Informed perspectives from a practicing psychologist and psychoanalyst
Curator’s Note: Dr. Bronce Rice’s essay and October 2026 monthly update explore the challenges of expressing sadness and the emotional burdens that accompany it, particularly in therapeutic and personal contexts. A practicing psychologist shares insights from working with clients grappling with sorrow, emphasizing how difficult it is to be vulnerable and share feelings. The narrative includes Sally’s experience with profound loss, revealing how sadness can disrupt daily life and interactions. The psychologist acknowledges the discomfort in seeking support and the fear of burdening others. The piece suggests ways individuals can find connection and self-care amidst sadness, underscoring the importance of nurturing relationships and seeking professional help when needed.
Who in your life can you be sad or unhappy around without feeling the need to pretend otherwise?
For me, this question touches on an odd juxtaposition. As a practicing psychologist, people do not come to see me because they feel overly positive or too happy. More often, they are struggling with stress or irritability, difficulties communicating with their loved ones, or the loss of a job or a partner. In other words, they want help exploring why they feel emotionally uncomfortable and what they can do about it.
Thus, in theory, I am someone people can share their uncomfortable emotions with. And yet, even when they are paying me to listen, they often have difficulty talking about their sadness or letting themselves feel the full depth of it. Nor does being alone necessarily make it any easier.
Even in my own company, I can still feel I should be trying to feel better, following the familiar advice to “smile even when you don’t feel like it.”
I’ve also had numerous people apologize wholeheartedly for crying as they reach for the tissue box in front of them. I tell them there’s nothing to apologize for and they’re in the right place to talk about what’s bothering them. One person responded, “But that’s the thing. I don’t like being a bother.” And that’s the thing with sadness. It can feel good to have a good cry and let out all our worries. Yet at the same time, we can worry that our sadness will be too much for the person we’re with. And I’ve often wondered: are they worried their sadness is too much for me, or are they more worried it will feel too much for them?
And isn’t that what sadness is to some degree — an acknowledgment that something feels painful in our emotional experience, and that it’s hard to move on from in the moment? We may still want what we’ve lost, or what we had hoped would become part of our lives. In a strange way, our sadness can keep us connected to that desire. We may want to feel better and yet find it difficult to separate feeling better from letting go.
We may hope that talking about our sadness will help in some way, but what if it only seems to make us feel sadder afterward? Do we want to keep sharing if it means feeling more of what we’re already struggling with?
While I’m often uncertain about when I feel safe enough to share more of my sadness, there are times when I feel a bit sadder but also more comfortable for doing so — a little more at home with the person I’ve shared with. I don’t have many of these people in my life, and I don’t share often — perhaps because I’m so used to being the one who listens. I suppose I feel a bit more exposed and vulnerable without my listening hat on. I imagine it feels this way for most of us.
And then there is the situation that feels like a magical sweet spot. The one where you tell another person what you’ve been struggling with and feel somehow relieved or comforted — understood in the moment, and also a bit closer to them. I often find a moment like this can be the beginning of a closer friendship, a more trusting relationship with a colleague, or a deepening of the work in therapy. And yet what happens if our sharing does little to change the circumstances under which our sadness arose?
This can leave us feeling a mixture of gratitude and discouragement should our sadness return. Then come the eternal questions: how long will our somber mood last, and do we have any say over the feelings we’re struggling with? Do we not have the right to some of the same happiness or ease that others seem to enjoy?
And then comes what is perhaps the hardest part for me. Do I share again with the person who helped me feel some comfort in my time of need? I want to tell them how much their listening means to me, but I may also want to tell them I’m still feeling sad. I mean, people pay me to listen. I pay my therapist, Mel, to listen, but he’s not my friend. What if my friend gets tired of listening to me? What if they feel burdened? What if I’m too much? And now I find myself sounding just like my patient: “I don’t like being a bother.”
And should our sadness persist, we can find ourselves caught between wanting to get on with our lives and not feeling interested in doing the things we ordinarily enjoy. Going out to meet up with friends may feel like pushing ourselves to do more than we have the energy for, while staying home may leave us disappointed in ourselves for missing out on the fun. We can begin to miss simply looking forward to seeing our friends without having to talk ourselves into it.
The Story of Sally
When Sally came to see me, she spoke with bitterness about having lost her father, her job, and whatever else “I can remember liking about myself.” Before her father died, she had been happy, working as vice president of sales at a marketing company she loved. Making money felt exciting and important to her. Her father had been the person she turned to for support, and when he became ill with cancer, he moved in with her so she could care for him.
After his death, she had a hard time sleeping, and eventually even getting out of bed in the morning became difficult. Life no longer felt important to her, and she stopped working out and answering the phone. Even her job brought little satisfaction. Why get out of bed? To land another major client who only wanted to make money and cared nothing for everyday people?
She began taking sick days, and when she did make it to work, she struggled to keep up with her responsibilities. Small disagreements with her boss turned into arguments, even in front of clients, and several of her assignments were given to other managers. After she lost a major client, her boss suggested a temporary leave of absence. Looking back, she knew she had good reason to take the leave. At the time, though, she took the suggestion to mean that her boss no longer wanted her at the company. Angry and hurt, she quit on the spot and walked out, yelling for all to hear how much she’d done for the company over the years.
At first, she didn’t mind not going to work. She was staying up later and later and preferred to sleep in when she could. Soon, though, she was sleeping only four or five hours a night and began drinking to help ease her irritation over having quit her job. She kept wondering whether she should call her boss and ask about coming back, and wishing she could talk it over with her father.
She remembered talking to him almost every day after work, excited to tell him about the new clients she had landed and the advertising proposals she was helping them develop. “Before my dad died, I remember feeling pretty good about my life. Since he died, I haven’t felt good about much of anything. Even if I tried to go back to work, I don’t know if they’d take me. And besides, I don’t think I’d enjoy it like I used to. I’d like to look forward to something. Since Dad died, I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
Several months into our work together, Sally conveyed that she had been holding back during our sessions. “You must be tired of hearing me talk about all the same painful stuff,” she said. She had been sharing any signs of improvement she could muster while leaving out just how sad she continued to feel. We talked about how hard it was to share the full depth of her sadness when she felt she needed to focus more on the progress she was making.
With tears in her eyes, she told me she had started meeting friends for lunch again, but coming home to an empty house without her father there still felt very painful. “Besides my father, you’re the first person I’ve talked to about how deeply sad I can get,” she said. “He understood those feelings, too — we were both young when my mother died.”
What Sally’s situation points to is a common struggle when sadness lingers or gradually deepens. We may want company, but when a friend or loved one calls, talking can feel like an effort, and we immediately wish we could get off the phone. Then, left alone again, we may feel no more comfortable with ourselves than we were with our friend. As Sally’s experience shows, it can be especially troubling to feel unable to be the person we’ve known ourselves to be.
We may get through our workday or an evening out with friends and come home exhausted, wondering why it took so much out of us. In my own struggles with deeper sadness, I’ve had a particularly hard time with the thought of getting up and doing it all over again. I often feel like I don’t have the energy for it, and at a deeper level, I begin to worry: What if I never enjoy myself ever again? And for me, that’s when I know I’m in for a rougher ride and had better get to my therapist’s office. No sad music — no Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” or Robin Trower’s “Bridge of Sighs.” Head deep into the woods, commune with nature, and pray this one doesn’t last as long as the last one.
My hope is that a few extra visits with Mel and some extra-long walks in the woods will help me take the edge off the worst of it. I know it can take time before I feel better, but I’m not always the most patient when I don’t know how long my sadness will stick around. And then there’s the situation where a loved one or friend asks how we’re doing, and it can feel awkward if we don’t have better news to share. We may wish we could tell them we’re still having a hard time without making either of us feel uncomfortable. And who among us hasn’t repeated the phrase, “I’m sure I’ll feel better soon”?
I’ve even put off seeing close friends I care about, hoping I’ll feel better by the time the next gathering comes around. When we do make plans, I suggest a shorter visit — maybe a quick bite to eat and a short walk or hike afterward, if we feel up to it. I try to let them know I’m not feeling my best without saying too much about what’s going on. I’d rather see how I feel when we meet in person. I find that once I get moving on a hike and the endorphins kick in, I feel a little better and more comfortable talking about myself and what I’m going through.
It’s easier for me to talk with a friend who has been open with me about their own struggles. I can leave a visit with my friend still feeling sad and yet at the same time be glad that we spent the time together. A bit of a both-and situation. And rarely do I feel that my friends don’t enjoy the visit as well.
But what if the question I raised at the beginning leaves us struggling to find anyone we can turn to? We may have tried to share and felt let down. For instance, a friend or colleague may have offered advice, and however helpful it might be, what we really wanted was to feel heard and understood. However, for some of us, there may be no friend or colleague we feel close enough to turn to.
With this in mind, here are a few practices that may help us find support and care for ourselves when our sadness feels difficult to bear.
Finding Someone We Can Turn To
If no one comes to mind, it may be worth looking beyond the people we already know. We could begin by asking our primary care doctor for a therapist recommendation or looking into a support group for people going through difficulties similar to our own. If we’re grieving, for instance, a bereavement group may give us a place to talk with others who know what it’s like to miss someone deeply. Of course, talking with people we don’t know can feel awkward, particularly when we’re used to keeping our sadness to ourselves. We can begin by asking about the group or arranging an initial conversation with a therapist and seeing how we feel talking with them. We don’t have to know how to explain everything we’re going through before making that first call.
When Caring for Ourselves Becomes Difficult
As we saw with Sally, sadness can affect our sleep and gradually interfere with the ways we ordinarily care for ourselves. We may know that eating regularly, getting outside, or going to bed at a reasonable hour would help, yet find ourselves doing less of each as the days go by. One place to begin is by noticing which of our usual ways of caring for ourselves has become difficult to keep up with. From there, we can consider what feels possible that day. A short walk may feel manageable when a workout doesn’t, or we might ask someone to join us for a meal when we haven’t felt much like cooking. There will be days when even these efforts feel difficult. That, too, is worth talking about with the person we turn to for support.
Staying Involved Before We Feel Like Ourselves Again
We don’t always know when we’ll feel ready to see friends, and in the meantime, we can miss people we would actually like to see. It may help to think about a visit we could manage as we feel now. Perhaps we meet one friend for lunch instead of joining a larger gathering, or take a short walk together with the understanding that we may not feel very talkative. Afterward, we can consider what the time together was like without judging it solely by whether our sadness lifted. Did we feel comfortable? Was it good to hear about our friend’s life or spend time in their company? We may still wish we felt better and also find that we would like to see them again.
I’d be interested to hear what has helped you feel comfortable talking with someone when you’re sad. What was it about them that made them easier to talk to?
If you missed my September updates, here is the link to it:
How to Find Support
If you’re unsure where to begin, these resources may help:
Psychology Today has a directory for finding a therapist in your area, including those who work with sadness, depression, and grief. You can narrow your search by selecting your insurance provider and what you would like help with.
The Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance offers free online peer support groups for people living with depression or bipolar disorder.
If you need someone to talk to right now, you can call or text 988 in the United States for emotional support, including during a suicidal crisis.
If my writing has been useful to you, or to someone you love, and you’d like to support the time and care that goes into it, you can do so here.
More Work by Dr Bronce Rice
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