, it’s everything.

What to Say (When You Don’t Know What to Say)

Here’s the truth: there’s no magic sentence that will make grief okay. You can’t fix it. But you can show up in a way that makes someone feel less alone in the storm.

You don’t need to be eloquent or wise or quote Rumi. You just need to be real.

Here are some things you can say—simple, honest words that land softly:

• “I’m so sorry. This is just so hard.”

• “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.”

• “That sounds incredibly painful. Do you want to talk about it?”

• “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

  
  

Sometimes, people need permission to grieve—out loud, without tidying it up. So say things like:

• “It’s okay to fall apart. You don’t have to be strong right now.”

• “Whatever you’re feeling is valid. Angry, numb, completely exhausted… all of it.”

  
  

And if you’re close enough, offer the invitation that opens the door wider:

• “Tell me about them? What were they like?”

• “What do you miss the most today?”

  
  

That last one? It’s a quiet gift. It doesn’t pretend everything’s fine. It doesn’t try to wrap loss in a big bow. It just lets them remember—and remembering can be a kind of relief.

The biggest kindness is presence, not perfection. You don’t need to say something profound. You just need to say something that tells them they’re still seen, still held, even in their heaviest moments.

Still searching for the right words?

You might find something in this collection: 20 Grief Quotes That Feel Like a Hug For Someone Who is Mourning. Sometimes, a line from someone who’s been there can say what our hearts can’t.

And if you’re not sure? Just say that. That honesty? It’s enough. Often, it’s everything.

The Little Things That Really Matter

You don’t need to be wise. Or clever. Or fix it. You just need to show up.

The best things people did for me? Little things. Someone left flowers on my doorstep with no note. Another friend texted me every Sunday night just to say, "Thinking of you." Not big gestures. Just proof that I wasn’t invisible in my pain. Not forgotten.

If you're unsure what to say, here are some safe bets:

• "I’m so sorry. This is really hard."

• "I don’t know what to say, but I really care."

• "I’m thinking of you."

• "You’re not alone in this."

  
  

And mean it. That’s the bit that matters.

Don’t forget the long haul

Grief lingers.

After the funeral, after the sympathy cards stop arriving... that’s when it hits hardest. When everyone else has gone back to normal and you're still trying to find your way around the new world you find yourself in.

So remember the long-term support:

• Mark anniversaries.

• Send a text on their birthday.

• Drop a message months later just to say, "I haven’t forgotten."

  
  

You don’t need to bring it up all the time. But don’t pretend it didn’t happen, either. People want their person remembered. Not erased.

Grief Isn’t Linear

One of the hardest parts of grief? It doesn't behave.

There’s this myth that grief is tidy—a straight path through “stages” that eventually lead to acceptance, maybe even peace. But real grief doesn’t walk in a straight line. It stumbles. Doubles back. Lies down in the middle of the road and refuses to move.

You might be okay for a week, and then a smell, or a song, or a Tuesday afternoon knocks the wind out of you. You might laugh at lunch and cry in the car park. You might feel nothing for days, then everything all at once.

That’s not failure. That’s just grief being grief.

People sometimes say things like, “You’re still upset?” or “Aren’t you over that by now?”—as if there’s a deadline for heartbreak. But losing someone you love is not a cold you get over. It’s a wound you learn to live with.

The pain doesn’t vanish. It just changes shape. Some days it’s sharp. Some days it’s dull. Some days it surprises you by not showing up at all—and then you feel guilty for that, too.

So if you’re grieving, go easy on yourself. You’re not doing it wrong. There’s no wrong.

And if you’re supporting someone who’s grieving, remember: they might be “fine” one day and unravelled the next. Let them be both. Let them be messy. Let them heal in the shape that fits them.

Why What Not to Say to Someone Grieving Matters

Here’s the thing: if you’re reading this, you probably care enough to want to get it right. And that means everything.

We’re all going to be the grieving person someday. And we’re all going to be the friend on the other side of the table, not sure where to put our hands.

Let’s be softer with each other. Let’s fumble better. You don’t need perfect words. You just need honest ones.

Sometimes showing up means helping someone reach for support too.

If you or someone you love is struggling with grief and needs someone to talk to, Cruse Bereavement Support, offers free, confidential help.

What do you think? Have you ever had someone say the wrong thing to you in grief—or the right one? Leave a comment. I’d love to hear your story.