“I Can’t Imagine What You’re Going Through” Isn’t Comforting—Here’s Why

Some words are meant to wrap grievers in comfort, but land like a painful jab in the chest.

Few phrases are more hurtful than: “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

If you’ve been on the receiving end of these words in the aftermath of loss—whether it was a death, a divorce, a diagnosis, or some other life-altering event—you probably know exactly how alienating it feels to hear them in response to your circumstances.

You might receive this phrase in a sympathy card, in the comments of a social media post, over email or text, or even in person.

It's usually offered with the best of intentions. But good intentions don’t change the fact that this phrase often causes emotional pain.

As someone who helps grieving people rebuild life after devastating loss, I’m passionate about the power of language to comfort—and how easily the words we use can turn into a source of pain and distance when we’re not careful.

Let’s take a closer look at the phrase “I can’t imagine what you’re going through”—its origins, why it’s so common, how it subtly separates the speaker from you, the griever, and what you as a grieving person can request the people around you say instead.

The Origins of “I Can’t Imagine What You’re Going Through”

So where did this phrase come from?

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through” is a fairly recent go-to phrase people use when someone they know is grieving.

It likely evolved from earlier, more deferential expressions of empathy—such as “I’m so sorry for your loss,” or “I can’t begin to understand your pain.” It may have even been society’s idea of improvement upon other phrases such as “I understand,” or “I know what you’re going through,” which imply that the speaker knows exactly what it’s like to be in the griever’s shoes (which of course, is not possible).

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through” is a phrase built with the intention to comfort, and to relay the uniqueness of grief. Because no one can possibly be inside of a griever’s exact experience. In theory, it’s designed to be supportive. But instead of drawing the speaker closer to the grieving person, it inadvertently creates distance.

It has the appearance of deep compassion, but the felt impact is shallow, dismissive, and painful.

And in a grief-illiterate culture that prizes positivity, control, productivity, and silver linings, it can be easier to say "I can't imagine" in passing to a grieving person than to take a moment to pause and come up with something more empathetic and personal.

Why People Think It’s Comforting

Sometimes people say this phrase because they genuinely don’t know what else to say in response to your pain or loss.

They’re overwhelmed by the intensity, suddenness, or complexity of what you’re experiencing. They’re afraid of “making you cry” or “reminding you of your loss.” They want to acknowledge your grief without accidentally saying the “wrong thing.” So they default to something that sounds helpful and humble:

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

For a lot of people, I can see how this phrase feels like a safe script—one that avoids assumptions, doesn’t risk comparison, is short and easy to send across any medium, and communicates the magnitude of your pain. But beneath the surface, it’s often more about the speaker’s discomfort than the griever’s experience.

As cofounder of Modern Loss Rebecca Soffer puts it in a TIME article about COVID grief:

“The truth is, it’s not that [speakers] can’t imagine the experience. It’s that [they] don’t want to. In saying that the deep loss someone is feeling is too unbearable to picture, what [speakers] are really doing is drawing a line: not mine, not ours, only yours.”

That’s precisely what “I can’t imagine” does. It politely sidesteps the vulnerability of bearing witness to grief together and keeps the onus of coping entirely on your shoulders.

What Grievers Actually Hear When Someone Says “I Can’t Imagine”

When someone says “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” here’s how it often lands in the ears and inboxes of grievers:

• “Your life is too horrific for me to relate to.”

• “I’d rather not get close to your pain.”

• “This is genuinely unimaginable to me… so I won’t even try.”

• “Your reality is my worst nightmare.”

• “Something like this would never happen to me.”

• “You and I are fundamentally different.”

Even if it’s not what the speaker means, the impact is what matters.

In a beautifully raw piece on Modern Loss, author Kim Goldman writes:

“When someone doesn’t know what to say, ‘I can’t imagine,’ is a phrase many of us hear. It’s said to simultaneously confer great weight upon the situation at hand, while also allowing the person commenting to distance themselves from it.

‘Neither can I,’ is always my response. I say it to make the point that it’s so horrendous that even I, the one who’s living through it, can hardly believe I am. The only difference between us is that I wasn’t afforded the luxury of not living through my child’s death.”

Exactly.

Grieving people often already feel as if their pain is too big, too much, too inconvenient. When they hear that someone can’t imagine what they’re going through, it reinforces the idea that they are “other,” untouchable, irreparably broken—not only that, but despite the fact there is a real human person communicating with them, that human can’t or doesn’t want to “imagine”—so the griever is left to deal with the fallout from their loss alone.

It’s like saying: “I see your pain. From wayyyyyyy over here.”

Imagination Isn’t the Problem—It’s the Bridge

Here’s the irony. Generally, people talking to you about your loss can imagine what you’re going through.

They might not know exactly what it’s like to lose their person or experience your loss, but they can imagine fear. They can imagine despair. They can imagine being stuck in lost-ness or uncertainty. They can imagine aching for someone who can never come back, or waking up in a life that is wildly worse than they ever expected it could be.

And when supporters of grievers do try to imagine—even clumsily—it creates connection with you.

So many of my clients and students say that having a friend, family member, or coworker picture their loss and offer compassion from that “empathetic imagining” doesn’t require perfect words. It only requires honest ones.

It’s about the willingness to be with a grieving person in their sorrow instead of shrinking away from it.

What to Say Instead of “I Can’t Imagine What You’re Going Through”

Whether you’re a grieving person looking for alternative words to offer to friends and family hoping to support you or someone who’s struggling to find the words to comfort a griever in your life here are a few alternatives that build connection and relay empathy:

• “I’m heartbroken that you’re going through this.”

• “I’ve never experienced what you’re facing, but I want to understand more if you’re open to sharing.”

• “This is really hard and I can see how much effort you’re putting in each day.”

• “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here with you in it.”

• “I’m imagining how painful this must be, and I wish I could make it easier for you.”

• “This is unfair and awful. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

• “I haven’t forgotten about your loss. Remembering [loved one] matters to me.”

Each of these phrases does something simple but radical:

They stay with the grieving person. They don’t pivot away from the pain. They don’t put up an emotional barrier.

They say: “I’m here. And I care enough to imagine.”

Closing Thoughts: If You’ve Been Hurt by These Words

If someone has said this phrase to you, and it stung, know this: you are not being too sensitive.

Your pain is real, and so is your need for connecting language that feels safe, affirming, and emotionally honest.

And if you’ve said this phrase to someone grieving? That’s okay. Most of us have before we knew better. But once we know better, we can do better.

The thing to keep in mind is this: words matter.

They can build bridges or reinforce walls.

They can soothe or isolate.

They can say, “I’m with you,” or “You’re on your own.”

So, whether you’re a griever or someone supporting a griever, let’s be the people who choose words with care.

Let’s be the people who imagine others’ pain—on purpose, even when it hurts.

Because that’s where healing begins.

Looking for more helpful scripts, tips, and tools for navigating life after loss? Join us in Life After Loss Academy, my online community for grievers all over the world where each week, we wrap words around the experience of loss and use small (sometimes silly) scripts to make living with grief feel just a little bit softer.