Expressing Concern Is Selfish.
- Jul 27
- 3 min read
Updated: 22 hours ago
Last week, my mom told me she was worried about me.
Actually, she said, "We're worried about you."
There are few phrases that land more heavily in my body than those four words.
Expressing concern is a complicated exchange that I'm going to unpack.
Adding "we" to the statement tells you a committee of two or more has convened.
When someone says, "We're worried about you," what they're often asking—without realizing it—is for you to carry their worry, too.
And sometimes, that is selfish.
What we call "concern" usually falls into one of three categories.
The first protects.
The second transfers.
The third judges.
Only one of those is actually about the other person.
There are moments when expressing concern is absolutely the right thing to do.
If someone you love is abusing alcohol.
If they're in an unhealthy relationship that they can't yet see.
If they're engaging in behavior that is putting their wellbeing at risk.
Say something.
Those conversations are uncomfortable, but they can save lives.
Sometimes love interrupts destructive patterns.
But not all concern is created equal.
The second is the one I've been thinking about the most.
This is when someone expresses concern about something you're already working to address.
Your health.
Your marriage.
Your child's diagnosis.
Your job loss.
Your grief.
Your infertility.
Your depression.
Your hormones.
Whatever it is, you're already living it.
You're already carrying it.
You're already trying to figure out what to do next.
Then someone says,
"I'm really worried about you."
What have they actually added?
Not information.
Not a solution.
Not support.
They've simply placed their anxiety on top of yours.
They feel a little lighter because they've offloaded it.
You feel a little heavier because now you're carrying theirs, too.
That's what happened in my exchange with my mother.
When I heard, "We're worried about you," my body didn't hear love.
It heard another thing I was now responsible for on top of what I was managing.
Another emotional load to carry.
Another group of people I needed to reassure that I was okay.
That wasn't my mom's intention.
I know that.
But intention and impact are not the same thing.
Look at the difference between these two statements:
"We're concerned about you."
verus
"You have so much you're carrying right now. How are you doing? How can I help?'"
One asks me to regulate your anxiety.
The other offers to help regulate mine.
One observes.
The other participates.
One creates distance.
The other moves closer.
That's care.
Then there's the third kind of concern.
The one that's actually judgment wearing compassion as a disguise.
I've experienced this one more times than I can count.
When I left corporate America to start my first company, friends and family sat me down because they were "concerned."
They weren't concerned because I was in danger.
They were concerned because they wouldn't have made the same decision.
They didn't understand it.
It made them uncomfortable.
So they called it concern.
I've seen this happen in a multitude of ways.
Someone expresses concern when others...
Leave marriages.
Move across the country.
Change careers.
Decide not to have children.
Homeschool.
Take medication.
Start businesses.
Close businesses.
Choose differently than the people around them.
Sometimes what we label as concern is simply our inability to understand someone else's path.
And that's ours to work through.
Not theirs.
Before we tell someone we're worried about them, I invite us to ask ourselves a few questions.
Am I offering new information they genuinely cannot see?
Or am I reminding them of something they already carry every single day?
Am I offering support?
Or am I asking them to manage my anxiety?
Am I expressing care?
Or am I expressing discomfort with a decision I wouldn't make myself?
And perhaps the most important question of all:
What am I actually hoping this conversation accomplishes?
Because if the answer is simply, "I needed to say it," then maybe the conversation isn't really for them.
Maybe it's for us.
Words matter.
Not just because of what they mean.
But because of what they ask another person to hold.
Sometimes the most loving thing we can say isn't:
"I'm worried about you."
It's:
"You don't have to carry this alone."
That message doesn't add weight.
It helps carry it.
If my writing has made you feel supported, I want to make sure I can keep doing it.
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xoxo,
Erin