“You’re so Strong!” And Other Aggressive Absurdities

How to Deal with Invalidation from Friends and Strangers Alike

I live in a quaint little town in rural Oregon. You know, one of those picturesque places you envision when Googling “small town America,” a town with brick storefronts and green, swaying trees, a town with stop signs instead of traffic lights. In a word, idyllic. Well, mostly.

Small towns breed gossip. Maybe it’s the unhurried pace, maybe it’s the distance from the nearest metropolitan area, or maybe it’s human nature amplified by everyday boredom.

In a small town, if regular-grade gossip staggers drunkenly door-to-door, then news of a tragedy gets delivered by Millennium Falcon.

Thus, when my son died two years ago, by sundown, everyone knew.

It’s partly my doing.

I wrote and published a eulogy for my son in the local paper. I posted on Facebook. And yes, I left the house.

Inevitably, the comments came.

Quickly, I noticed that some statements were helpful, supportive, and kind. Others, well, they weren’t exactly awful,but there was something about them. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

On the surface, these utterances seemed…nice, at least in spirit. They were often delivered in awkward fashion, like the night a lady strode to my restaurant table and spent six minutes explaining that all lives had obstacles, and she knew I would overcome mine. She finally stopped, patted my arm, and walked away. I had no idea who she was.

Other times, these comments came from the mouths of friends and family. From people I knew, who knew me well.

“I can’t imagine…”

“I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Time will heal.”

“Everything has a reason.”

“At least you have other children.”

“If one of my kids died…”

“You’re so strong.”

But that last one…

As weeks turned to months and a year, that statement was proffered, written, uttered, and emailed to me, over and over.

“You’re so strong.”

I began to hate the sound of those words, every syllable, letter, sound.

“You’re so strong.”

Let me tell you something. After my son died, the last thing I felt was strong. Oh, I felt a lot of things. Anger. Despair. Guilt. Confusion. Horror. Shock. Sometimes, all those within an hour.

And some days, I felt nothing at all.

One morning, I woke to the barbed wire of grief stabbing my heart, and reached for the phone to call a friend. I needed a voice, and love, certainty, hope, and reassurance — because I sure as hell didn’t feel any right then.

She answered. We spoke. I felt better. Then, the bomb:

“You’re doing great. You’re so strong.”

Except: I wasn’t.

I called because I was weak, confused, hopeless, disoriented. My sadness stretched from my bed, out the door, down the street, to the purple peaks of the dark and looming Cascades, and beyond.

I hung up.

Now, not only was I sad, but fuming.

“You’re so strong.”

Two years later, I understand why these words stung.

I had reached out to a trusted person, attempting to express how I felt, how my world had upended, how trauma engulfed me, how sorrow gnawed my brain, and my friend had dismissed my feelings, flouted my pain, and deflected my perspective with those three not-so-simple words.

In other words, she invalidated me.

INVALIDATION.

What is invalidation? According to Dr. Karyn Hall, invalidation is “the process of denying, rejecting or dismissing someone’s feelings. Invalidation sends the message that a person’s subjective emotional experience is inaccurate, insignificant, and/or unacceptable.”

Invalidation is a subtle but emotionally violent act. An invalidating remark rationalizes, minimizes, or deflects the inner world of another. Since our human existence relies on emotional expression, invalidating someone can make her feel silenced, neglected, attacked, or unheard.

Invalidation denies the lived and felt experience of a fellow human.

“Emotional invalidation is when a person’s thoughts and feelings are rejected, ignored, or judged.” — Dr. Karyn Hall

People who are sensitive, marginalized, or traumatized often feel especially violated when invalidated, especially by those they trust.

“Validation doesn’t necessarily mean we agree with another’s subjective reality. Validation simply allows another person’s emotional state a space to exist.” — Hall

Invalidation is a form of emotional abuse. Though it’s usually unintentional and often inadvertent, it can also manifest as overt abuse or manipulation. Either way, it’s damaging.

— — — — — — — — —

If it’s harmful, why do people do it? I find three main reasons:

1. Discomfort. It is hard to watch someone suffer, especially if we love that person and want the best for them. We want them to feel better. We want them to be okay, even when they are clearly not. Additionally, their pain gives us pain. This is unpleasant, especially for people who are extra compassionate as well as for those who suck at empathy.

2. Incapacity. Some people just simply can’t. They can’t cope, commiserate, contain, or communicate. They have low EQ, or may be disordered. Some individuals possess low empathy — let’s qualify these folks as ES — Emotionally SuperDumb. If a person has demonstrated a lack of emotion before, they aren’t suddenly going to overflow with loving, supportive goopiness. Ain’t gonna happen, Clyde.

3. Ignorance. Let’s face it. Our culture suffers from emotional constipation. Between normalized self-absorption and spontaneous gratification, vital skills have gone missing. Among the lost skills are emotional fluency, compassionate understanding, and effective communication.

So: what’s the problem? Why is invalidation such a big deal?

The primary reason is this: connection.

As humans, we rely on bonds of affection and trust. In the 1970s, William Glasser famously developed Choice Theory, and his framework of basic human needs. The need for love and belonging is right at the top.

Invalidating someone’s emotions, experience, and perspective is an emotionally violent act. It chops away at our connections with others. It slices at our conjoined wrists, and severs the bonds of love and trust. And, if an individual is already feeling frightened, wary, or shaken by prior abuse or trauma, invalidation pushes them further toward the outer edge, when we should be drawing them closer.

So, let’s get to some solutions. What are potential fixes?

1. Ignore. If the invalidation happens only once, if the situation is particularly fraught, or if you are exhausted/apathetic/generous, you could ignore the one-off. Letting it go mean just shifting your perspective to release the comment. After all, none of us are perfect, and most people are trying their best. So: forgive and somewhat forget their ignorance/stupidity/incapacity/error. Be the bigger person.

2. Speak Up. If it’s happened more than once, injures you, or makes you feel utterly disrespected/enraged/disturbed/depressed, then say something. Find the words and speak them. Maybe even rehearse beforehand so you’re ready if necessary: “Marsha, I really super hate when you call me ‘strong.’ The fact is, I feel awful/horrid/weak/crazy, and you saying that makes me feel [fill in the blank].” Be firm: set your standard and point out your boundary. If they repeat the behavior later, see below.

3. Teach. This may be assertive, but try it anyhow. Call it what it is — invalidation. I would also practice a few lines to support your educational effort. “Jo: when you tell me I’m strong after I’ve told you how much I’m struggling, you are invalidating my experience. You may mean well, but it hurts me, makes me feel like you don’t understand, and is damaging our connection.”

4. Distance. If you’ve tried the above or face a repeat offender, this step may be necessary. Especially if you are in a tough or traumatized situation, I urge you to make space between yourself and those who are harsh, incapable, or harmful to your mind and spirit. There is no room in your heart for those who want to drive a nail into that tender flesh, whether from ignorance or intention.

Other Ideas: Tip Sheet

Don’t Say ….

— I can’t imagine!

— Please don’t cry {scream, be angry, get bitter).

— If that happened to me, I would die.

— How do you do it?

— I know how you feel.

— At least you still have [whatever].

— You’re so strong.

Instead Say….

+++ I don’t know what to say (but I can listen).

+++ Please tell me about it.

+++ I’m so sorry.

+++ I’m here and will check in regularly.

+++ I don’t understand, but want to.

+++ I support you.

+++ I value you and our relationship.

+++ I love you.

Two years later. Losing a child is the most heart-wrenching, horrifying, impossible experience any family can undergo. The death of my son tore my life into a million tear-stained pieces, and I’m still collecting the shreds.

Sadly, many of my relationships are different, damaged, or have disappeared — most due to invalidating remarks, comments, and actions.

Happily, where many bonds have weakened or dissolved, others have blossomed. Out of thin air, new friends materialized, walking beside me to listen, comfort, and care. Out of tragedy, some new joy. Out of pain: love, connection, and belonging.