We’ve all failed at something in our lives. Some failures we remember as the “Big Ones.” Others are a distant memory.
When I was in middle school we were headed to a band competition. I had practiced this particular composition what seemed like a million times. I played the flute day and night preparing for what I knew to be something important. My band teacher was impressed and she knew I was ready.

The morning of the competition a friend sat down on my flute and bent it. I sobbed, kicked a few things, calmed down and reassured my friend it was okay. I would figure something out. I got to school and another student offered to let me borrow hers. Then I realized I had forgotten my sheet music with my highlights and notes. There was no time to go back home and get them before the bus left. I was devastated.

I stood there before many strangers and peers and bombed. I was nervous. I was frustrated that it wasn’t my flute. And I was looking at a crisp, clean set of music notes that I knew weren’t mine. My notes were off and you could hear the nervousness in my breath. Not to mention the look on my teachers’ face telling me I definitely failed.
I sat against the window of the bus on the way home and cried. I had worked for nothing. I had spent countless hours on something only to fail. People were dissapointed in me and I was dissapointed in myself. To this day I don’t particularly care to see a flute.
My mom tried to reassure me that everything would be okay. My non flute playing friends told me it was no big deal. “Be proud that you tried. You’ll do better next year. Let’s go get some ice cream and forget about it.”
Do you know what I really needed? Silence. Understanding. Just a shoulder to cry on.
I needed empathy. 
Sometimes I struggle to offer that to others because I want to fix things. If you’re crying, let me fix it. If you’re sad, let me tell a joke to make you laugh. If you’re sick, let me bring you soup. If you’re mad let me beat someone up. (Okay, that last one is a joke. Kinda.)
But sometimes people just need to cry. I need to be sad with them – not focus on making them smile. I need to let them be angry and just be there when they’re done.
We need to let people fail. And when they do consider, the next step before we just “do” the next step. Do they need a hug? Do they need words of affirmation? Do they simply need you to sit there with them and just “be?”
Understand with them.
What is something else I didn’t mention we can offer someone through their failures? Comment below…