For the past month, I’ve been talking with someone who has severe depression and self-loathing. I listen to him vent, offer advice, and occasionally help him with homework. It’s been one of the more challenging experiences I’ve ever had, since the knowledge that my words influence his mood weighs heavily on my mind.

While I am not an aspiring Psychology major, nor have I had any training in counseling but my own experience, I do the best I can. I have not advised him to seek out a licensed therapist—and I am not entirely sure I should do so, for reasons that are intensely personal to him, and which I will not share.

(A short disclaimer: I realize that many of these thoughts are selfish. I contend that they are human and challenge anyone in my position to think differently.)

Despite these challenges, I have learned an incredible amount about myself in the past month. Perhaps others may also be able to take something away from my experiences

1. Sometimes there is no right thing to say.

There have been many times when I’ve simply been lost for words. When he brings up how much he hates himself, that he is a burden to me, or that he can’t get anything right—those are the moments where I am truly scared that one wrong word might send him over the edge. So far, I have always been able to remind him of the good there is in the world, but I am afraid that the one time I can’t come up with the right words may be the time that it matters most.

2. Sometimes I have to set aside my own feelings.

With each conversation, I cycle through a range of emotions: concern, frustration, relief, anger, exhaustion. It is akin to funneling resources into a black hole, as much of the encouragement I proffer is met with more self-loathing, as if it had not been acknowledged at all. Sometimes I have to walk away or even utter my exasperation aloud. By the end, I often feel drained, as if he is siphoning his depression off to me. But I feel responsible, and so I always set aside my own feelings and try to support him. Knowing that I am trusted enough to hear his deepest fears and insecurities is also an incredibly humbling experience. As such, I try to treat him with the same respect I would give anyone, regardless of whether they battle their own demons.

3. But, there is a difference between being supportive and being subordinate.

Just because I offer him reassurance does not mean that I am at his beck and call. I respond only when I know I am available, and do not carve out my schedule to suit him. Yes, I help him with his homework—but I do not do it for him. Yes, I validate him—but when he asked me if I wanted to be something more than friends, I refused. I know I don’t owe him anything. I talk to this person because I want to help him, not because I am bound to. That is a difference worth noting.

4. My words can make a positive difference in someone’s life.

As challenging as this experience has been for me, it has also been incredibly rewarding. When he tells me that I have made him laugh or smile or feel even a tiny bit better, I am likewise gratified, in the same way that I might smile if someone else does. In a way, trying to make him happy is like solving a math problem—except that there is no right answer, and any solution is hazy at best. I don’t know for sure how likely he is to take his own life, or how close he has come to giving up completely. However, I know that it is at least partially through my words that he is able to get through one more day. I hope it is enough.