By Kendra Stearns Drozd, Bluffton, SC
The Conversations We Avoid
We all know the feeling. Someone close to us is struggling, and we want to help, but we don’t know what to say. We worry we’ll make things worse. We rehearse opening lines in our head and then change the subject when the moment comes. We tell ourselves we’ll bring it up next time, when we’re more prepared, when the timing is better.
Meanwhile, the person who needs support continues to carry their burden alone.
For more than a decade, I’ve walked alongside people during some of the most difficult chapters of their lives as a commissioned Stephen Minister. I’ve sat with individuals facing grief, illness, divorce, loneliness, and crisis. What I’ve learned is this: the conversations we’re most afraid to have are often the ones that matter most.
What Makes a Conversation Hard
Difficult conversations feel risky because they expose vulnerability on both sides. When someone shares their pain, we naturally want to fix it. We want to offer solutions, find the silver lining, or reassure them that everything will be okay.
But here’s the truth: people in crisis don’t need us to have answers. They need us to show up and listen.
In Stephen Ministry, we’re trained to provide one-on-one, confidential emotional and spiritual support. The foundation of that work is active listening. That means sitting with someone in their pain without trying to redirect it, minimize it, or solve it. It means resisting the urge to fill silence with advice or shift the focus to our own similar experience.
It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also sacred.
Why We Pull Back
When someone we care about is hurting, our instinct is often to protect ourselves as much as to protect them. We worry about saying the wrong thing. We fear we’re not qualified to help. We tell ourselves that bringing it up might embarrass them or invade their privacy.
These are real concerns, but they can also become excuses for staying silent.
I’ve been on both sides of this. After I experienced multiple devastating miscarriages, I was helped by so many people who were willing to enter into my grief without trying to rush me past it. Those relationships changed me. They showed me what it looks like to offer presence instead of platitudes.
That experience is part of what led me to Stephen Ministry. I wanted to give back in a meaningful and intentional way. I wanted to be the kind of person who doesn’t look away when things get hard.
What Listening Actually Looks Like
Active listening isn’t passive. It requires full attention, patience, and a willingness to let the other person lead.
In my training and practice as a Stephen Minister, I’ve learned that listening well means:
Mirroring what you hear. Reflecting back what someone has said, in their own words, helps them feel truly heard. It also gives them space to clarify, expand, or correct.
Resisting the urge to compare. Saying “I know exactly how you feel” or launching into your own story can unintentionally shift the focus away from the person who is hurting.
Sitting with silence. Pauses in conversation aren’t problems to solve. They’re often moments when the other person is processing, gathering courage, or deciding whether to go deeper.
Offering encouragement, not advice. You can affirm someone’s strength, acknowledge their pain, and remind them they’re not alone without telling them what to do next.
Stephen Ministers are taught a simple principle: we care for people, but only God cures people. Our role is not to fix or rescue. It’s to walk beside.
The Gift of Showing Up
One of my most meaningful caring relationships lasted about five years. It was an honor to be trusted with such vulnerability over such a long period of time. My care receiver allowed me into her hardest moments, and I witnessed her resilience, her grief, and her growth.
I didn’t have all the answers. I didn’t always know what to say. But I showed up, week after week, and listened.
That consistency mattered more than I could have imagined.
Right now, I’m walking alongside a woman who has endured verbal, mental, emotional, and at times physical abuse throughout her childhood and adult life. Her story is heavy. The road ahead is long. But she doesn’t need me to carry her. She needs me to be present, to believe her, and to remind her that she is not alone.
Start Small, Start Now
You don’t need to be a trained Stephen Minister to have a hard conversation well. You just need to be willing to begin.
If someone you care about is struggling, try this: ask an open-ended question and then stop talking. “How are you really doing?” or “What’s been hardest for you lately?” Then listen without planning your response.
Let them cry if they need to. Let them ramble. Let them sit in silence. Your job isn’t to make them feel better in that moment. It’s to make them feel less alone.
The hardest conversations are hard because they matter. They require us to set aside our discomfort and show up for someone else. They ask us to trust that our presence is enough, even when we don’t have the right words.
And more often than not, that presence is exactly what the other person needs most.
