When News Hits Hard
There are moments when life delivers news so heavy it knocks the wind out of us. A diagnosis. A loss. A shift so sudden it redraws the contours of what we thought tomorrow would look like.
Close friends just received some devastating news about a family member. The news itself feels like a thunderclap. The family is shaken, as anyone would be. And it’s made me reflect on those times in my own life when the load seemed to heavy to bare.
These moments are emotional roller coasters. We don’t always realize we have choices in how we respond. The news feels final, defining. But here’s what I’ve come to believe: the news is just information. It’s what we do with that information—how we metabolize it, how we speak to ourselves about it, how we move through it—that shapes the outcome (feelings). This, of course, is hard to digest during the storm and best to process during the calmer times in life so that the tools can be mentally filed, hopefully, for use in time of need.
Events + Response = Outcome (Feelings).
I learned this little gem of wisdom many years ago while working on my master’s in counseling. Thank you, Dr. George Smith, for introducing me to Dr. Albert Ellis, father of Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy. (That’s a mouthful.)
When we’re hit with hard news, we often default to paralysis. But somewhere in the fog, there’s a toolbox. And inside it? Tools that don’t erase the pain, but help us carry it differently.
• Managing the way we talk to ourselves (self-talk)—challenging the inner monologue that spirals into fear. Changing “I can’t stand this” to “I don’t like it but somehow I am going to handle it.”
*Acknowledging feelings - “I am afraid.” “I am scared.” “I am anxious.” (“And I am going to get to the other side of this!”)
• Being intentional about the way we walk (physical stance)—shoulders back, feet grounded, even when the heart trembles. Pick up the pace. (Staying in bed in the fetal position might be a short-term coping tool, but will probably, in the long run, not get us to a brighter day.)
• Monitoring the cadence and intonation of our voice—steadying it not to fake strength, but to remind ourselves we’re still here.
• Managing (shifting) mental images we create—not of doom, but of resilience, of connection, of possibility.
These tools don’t make the news go away. They help us respond with intention. They help us move from being emotionally frozen to finding a path forward—however crooked, however slow.
So if you’re in the thick of it, if the news has just landed and you’re gasping for air, know this: you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re in the middle of becoming. And while the road ahead may be steep, you have what you need to walk it—with grace, grit, and the kind of quiet strength that turns pain into something deeply human and beautifully true. And, please know, that there have been moments in my life when all the above seemed like a bunch of crap that doesn’t work. There have been times when I can’t seem to find the key to the toolbox. So, I try to keep putting one foot in front of the other - seeing Divine Love somehow shoring me up until I am ready to work one more time to put myself back together!
And what do we do when someone we love is caught in the undertow of grief, confusion, or just the slow grind of a hard season? We don’t fix. We don’t flee. We listen.
We show up—not with platitudes or Pinterest quotes, but with casseroles, coffee, a bottle of wine or just a quiet “I’m here.” We witness the struggle without needing to narrate it. We check in, even when the replies are short or nonexistent. We think of small, loving actions—a playlist, a porch visit, a text that says, “no need to respond, just thinking of you.”
Because presence isn’t just proximity. It’s choosing to stand beside someone in their storm, even when the forecast is bleak and the emotional umbrellas are threadbare.
That’s the soul of Empathy on the Rocks—where we honor the messy, the marvelous, and the moments that don’t make it into holiday cards. It’s where we trade judgment for generosity, and where showing up becomes the most sacred kind of storytelling.
So if you’re wondering what to do when the news hits hard or the silence feels heavy, start there. With presence. With a casserole. With the kind of empathy that doesn’t need a spotlight.