Sometimes There Isn't Anything to Say

A moment of profound grief, loss and heaviness permeating the session, and a comfortable silence between therapist and client. This week has been a reminder of the importance of allowing silence to fill the room.

When a client is sitting with grief, it can be tempting to step in. We do what we know best as therapists; ask another question, offer a reflection or gently move towards problem-solving. We may reach for advice, reassurance or something that resembles a solution. We want to ease the client’s distress, help them make sense of what has happened or prevent the session from feeling as though it has stalled.

But grief does not always need to be moved along.

Sometimes, the most helpful thing we can do is allow the silence to remain. In a recent session, a client had just finished explaining the imagined future that had been ripped away from them, and I sat in that moment with them, experiencing the heartbreak and sadness. The temptation to move this moment along came, but this quiet pause gave the client (and myself) space to sit with the feeling, notice what is arising and allowed the client to find their own words in time. When we resist the urge to direct the conversation, clients can continue exploring their grief in their own way and at their own pace.

Grief is not ours to dictate. There is no correct sequence, no perfect insight and no single destination we need to reach before the session ends. Our role is not to lead someone through their loss according to our preferred map. At times, it is simply to remain alongside them while they begin to understand what the loss means for them.

Being comfortable with silence also communicates something crucially important: there is no pressure here. There is no need to rush, perform or make the pain more manageable for our benefit. We are willing to stay with the client, even when the moment is heavy and there is nothing obvious to say.

Silence can convey, I am not frightened by your pain. You do not have to move away from it for me.

The other side of the coin is that, of course, we are also feeling in those moments.

We work with a great deal of sadness and despite our training, we do not stop being human when we enter the therapy room. In fact, this is absolutely our strength. Sometimes we may find ourselves feeling the grief alongside the person sitting opposite us.

After the session mentioned above, I was left with a profound sense of sadness. I knew I needed a moment to steady myself before seeing my next client, whose session I knew would also hold considerable pain. I quickly slipped out the back door and stood in the cool breeze of the car park.

It was brief, but it was also the moment I needed.

The cool air and the quiet gave me a moment to return to myself. Just like for my client, it did not erase what I was feeling, nor did it need to. It simply helped me acknowledge the sadness, settle my nervous system and prepare to be present again.

These moments are an important reminder that being affected by our work does not mean we are doing it poorly. Feeling sadness is not the same as allowing our emotions to take over the session. Provided we remain aware of what belongs to us, maintain appropriate boundaries and do not require the client to care for our response, there is nothing inherently wrong with being moved by their experience.

I remember earlier in my career that silence felt especially uncomfortable and at times that feeling can sneak its way back in. Worries about not doing enough, that the client expected me to speak or that a good therapist should always know what to say next. However, silence is not an absence of therapeutic intervention, it is an active part of the work.

We are observing. We are listening. We are regulating ourselves. We are making room for something that may not yet have words. Sometimes the work is not in what we say, but in our willingness to remain present when there is nothing that could make the situation better.

Grief does not always need a solution. Sometimes it needs time, space and another person who is willing to sit beside it.