Please Don't Tell Me It Could Be Worse

“It could always be worse.”

I absolutely hate that saying!

I know it could be worse. I’m not a toddler who dropped my lollipop on the ground. I’m a grown woman. I’ve lived enough life to know that it can always be worse.

But just for a moment—long enough for me to catch my breath—let me have this moment. Please don’t remind me that it could always be worse.

Because when you say that, somehow it diminishes the fact that I am, indeed, going through something really difficult right now. And it is making me sad. Or disappointed. Or angry.

It may not be that bad to someone else.

But I’m not someone else.

I’m me.

Sometimes We Just Need to Listen

This world has gotten so fast-paced. With the tap of a finger, we can move from one thing to the next and receive almost instant gratification. Somewhere along the way, I think we’ve lost the ability to simply sit with someone in their feelings and let them feel.

Listening seems to be becoming a lost art.

Instead, it sometimes feels like it has been replaced with, Hurry up and get over it so we can move on to the next thing.

On top of an already emotional week, I got hit with some unfortunate financial news.

Any kind of bad news is difficult, but you know what it feels like when something messes with your money. It affects your livelihood, and suddenly your mind starts calculating all the ways this one thing could snowball into ten other things.

After taking that punch to the chin, I decided not to tell anyone.

Not out of pride.

I simply didn’t want to hear:

“Oh, you know it could be worse.”

And then have someone start reminding me of all the blessings in my life.

I know I’m blessed.

I know my neighbor may have it worse.

I know… I know… I know…

But sometimes we just need to sit with our problems for a little while. We need to be allowed to feel all the feelings without feeling like we have to rush through them.

So that is exactly what I did.

I sat with it.

I cried for as long as I wanted to, without anyone around to judge me or tell me how I should feel.

And then I took it to God.

When Life Gets Hard, I Take It to God

I found the promises in His Word, and I prayed them.

I went to Deuteronomy 2:7, where Moses reminds the people that God had been with them through their journey and that, even in the wilderness, they had lacked nothing.

And I thought, God, You’ve taken care of me before. You’re going to take care of me now.

Then I went to 1 Samuel 7:12, when Samuel raised the Ebenezer stone as a reminder:

Thus far the Lord has helped us.

Thus far.

Those two words hit me differently that day.

Because when I looked back over my life, I could see all the places where God had already helped me. All the times I didn’t know what I was going to do—and somehow, He made a way.

If He has brought me this far, I can trust Him with what comes next.

And finally, I prayed Genesis 50:20.

Joseph looked at something that had been intended for evil and recognized that God was able to use it for good.

So I reminded myself that just because something feels bad right now doesn’t mean God can’t bring something good from it.

The Problem Was Still There. But So Was God.

And you know what?

I felt better.

Did my financial situation miraculously change in that moment?

No.

But something did change.

My perspective.

God reminded me—not that it could be worse—but that He loves me.

He reminded me that He has provided before.

He reminded me that He has helped me this far.

And He reminded me that even the things that hurt can be placed into His hands and used for good.

The problem was still there.

But so was God.

And somehow, knowing that made the problem feel a little less heavy.

Maybe that’s what I needed all along.

Not someone to fix it.

Not someone to compare my pain to someone else’s.

Not someone to tell me how blessed I am so I’ll hurry up and stop being sad.

I just needed a safe place to feel it—and then a reminder that I wouldn’t have to carry it alone.

As humans, we can’t perfectly meet that standard. That’s why we need Jesus.

But we sure could take a page out of His book and simply love people.

Don’t judge them.

Don’t compare their pain.

Don’t remind them that it could be worse.

Sometimes, just sit with them.

Listen.

Love them.

And be there.

Because sometimes that is all we need.

Have you ever needed someone to simply listen instead of reminding you that things could be worse? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.