What's Genuinely Helpful vs. What Just Makes Me Feel Better?

By Cody Hufstedler, Palliative Care Chaplain and Host of "Dying To Tell You"

In my decade-plus of working as a palliative care chaplain, I've witnessed countless well-meaning friends and family members struggle with this fundamental question: How do I actually help someone who's facing a terminal diagnosis? The answer often lies not in what makes us feel better about the situation, but in what genuinely serves the person we're trying to support.

I know how difficult it can be for us all to acknowledge—much less talk about—the fact that we're all born with an expiration date. But I've also discovered that when we move past our own discomfort and focus on what truly helps, we can offer something much more valuable than our anxiety disguised as assistance.

The most common phrase I hear from loving people is "What can I do?" followed by "Let me know if you need anything." These questions, while born from genuine care, often miss the mark entirely. When someone is navigating a serious illness, they're already overwhelmed with medical appointments, treatment decisions, and emotional processing. The last thing they need is to become your project manager, fielding offers of help and trying to think of tasks for you to complete.

Instead of asking what you can do, try asking specifically about concrete needs. "Can I bring dinner on Tuesday?" is infinitely more helpful than "What can I do?" It removes the burden of decision-making from someone who's already carrying more than they should have to bear. Through my conversations on the podcast, I've learned that people facing terminal illnesses often appreciate when others take initiative in thoughtful, specific ways.

Consider the difference between these approaches: showing up with groceries because you noticed their pantry was getting low versus calling to ask if they need groceries. The first demonstrates attentiveness and care; the second adds another item to their mental to-do list. When we offer vague help, we're often seeking reassurance for our own feelings of helplessness rather than addressing their actual needs.

What I've learned is that genuine helpfulness requires us to step outside our own emotional needs and really observe what's happening in front of us. It means paying attention to their energy levels, their daily rhythms, and their expressed preferences rather than our assumptions about what would make us feel better if we were in their situation.

The people I interview for "Dying To Tell You" consistently tell me that the most helpful supporters are those who notice without being asked. They're the ones who quietly refill the water pitcher, who bring lunch without fanfare, who offer to walk the dog or pick up prescriptions. These actions don't require emotional labor from the person who's already giving everything they have to their treatment and processing.

Sometimes the most genuine help is simply showing up consistently without expecting anything in return. I often say, "I don't need to be dying to live an intentional life.” This intentionality means recognizing that our desire to help is partly about our own need to feel useful in the face of something we can't fix.

True support means learning to sit with the reality that we can't make this better, but we can make it less lonely. We can't cure their illness, but we can remember to check in without expecting a response. We can't take away their fear, but we can be present with it rather than trying to talk them out of it.

The next time you want to help someone facing a serious illness, pause and ask yourself: Is this offer coming from what I need to feel helpful, or from what they actually need? The answer to that question might be the difference between genuine support and well-intentioned burden. Sometimes the most helpful thing we can do is nothing at all – just witness their experience with love and presence.