It should come with a warning label
/He put his head in his hands and sighed, “Empathy should come with a warning label.”
And it can feel that way, can’t it? The warning label would read something like,
“Empathy may cause exhaustion, overwhelm, shortness of breath, tears, painful encounters with your own trauma, shutdown, irritation, anger…”
And the list goes on.
Now, if you’ve been with me at all on this journey with Handle w/ Care Consulting, you know that empathy is much more than a journey into the dire side effects: empathy opens up connection, trust, support, psychological safety, vulnerability and a host of other benefits.
But sometimes, encountering someone else’s disruptive life event can cause our own pain to burble up.
Saturday Night Live skewered this dynamic with typical aplomb in a skit from a few years ago. Regardless of your politics or position, you will, perhaps, see yourself in the avoidant man who’d rather jump out the window.
He needs a parent, not another 6th grader
A few years ago, my son was dealing with some substantial bullying at school. I was feeling all the emotions – anger at these tormentors, sadness as my son carried his pain home, day after day, and helplessness at how interventions were failing.
But there was a layer of intensity and involvement that became apparent: sixth grade was one of my hardest years at school too. And as I encountered Magnus’ daily drama, I felt his pain in my guts. I was, once again, a too-tall sixth grader with bushy curly hair, too many answers in class and no place to sit in the lunchroom.
A few weeks in, I was talking with Luke, my husband, and he offered both wisdom and perspective.
“It is so good that you are encountering these things in your story and I think it is important that you process them with God and with people you trust. But you can’t process them with Magnus. Right now, he needs us to be parents, not fellow sixth graders.”
Into your story
Empathy will drive you deeper into your own story.
Sometimes, that is through encountering a shared experience. When I am with another mom who has buried a child, Mercy Joan is close to me; I once again feel the pain of her absence and the particular taste of her loss.
Other times, the connection is not through the shared particularity of an experience but through the emotions that underpin the experience. You encounter someone’s desolation and are reminded of your own loneliness and how you wish your adult child would call home.
How to do the work
How can you make space for these emotions that emerge when you are trying to care for others? There are two polarities that people often tip into.
On the one hand, they may feel all of their emotions in the moment and end up hijacking the narrative, inadvertently making it about them and spiraling into dysregulation with the other person who they wanted to help.
On the other hand, they might choose to stuff or fall asleep to their feelings, pushing these inconvenient recollections/emotions away in order to focus on the task at hand.
As I get older (and hopefully wiser) let me propose a middle way. When I feel the tug of my own emotions in a conversation with someone else, I don’t fear them. Some of my most powerful moments of connection with others have come when I let myself cry and be available to them.
However, as I feel myself tipping into intensity or despair or complete overwhelm, I take a deep breath, renew my focus on the other person, and consider, “there is more for me to explore here”.
Then, within the next 24 hours, I try to make purposeful time to be with the emotions and story that is emerging. Here is how that can look for me
I move my body. I find movement allows emotion to move through and settle. Sometimes, this is a walk, lifting weights, or going into the woods. Oftentimes, I find myself crying without fully knowing why.
I take sad breaks. This is usually accompanied by a favorite warm drink in a cozy mug. I sit in a quiet corner, put on some music that matters to me, and become more available to whatever emotion is asking to be acknowledged.
Prayer, which is sometimes talking. But it is the meditative listening that can be most helpful. I ask (and listen): “What is important for me to know today?”
I talk about what I am feeling. Sometimes, this is with my mom, a therapist, a friend, or my partner.
Tapping and breath work continue to unlock powerful, embodied ways of integrating parts of my story that I’ve pushed away
Remember, empathy begins at home. Consider the golden rule: love your neighbor as you love yourself. If you are not growing in empathy and care for the disruptive, orphaned parts of your own story, it will be difficult to (sustainably) show up with care and support for those you care about at work and in life.
Podcast Recommendation
There is no word in the English language for a parent who loses a child. It is as though language itself fails under the weight of the loss.
How can you help someone who has gone through this deep pain? And, if you have experienced this loss, how can you live within and beyond the hurt?
Jason Seiden shares the story of his daughter, Elle, on this podcast episode.
He shares about her quirks, her brilliance, the agony of complex regional pain syndrome (CRPS) and her death by suicide.
You will hear as he wrestles with what it means to live a life that encompasses such a profound loss but is not ultimately defined by that pain.
You will also hear how his workplace and wider community both succeeded and faltered as they tried to give him care.
Jason is articulate, reflective, and honest in this powerful conversation.
Books on Grief and Growth
Lament for a Son
by Dr. Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D.
After his beloved son, Eric, is buried under an avalanche, Dr. Wolterstorff descends into loss, encountering whirlwind of loss, abandonment, and desolation.
This slender book pulls no punches and welcomes anyone who grieves to fully embrace their questions and emotion in a search for love, Presence, and truth.