Instructions for Loving Someone Who is Sad

Instructions for Loving Someone Who is Sad

A Poem in the Form of a Guide

Step One:

Do not try to fix them.

They are not a puzzle,

not a broken appliance,

not a wound you can suture with advice.

They are sadness shaped like a person,

and your job is not repair.

Your job is presence.

Step Two:

Speak gently.

Their world is already loud.

They’ve got thunder inside their ribcage,

and silence in their chest.

Speak like you are whispering

to a sleeping animal—

soft, careful, loving.

Step Three:

Stay.

Even when the silence stretches too long.

Even when they say, “I’m fine,”

but look like they’re dissolving.

Even when you feel useless.

Especially then.

Sadness doesn’t always want words.

Sometimes it just wants not to be alone.

Step Four:

Offer warmth in small ways.

A cup of tea. A clean blanket. A playlist.

Run a bath if they haven’t moved.

Make toast.

Water the plants they’ve forgotten.

Small gestures are stars in dark rooms.

Don’t underestimate them.

Step Five:

Do not expect them to “snap out of it.”

Sadness is not a mood,

not a tantrum,

not a bad day.

It is weather.

It moves on its own time.

All you can do is build shelter.

Step Six:

Ask, “How can I love you right now?”

And listen.

Maybe they’ll say,

“Just sit with me.”

Or “Send me something funny.”

Or “Leave me alone but check back later.”

Love isn’t guessing.

It’s asking and adjusting.

Step Seven:

Let go of your ego.

Their sadness is not about you.

It’s not a reflection of your failure.

It’s not your job to be their savior.

Be their companion.

Their witness.

Their quiet, steady lighthouse.

Step Eight:

Don’t be afraid of their pain.

It might scare you.

It might feel like a wave too big to hold.

But remember:

They carry it all day, every day.

If they’ve invited you in,

it’s because they trust you to stand near it.

Step Nine:

Love them without conditions.

Love them when they don’t text back.

Love them when they cancel plans.

Love them when their sadness feels selfish,

when they forget your birthday,

when they stop laughing at your jokes.

Love is not a reward.

It’s a gift.

Step Ten:

Take care of yourself, too.

You can’t pour from an empty cup.

Hold space for your own joy,

your own rest,

your own limits.

It’s okay to step away when needed—

just don’t let the door close behind you.

Bonus Step:

When they begin to laugh again,

don’t say, “You’re finally back.”

They never left.

They were underneath it all—

just hidden by the weight.

Celebrate softly.

Let joy return like birdsong after winter—

tentative, trembling, beautiful.

Epilogue:

To love someone who is sad

is not to rescue them,

but to remind them:

they are still lovable,

even in the dark.

Especially in the dark.

Step Eleven:

Do not compare pain.

Don’t tell them who has it worse.

Don’t remind them of starving children or sunken ships.

Pain is not a competition.

It is a language, and all sorrow is fluent.

Let theirs speak without judgment.

Step Twelve:

Resist the urge to cheer them up.

Joy is not a button you can press.

It’s not a trick.

They may not need sunshine right now—

They may need a hand to sit with them in the storm

and say, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Step Thirteen:

Remember their light still exists.

It hasn’t disappeared.

It’s just under a blanket.

Hold their name like a lit match in the dark.

Remind them who they are

when they’ve forgotten.

Step Fourteen:

Don’t take their distance personally.

They may need to disappear for a while.

They may ghost the world.

This is not rejection.

This is retreat.

Even the brightest stars blink.

Let them rest.

Step Fifteen:

Believe them.

If they say “I’m tired,” don’t assume they mean sleep.

If they say “I can’t,” don’t tell them they can.

Trust their inner weather,

even when it makes no sense to you.

Respect the fog they’re walking through.

Step Sixteen:

Speak their name with gentleness.

Call them back to themselves

like a lullaby, not an alarm clock.

Say:

“I love you.”

“I’m here.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

These are spells. Use them often.

Step Seventeen:

Give them space to be messy.

Let them unravel without shame.

Let them cry over nothing.

Let them cancel plans last minute.

Let them forget the point of the conversation.

Let them feel,

without wrapping it in neatness.

Step Eighteen:

Be the keeper of their hope, when they can’t be.

Hold onto the light they can’t see.

Not loudly,

not forcefully—

just quietly,

like a lantern you set near their bed

so it’s there

when they’re ready to look.

Step Nineteen:

Know this is not forever.

Sadness may come in waves,

but so does healing.

One day, their laugh will return—

not the hollow kind,

but the full-bellied one

you haven’t heard in a while.

When it does,

celebrate in your heart

and say nothing

but “Welcome back.”

Final Step:

Love them without needing them to be okay.

Love them not for their smile,

but for their soul.

Love them when they forget how to love themselves.

Love them not as a cure,

but as a companion.

And in that love,

you become the soft place they fall

until they can stand again.

Epilogue: Gentle Reminder

You cannot save someone from their sadness.

But you can hold their hand while they walk through it.

And sometimes,

that is everything.

Author’s Note:

This poem is for anyone who’s ever felt helpless while loving someone through depression, grief, or silent sorrow.

You don’t need magic. You just need to stay human.