Have you ever gotten off the phone with someone and realized you're now more worked up about their problem than they are?
They called upset.
Something happened at work. Their marriage is struggling. Their kid is going through something. Someone hurt them, disappointed them or made a decision that you definitely have thoughts about.
So you listen.
You ask questions. You talk it through. You reassure them, offer advice if they want it and eventually hang up.
Except somehow the conversation doesn't end when the call does.
Now you're making dinner thinking about it.
You're in the shower replaying what they said.
You're wondering what they should do next, what you would do, whether they're okay, whether you should text again.
And if somebody involved did something you think was wrong?
Well, now you're mad too.
Welcome. Apparently we all live here now.
There’s nothing wrong with caring deeply about people. I’d actually be more concerned if someone you love was hurting and you felt absolutely nothing.
But there’s a point where caring about what someone is going through can quietly turn into carrying it with you.
And those aren't quite the same thing.
You can care without emotionally moving into the problem.
That's the part I think can be hard when you're empathetic, protective or just really love your people.
Their pain matters to you.
Of course you want to help.
If they're scared, you want to reassure them. If they're hurting, you want to make it better. If somebody has treated them badly, you may have a few things you'd personally like to say.
Completely understandable.
But what happens when there isn't anything for you to fix?
That's where this gets harder.
Because sometimes the person you love is going through something that has no quick solution.
They have to make the decision.
They have to have the conversation.
They have to wait for the answer.
They have to live through the consequence.
And you can't do any of that for them.
So instead, you think about it.
A lot.
As though worrying alongside them is somehow contributing to the solution.
I know that sounds ridiculous when we say it that way, but I think a lot of us do some version of it.
We confuse being emotionally activated with being supportive.
If I'm calm while you're upset, does that mean I don't care enough?
If I go enjoy my evening after you just told me something terrible, am I being insensitive?
If I stop thinking about your problem, who is holding it?
You are.
I know.
That's not always the answer we want.
But there are things that belong to the people we love, and carrying their emotions for them doesn't necessarily make their load lighter.
Sometimes it actually makes it harder for us to show up well.
Because now instead of being the steady person they can call, we're panicking too.
Instead of listening, we're trying to fix.
Instead of letting them work through what they think, we're ten steps ahead trying to manage an outcome that isn't ours.
And suddenly their hard thing has two people completely spun up instead of one person going through something hard and another person able to stand beside them.
That's an important difference.
Being steady doesn't mean being detached.
You can cry with someone and still be steady.
You can be angry about what happened and still be steady.
You can care so much that your heart physically hurts for them and still recognize: This isn't mine to solve.
I think that's where support becomes less about taking something away and more about staying present while somebody else carries what belongs to them.
Sometimes that looks like advice.
Sometimes it's asking, “Do you want me to help you think through this, or do you just need me to listen?”
Sometimes it's checking in tomorrow.
Sometimes it's sitting there saying, “That really sucks,” because there genuinely isn't a better sentence.
And sometimes it's praying for them and then going to bed.
That last one can be harder than it sounds.
Because prayer requires me to acknowledge that God can be present in someone else's situation without me mentally supervising it all night.
Imagine that.
There are people we love whose lives we cannot control.
We can't prevent every heartbreak, make every person treat them well or choose the right thing on their behalf.
We can love them.
We can tell them the truth.
We can show up when they need us.
We can pray.
And then we have to leave enough space for them to live their own life.
That isn't caring less.
It might actually help us care better.
Because when someone else's problem doesn't have to become our problem before we take it seriously, we can stay close without getting swallowed by it.
So the next time you hang up the phone and notice you've taken the whole conversation with you, ask yourself:
Is there actually something for me to do here?
If there is, do it.
Send the text. Make the call. Show up. Help where you can.
But if there isn't?
You don't have to keep rehearsing the problem to prove you care about the person.
You can put the phone down.
You can make dinner.
You can laugh at something completely unrelated.
You can go to sleep.
And you can still love them just as much tomorrow.
Want to keep going with this conversation?
🎧 Listen to Episode 48:How to Show Up With Strength Without Emotional Overload →