How do you get over it?
Ever been there? Something terrible happens and you can’t escape the grief. Or maybe a whole lot of things just accumulate and you just don’t feel very positive about life. Unwanted tears appear without warning. You feel stifled under a heavy blanket of pervasive sadness. The fog of depression or grief blurs everything and obscures vision and hope.
You’re tired of this crummy feeling. Perhaps others have become impatient with your less-than-cheery attitude. You—or they—want it to just go away.
Get over it. Snap out of it. Just forget it and move on.
Ever heard (or said) any of those to someone—or to yourself? Either way, the message is clear: Enough, already! Let it go and get on with life.
What if you don’t want to go to the next thing? What if it’s not time, or you’re not ready, or you just can’t see how it’s possible?
After my injury I spent ten years buried in depression. Others told me to move on. I told myself to let it go. I knew that I was wasting my life and destroying relationships, but I had no clue how to do anything about it.
How do you just “get over it” when “it” just hurts too badly?
Should?
I don’t think you do. When I hear “you should just let it go” I want to reply, “Don’t should on me!” (You have to say it aloud to get the full effect.)
“Get over it” feels dismissive and uncompassionate. I doubt if anyone ever just got over it because someone flippantly told them to.
WDJD (what did Jesus do?)
Jesus wept.
It’s the Bible’s shortest verse [John 11:35]. Jesus’ close friend Lazarus had died and Jesus confronted his grieving sisters.
Jesus knew what was about to happen. He knew that Lazarus would walk from his tomb as a sign of God’s glory.
He might have chastised Martha for her lack of faith. He could have reminded her that her brother “was in a better place.” He could have admonished her to just get over it.
Verse 33 tells us He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. He didn’t tell Martha and the other mourners to snap out of it. Even though He knew their grief would momentarily turn to joy, He expressed compassion and shared their sorrow. At the brink of a miracle, Jesus wept.
The experience of Relentless Grace taught me that emerging from darkness isn’t about simplistic platitudes. I knew I needed to move forward, but I didn’t know how. Thankfully, God didn’t dismiss my grief and tell me to get over it as I continued on a path of anguish and misery.
I believe that Jesus wept when I fell and shattered my neck. I believe He wept beside my bed as I suffered emotionally and physically. I believe He walked every step of my long journey through darkness.
He wanted me to emerge into the light. He brought people who helped me, and I believe He smiled when I finally found a way out.
But while I suffered, I believe He wept.
It does get better—eventually. God provides new beginnings in even the darkest circumstances. Certainly there are things we can do to assist with the process, to encourage others or ourselves. Wallowing in self-pity isn’t the answer.
But please—don’t tell me, or yourself, to just get over it.
What can you do to help someone—or yourself—through a difficult time without dismissing the struggle?
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Copyright 2010 by Rich Dixon, All Rights Reserved. Used by permission.
Rich is an author and speaker. He is the author of: 
Relentless Grace: God’s Invitation To Give Hope Another Chance. Visit his web site www.relentlessgrace.com
“But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken!” Matthew 12:36
If you’re any sort of sports fan you know about Michael Vick. He’s a pro football player who was convicted and sent to prison for financing and participating in a dog fighting operation. The details are literally unspeakable. You can Google him if you wish. I wouldn’t recommend it.
Bitterness also seems to create a cycle like the steps in the picture. The poison engenders more anger and an escalating desire for vengeance, leading to even greater bitterness. It’s an endless death spiral, every downward step leading inevitably to the next.
We’re apparently programmed to think of nearly every aspect of our lives in terms of a linear continuum.

