It'll be okay. Maybe. Maybe not.
So, should we keep saying it? Maybe. Maybe not.
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Since starting this online writing gig almost 15 years ago, topics I've written about have mostly been about trauma. Same deal with my books. Trauma. Oh sure, I write about other things, too, but I always circle back to the hard stuff.
Long ago, I realized there was great overlap between cancer and grief. Both are traumas of great magnitude. Both are about loss, change, adjustments, moving forward (not on), resisting platitudes, being vulnerable, speaking your truths, perserverence, and the list goes on.
These days, our country is going through trauma of an unprecedented (yeah, I’ve come to hate that word, too) sort. I see that overlap here as well, and that’s what we’re exploring in this essay.
No matter what trauma we’re referring to, should we keep saying to others and to ourselves, it’ll be okay?
As always, I can’t wait to read your thoughts.
It’ll be okay. Maybe. Maybe not.
So, should we keep saying it? Maybe. Maybe not.
The first thing my dad said to me when I entered my parents’ house right after my mother died from metastatic breast cancer was, “It’ll be okay.” I hated hearing that. He said it while gently patting my arm — that was how he expressed his love for me. My dad was never a hugger, and I never once heard him say, I love you. (Though I always knew he did.) Even the simple act of patting my arm didn’t come easily for him. Especially that day, I’m sure.
My mother had just died. Nothing felt okay. It didn’t seem as if anything would ever be okay again. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. He meant to comfort me. I knew that. And yet, those particular words weren’t all that comforting.
When I learned I need chemotherapy and was to have a port surgically placed to deliver said poison, I lost it. Right there in the exam room. Bawled like a baby. Something about needing that combo set me off. Even more so than the day I learned a bilateral mastectomy was recommended. Go figure. I couldn’t make my way to that box of Kleenex fast enough.
Clearly uncomfortable, my surgeon said, “It’ll be okay.”
Again, not what I wanted to hear at that moment.
I had breast cancer. I had just had a bilateral mastectomy. I needed chemotherapy and a port. I had just learned I was BRCA2+. No one knew how anything was going to turn out. No one knew if things would be okay, so how dare anyone say such a thing?
Words that were meant to comfort ended up having the opposite effect.
At the time, those words minimized my feelings. I felt unseen and unheard in my fear.
That’s the thing with platitudes. (I’m not sure if the words, it’ll be okay, count as a platitude. Maybe. Maybe not.) Platitudes downplay the seriousness of whatever the person hearing them is going through.
And yet, we say and hear platitudes all the time following trauma.
(You might want to read, The Unspoken Half of Those Platitudes.)
Americans are going through trauma these days, too. It’s less than three months since 47 was sworn in, and look where we are. Chaos. More division — not less. Massive job cuts. Cuts to programs many care about and/or depend on. Picking unnecessary fights with friends and allies. Signalgate. Tariffs. Rising prices. Unkept promises. Lies and more lies. Deceit. Corruption on full display. Congress falling dismally short. Every day, it's something else.
This is part of the plan — right out of the facsim playbook. Create confusion. Exhaustion. Apathy. That’s the goal. When people feel overwhelmed, they are more likely to give in, stay quiet, and give up.
People are worried, angry, frustrated, afraid, uncertain, and definitely NOT at all sure it’ll be okay. Hundereds, sometimes thousands, are turning up at rallies, protests, and town hall meetings. So, staying quiet or giving up they are not. Not yet anyway.
The other day, Husband and I discussed that we are both ready to join an in-person protest. As an introvert who rarely steps out of her comfort zone in such things and has never been part of a live protest, this is a big deal. A line has been crossed. Making calls and writing emails are no longer enough. We’re ready to take to the streets. Peacefully, of course.
So, do we keep saying (as many do), it’ll be okay?
I’ve never been an optimist. I’m a realist. This can get you on the wrong side of some folks when you’re a cancer patient and subsequently, a cancer patient advocate. Believe me, the Positivity Police are out there in Cancer Land, too, and it’s why I’ve often referred to myself as a cancer rebel.
These days it’s tough to be a realist because we can see with our own eyes what’s happening.
My confidence in the American system of checks and balances is shaken. As it is in the Amercian voters. I’m not so sure anymore that good will prevail. I’m no longer certain things will work out — that our democracy will survive.
And yet… I want to believe.
(Yes, the election results in Wisconsin on April 1 have helped reboot my confidence in fellow voters somewhat. Dare I be optimistic? Not quite yet, but..)
Again, do we keep saying, it’ll be okay?
While thinking about all this turmoil the country’s going through, I came across this excellent piece offering a ray of hope titled, “There Will Be Crocuses” by
. I hope you’ll visit her Substack and give it a read. Below is an excerpt:Then, I remember - there will be crocuses. Crocuses and forsythia - the harbingers of Spring. There will be change…
I look for similar signs in the wider world - tiny patches of pushback and resistance - and envision them spreading and bringing light and joy back into the world. It will take longer than it will take for my fields of flowers to bloom, I know. Still, the possibility soothes me.
Gardens Illustrated suggests that a collection of crocuses might be called a chorus of crocuses. A chorus of crocuses. This is my wish for all of us.
Reading Dr. Meyer’s insightful, soothing piece helped me sort some of this out, or rather, helped clarify what being okay means and whether or not we should keep saying things like, it'll be okay.
No matter what the trauma, whether it be cancer, grief, the state of our democracy, or something else — we can never be sure it’ll be okay. Sometimes things do not turn out okay. Life isn’t that neat and tidy.
And yet, because crocuses appearing every spring is something to be counted on, hope remains.
Such things — along with the people we love and count on — are the things that will continue to validate, encourage, and sustain us. These are the things that make it okay — that make us okay.
Because there will be crocuses, all still might not be okay with the world, but ultimately, we'll be okay. Especially, if like those tiny patches of crocuses, each of us pushes back and takes actions — big or small. By spreading light and joy out into the world, we become the resistance. Together, we can be part of that chorus.
And that, Dear Reader, is why ultimately, we’ll be okay.
To be clear, I still loathe platitudes.
Back to my question one more time…
Even when we have no idea whether or not things will be okay, should we nonetheless keep saying, it’ll be okay?
Maybe. Maybe not.
What do YOU think?
Let's have a conversation about platitudes, what keeps us grounded and hopeful, and whether or not we should keep saying, it'll be okay.
No matter what hard thing you’re going through, how do you feel when someone tells you, it’ll be okay?
Should we keep saying it no matter what?
Do you think things will be okay — that democracy will prevail?
What helps you stay grounded and feeling hopeful?
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Thank you for reading my article. I appreciate you.
As always, I see you. I hear you, and I care about what you have to say.
Until next time…
Take care of yourself, be kind to someone, and be a light.
With much gratitude,
Nancy
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What a thought provoking piece, Nancy. I don't particularly like the phrase, "It'll be okay," yet I understand it. The phrase is used in a moment when we don't know what else to say and we don't want to obliterate any last shred of hope for someone, let alone our own self and our need for hope.
Being okay takes more work these days. I wake up with a prayer of thanks, a life long habit that sets the tone; but often that tone is gone by the time the tea kettle is whistling. Still, I dig around, looking for small, ordinary things that house the extraordinary. And I cling to kindness, because I think kindness is a way of giving; and it's also a reminder that we have so much that we can give it away. Things are not okay in our country right now, and yet as Susan Meyers points out, there will be crocuses.
Also, is it possible that too much positivity can be toxic? That we can talk ourselves out of real feelings and push them down where they will surely grow and make us more uncomfortable? Is part of "It'll be okay," that it strips us of very human emotions that we judge as negative? I want it to be okay -- sometimes the best I can do is to water my plants, love on my husband and my dog, and bring my world down to a smallness that is one step at a time; one breath at a time; one crocus at a time.
And a PS - I had the honor of being in a writing group with Susan Meyer for several months, and I loved and learned from her "keepin' it real" attitude.
Nancy, the current state of our country is so disturbing that I have no idea what will come next, and I’d love to have the certainty that it will be okay. Cancer led to a new normal, and I sure hope that the new normal ultimately will be better than the current state of affairs.