Misery Needs Company
Written by Allana Walker, Canada
It was a typical Tuesday night. My friends and I had laughed together over plates of chicken wings and naan. We’d swapped stories about our days, our weeks, and our Christmas holidays. We’d spent an hour cracking open the Bible and discussing the spiritual gift of exhortation together. Now, it was time to pray.
Just before we opened the floor for prayer requests, one of my friends spoke up.
“I wanted to say something at the beginning, but the conversation got going and I didn’t want to interrupt,” she said in her soft, gentle way.
The rest of us looked at her attentively, leaning in to hear what was on her heart.
“It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen you guys, and I thought it would be good for us to check in with everyone. How are you all doing?”
At first, none of us spoke. My friend’s question, voiced with earnestness and sincerity, shifted the entire tone of our conversation. The atmosphere in the room changed. People lowered their gaze. Smiles faded from their faces.
Her inquiry was not one of superficial small talk—not a casual, off-hand greeting, but a sincere invitation to lower the masks we so often wear . . . even with people we trust.
As I waited to see who would speak first, panic swept over me. My heart pounded in my chest.
I can’t tell them how I’m really doing! No way! I’ve been so frustrated and miserable lately . . . If I tell them how I’m feeling, I’ll ruin the whole mood, I thought.
Fear swirled through my mind. My stomach churned with anxiety. And then one of my friends piped up from across the room.
“I’ll go first,” she offered. I looked eagerly at my sweet friend. She was the bubbliest, most extroverted gal I knew, but tonight her voice carried a note of heaviness.
As my friend opened up about her work-related frustrations, the atmosphere in the room shifted again. Shoulders relaxed. Faces softened. Our whole group seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.
One by one, we lowered our masks.
For the next hour and a half, the fourteen of us unburdened our hearts to one another, sharing our joys and sorrows. We spoke candidly of Christmas grief, medical diagnoses, workplace challenges, and broken relationships.
By the time it was my turn to share, fear and panic had subsided within me. Listening to my friends’ anxieties and frustrations made me realize I was not alone. I didn’t need to hide my bitterness or sorrow from my friends. Their authenticity gave me the courage to be genuine.
The Power of Vulnerability
That conversation with my friends reminded me of what Brené Brown discussed in her book Daring Greatly: When we are vulnerable with others, it encourages them to be vulnerable with us.
When we are brave enough to be honest with people we trust—to share our hearts with them, without the fear of rejection—that in turn encourages others to be honest with us.
Vulnerability is the birthplace of relationship.
Contrary to what I feared, sharing my sorrows did not “bring down the mood”. Much to my surprise, my frustrations were an encouragement to my friends. Knowing that we were all dealing with unique challenges made us feel better. Listening to everyone else’s problems made ours seem less isolating and overwhelming.
We see the call to be vulnerable with one another throughout the Bible. As Paul writes in Romans 12:15, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” There’s a time and place for both in our friendships, which echoes King Solomon’s words in Ecclesiastes 3:4; “[There is] a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance…”.
We’re created to be in community with others. Strong communities require nurturing. It takes time, honesty, and intentionality to build trustworthy friendships. Throughout his letters, Paul talks a lot about how we as the people of God should live with and among one another. To the Galatians, he writes: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). How can we carry each other’s burdens if we don’t know what they are?
My friends and I don’t always spend two hours pouring out our grief to one another. We’re a group of goofballs, and we know how to have a good time.
Laughter is a regular part of our routine. So are surprise birthday parties. And movie nights. And campfires. And joyful noise-making, roof-raising worship sessions.
I love those crazy people for all the silliness, bubbliness, and happiness they bring to my life.
But I love them most because I know I can trust them. If I’m in crisis, they’re the ones I call for help. When I’m discouraged, they’re the ones I turn to for prayer support.
They’re the first ones I share my victories with because they’re the ones who have seen me through defeat.
My friend group is a joyful one. Counterintuitive as it may seem, our shared sorrow is a key component of that joy. Our laughter would not be half as sweet if it was not mingled with the occasional tear.
Allana is a writer and editor from Atlantic, Canada. She loves singing, baking sourdough, and exploring the beautiful East Coast. She is passionate about Christian theology, mental health, and human flourishing. You can read more of her writing here or connect with her on Instagram: @allanalynnwalker.
