Isn’t it wild how the same word or phrase, in another context, can mean a totally different thing? There are probably loads of examples, but the one that comes most easily to my mind is understanding that pants in North America and pants in the United Kingdom are not referring to the same article of clothing.
Pants, in the Americas, refer to a piece of clothing that covers your lower body and encase each leg (you try defining pants without just saying “pants”), whereas in the UK, pants refer to underwear (and what we would call pants they would call trousers).
Obviously, this is not a hugely problematic linguistic difference, and at its worst, would probably only result in a mild-to-moderately embarrassing moment of confusion that could be easily clarified and mostly laughed about.
But what about other simple and common phrases that land with a completely different impact than intended? There is one in particular that I’ve been the recipient of in recent years, and I think it’s time to officially lay it to rest.
That phrase is “at least.” It may not sound like much, but hear me out. I have good reasons for retiring this phrase.
Now, I would guess that most of us, most of the time, want to be good and caring people. I genuinely believe that we are usually, from our hearts, striving to be caring and empathetic and compassionate.
And yet, here we are, listening to someone share something disappointing, challenging or outright painful, and our first response is to say, “At least…” and then proceed to transform ourselves into an insensitive and condescending jerkwad, without our even knowing it. Whoopsie.
How often, in a conversation with someone who is sharing some kind of misfortune, have you found yourself responding with an earnest and well-intended, “Well, at least…” and then proceeded to paint a a turd with glitter, making up some silver lining to lessen the negativity?
Probably pretty often. I know for a fact that I’ve said it, in an attempt to connect and relate to a person who is sharing something that isn’t awesome. It’s a customary and unexceptionally normal thing to say, and I’m endeavouring to never utter it ever again.
“At least” is at best trite and useless, and at worst, completely minimizes what the person is experiencing and invalidates the way a person is feeling about it. I’m pretty sure that’s not what we, the listener, are going for, and I’m fairly certain it’s not the supportive and connected conversation for which the speaker was hoping.
Instead of feeling seen and heard, “at least” leaves a person feeling shut down and alienated in their trials and tribulations, instead. “At least” adds unnecessary shame and guilt on top of pain and suffering. We can even be heard saying it to ourselves, gaslighting ourselves out of our true experience and invalidating our thoughts and feelings.
Have you noticed how quickly a conversation changes direction after “at least” makes an appearance? It tends to change lanes almost immediately, into a more superficial nodding of heads about how much worse the thing could’ve been, or shifts to another topic entirely.
When we say “at least” to someone, we’re telling them that however they’re feeling or thinking about their circumstances is the wrong way to feel or think, or that they are not entitled to their experience. And we do it because we don’t know what else to say, and that makes us uncomfortable, and we want them to feel better, because we are good people (and also because if they feel better, we get to not feel as uncomfortable).
When I lost my pregnancy at few years ago, so many well-meaning and kind people tried to reassure me by telling me that “At least I knew I could get pregnant,” or “At least I wasn’t farther along,” or “At least we could try again for another baby.”
But you know what? I didn’t want another baby. I wanted the one I was carrying. The one that was lost. The one that made me a mother I didn’t get to be. And these several years later, I remember each of those “at leasts” with painful clarity and resentment, as we are facing a reality in which we never did get to become parents.
And all of that grief and sadness and anger and resentment and disappointment got shoved backwards into me, silenced by a well-intended “at least,” which translates into “You know, it could be worse,” as though that’s of any comfort, when, I guarantee you, it isn’t. Just because something could be worse than it already is doesn’t change how crappy it actually is in this right-here, right-now moment.
When my mother died last year, mere months after we’d experienced a miraculous reconciliation and many months sooner than we’d all expected to lose her, I lost track of the number of people who said “At least you got the chance to reconcile”, as though it wasn’t the cruelest turn of fate to rob my mother and I of the new and precious mother-daughter relationship that had eluded us for a lot of our lifetime together. As though I’m selfish for wishing for more than five wonderful but meagre months of reciprocated love and connection with my mother before she was gone forever.
Do not dare to “at least” my grief and my pain and my heartbreak. There is no “at least” about this. I am full up with impossible quantities of emotions that I would never have thought could cohabitate all at the same time in my heart: gratitude and sorrow, grief and awe, love and loss, regret and nostalgia, loneliness and love.
We are under no obligation to resolve our inner emotional landscapes to appease someone else’s lack of comfort with all that a heart can hold while it breaks.
The problem with saying “at least” to someone is that it reprimands them for not being grateful for what they got or that it wasn’t worse. And it implies that they aren’t already aware of the fact that it could be worse (as if our human minds don’t calculate that statistical outcome nearly immediately after anything happens to us).
Reprimanding a person who is already experiencing hardship or heartbreak is not caring and it’s not cool.
What “at least” actually teaches a person who is courageous enough to share vulnerably with you is that you were the wrong person to open up to and confide in. They thought you were someone they could trust with their sorrow, and you’ve shown them that you are not. That instead of empathy and compassion, you will meet them with judgment and condescension.
Whatever’s going on over there is already hard enough, and the person sharing would probably rather they were feeling just about anything other than what they’re feeling, but wishing it were different doesn’t make it so.
So, my invitation is to stop saying “at least” and start just listening instead. If you actually care (and I hope/believe that you do), then start acting like it. Be curious. Listen to someone in order to hear and understand how they are feeling about what is going on in their life, without spouting a bunch of toxic positivity trying to shift them into feeling differently than they do, to manipulate them into a conversation you’re more comfortable having.
Here are a few things you could say instead of “at least” when someone confides in you:
- I’m so sorry that this is happening/has happened to you.
- I can imagine how I would feel in your shoes, but how are you feeling about it?
- Do you want to talk about it?
- How can I support you with this?
The good news is that you’ll become a better listener and friend. A safer place for someone in a storm. And “at least” you won’t be accidentally becoming a judgmental jerkwad at the same time.
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