Four Practical Ways to Comfort a Friend When They’re Ugly Crying

We all know what ugly crying is—your mascara won’t survive it. It’s the kind of crying that scrapes at the bottom of your tummy, leaving you raw and sore; crying that sounds like a wailing cat; crying that renders ice-packs and chocolate useless.

One thing I’ve learned about myself over the years is that I need to grieve alone. Some people quickly turn to friends, throw themselves into their arms, and sob when the soul-breaking hits.

Not me.

Leave. Me. Alone.

“Jenna, want to walk and talk it out today?”

“No.”

“Jenna, let’s grab a coffee, and you can process with me.”

“No, thank you.”

“Can I at least pray with you?”

“Nope.”’

Is something wrong?

I’ve wondered if something is wrong with me. Am I too proud to accept help? I’ve come to realize, however, that telling my precious friends I’m not ready to talk is asking for help. I’m asking them to help me grieve in the way that works for me. Finding friends that don’t take offense to this is a tremendous blessing! 

All of us process heartbreak in different ways—here is what it looks like for me:

• A lot of ugly crying.
• Lying face down.
• Uglier crying.
• Praying.
• Grisly crying.
• Reading the Bible.
• Civilized crying.
• Prayer journaling.
• Dainty crying.
• Repeat.

True friends give us the space to ugly cry alone—if that’s what we need. Seriously, if I even look at a friend before I’m ready to share, I burst into uncontrollable tears in school parking lots.

I just can’t.

Profoundly, the women in my life honor my request. They don’t come bursting through my boundaries. Sometimes, the best way to truly support a friend is to stand outside the door and be there when they’re ready to come out.

When You’re Ready

I recently had a season of mourning, and each time I opened my front door it seemed there was something waiting for me. There was a mocha, a croissant, flowers, chocolate, a note saying, “You are loved”—even a homemade tabbouleh salad!

Each treasure was a reminder: “We’re here for you—when you’re ready.” 

This helped in the healing journey more than the physical solitude. I don’t really want to mourn alone. My body wants to be solo, but not my spirit. My spirit was being loved and prayed for as my body was huddled on the floor. I could feel it. And it made all the difference. 

As believers, we’re encouraged, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity” (Proverbs 17:17, NIV).

What does this sort of love look like? We can’t simply hold our affection in our hearts, expecting others to sense it. Practically loving a friend at all times requires learning to catapult affection over a wall. We must consider: How do my friends feel cherished by me? How do they grieve? What makes them feel seen?