When You Say the Wrong Thing to a Friend
Last week, I asked a question that missed the mark. Here’s what I learned.
Recently, at lunch, I found myself in a situation I hate: I said the wrong thing to a friend.
She’d just had a baby after wanting one for a long time, and she’s the kind of person you just know will be a nurturing, dedicated, wonderful mom. (No pressure…)
Knowing how excited she was to become a parent, I asked her: “Are you having so much fun?!”
She laughed. Shook her head. And I immediately realized my mistake.
“Listen, it’s been beautiful and tender and I love him more than anything,” she said. “But no, I wouldn’t say I’ve been having fun.”
I was so mad at myself. Why did I ask the question that way? A question I resent receiving, the type that lacks curiosity, that doesn’t welcome an honest, complicated answer? Shouldn’t I know better? Especially when my own uncertainty about becoming a mother is driven, in part, by my fears of struggling as a parent, and the grief and pain and memories that my struggle could bring up.
In other words: What I was thinking?
Well. I wasn’t. I asked the question because I’m human and sometimes we as humans say “harmless” yet low-key insensitive things.
She shared more about her challenges in early postpartum. I listened and tried to ask better questions. And then I apologized.
“I’m sorry I said it like that at first, ‘are you having fun?’” I said, rolling my eyes at myself. “I totally projected what I thought the experience would feel like for you.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I also thought it would be different for someone like me, which was part of the problem.”
I think many of us fear saying the wrong thing, but I wonder what would happen if we accepted that sometimes we will. I’m hesitant to even call what I said (or what you might say) “wrong,” because what lands beautifully for one person can land painfully for another. Like I’ve asked similar questions of other moms and gotten enthusiastic, “yes omg it’s so much fun!” And I believe them. I also believe that fun rarely captures the full complexity of a significant identity transformation.
If something we say doesn’t land, we can course-correct. We can acknowledge it. We can ask again. That, to me, is what being emotionally available looks like. It’s what being a good friend looks like.
Below the paywall, I’m sharing some practical language for asking better questions and for repairing when you don’t get it right the first time. If you can support my work with a paid subscription, thank you! I’m so appreciative.
ICYMI: In the last Hello Hayes episode before my holiday break, I answered a letter about navigating a friendship that’s quietly (and painfully) shifted. I’ll be back next week with new episodes!