The Power of Empathy

When I was just out of high school, I dated a guy who was sweet and kind, but way too short for my tastes. We were opposites in a lot of ways, including our complexion. He had perfectly clear skin and here I was this girl who’d struggled with acne since the 6^th grade.

One day it came up, me and my on-going battle with acne. I guess he had no idea I struggled with it so bad. When I told him more about it, he suddenly smiled, embraced me, and let out a sigh of relief. What in the world!? Turns out he’d had acne too! He’d had it so bad, he wouldn’t even go to school because he was so embarrassed.

We both opened up about the damage acne does. It’s so wretched to see others repulsed by your face, even your own friends. That crap will mess you up for life. But you don’t blame them. You don’t enjoy looking at your face either. It’s gross and that grossness is you. Mirrors are a cruel reminder of what you get to present to the world – to your teachers, your classmates, your friends, the cute guy at the grocery store, and the UPS man knocking on your door. “Here’s your package. Yikes!” Hiding in your bedroom is way better than knowing people are seeing you and not liking what they see. And this is how you feel every day with every interaction. And, in my case, for decades.

Lucky for my boyfriend, he’d been able to get an aggressive treatment done and was all cleared up, something none of my doctors were ever nice enough to do for me. I was so jealous. He didn’t have the physical scars but he did carry the emotional ones and felt so relieved to share that with me, to know that I understood what he’d gone through.

There are those rare and beautiful moments in life when you really connect with someone, when someone really sees you - who you are and what you’ve been through - and they get it. It can be as simple as sharing the same silly quirks, the same sense of humor, the same unique likes, or similar childhood experiences. Maybe you are the one person who likes black licorice and you can’t believe you’ve found someone who loves that as much as you do!

But that connection runs a lot deeper when there’s more emotion involved. In our case, we’d both been so severely damaged by acne that we felt a lot closer after sharing that trial together, knowing the hurt it causes. I’m fascinated that we work this way, that we feel so much stronger just in being understood by someone. We are meant to create these emotional networks with people, to gain strength and comfort in finding a common bond with others. Somehow it makes you feel more sure of yourself, more grounded. It makes you feel okay to be human, to be flawed, and to struggle with this and that, because you know someone else is too. It feels a little easier to carry your burdens because you’re not alone anymore.

And loneliness is one of the all-time worst feelings. When we feel connected, we feel stronger. When we feel isolated and invisible, then we feel weaker and our burdens are harder to bear.

I felt that isolation after my three miscarriages and struggled so badly to be seen, to be understood. I reached out for those emotional connections, for a little bit of strength, but I kept coming up empty-handed. I didn’t know anyone who’d ever lost three pregnancies in a row. Nor did I know anyone who’d lost three pregnancies after doing in vitro. Heck, I didn’t even know anyone who’d done in vitro! And all of my local friends had children. Every one of them. I was the only childless woman around.

I suffered so much and kept wondering what I could learn. And there are a few lessons.

First, to recognize the strength in connecting with others. Maybe I can’t relate to the woman who’s gone through a divorce, or the mother who’s child is suffering from a terrible illness, or the elderly woman who’s angry at her old age. But I can try. I can let myself be vulnerable, let myself feel what they are feeling. Because I want to really see them, to make sure they know that I care enough to walk that path with them. Sometimes that’s all it takes to lend a little strength.

I understand there are people out there who can’t give that much. We all have our own burdens to bear. If we put ourselves out there to feel the burdens of someone else, it can be overwhelming. For most of us, we think about someone, we worry about them, pray for them, and probably feel a little sad for their situation, but all we can really give is an “I’m sorry.” We know we can’t fix their problems and can’t fully understand their emotions, so we leave it at that.

Sometimes the connection doesn’t have to be too grandiose, though. Of all the comments made, there was one that stuck out to me and made me feel a bit of relief in my time of trial. One friend told me that she’d experienced a miscarriage herself and it’d been terrible. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever gone through. With that in mind, she figured I was suffering pretty badly having to do that again and again and again.

Just that one comment let me know that someone out there was attempting to understand how I was feeling and what I was experiencing. It didn’t create a huge emotional bond, but it did help me feel a little more connected to this person, helped me feel validated. It’s strengthening to have someone really see you, to have them step outside of themselves and take the time to be with you.

I had another friend who called me from across the ocean. She said to me, “When I was going through my divorce, it really helped to get a call from someone, even if they couldn’t do anything for me. Just to know they were there for me and thinking of me really helped.” She wanted to do the same for me. She had no advice or any way she could really comfort me or take away my problems. But she showed me that she saw me, that she wanted to be emotionally available to me.

I could have used a whole lot more of that at the time. It would have made a big difference. I remember being in my home and thinking, “If they knew how I was feeling, someone would be here with me." There was no way in heck that anyone would feel those feelings and think it was a good idea for me to be alone. But my resources were limited. My local friends were busy with their own families. There were people who were anxious to reach out to me, but they were an ocean away.

Still, I yearned for those connections and now I understand their incredible value and impact. My compassion for those who are hurting and lonely has increased so much and I feel drawn to help them however I can. Because I don’t want anyone to feel the way that I did – horribly heartbroken and terribly lonely.

Maybe I can’t take away the pain but I can help lift the loneliness.

I also learned how wrong we are to judge others. The right answer is so much easier to see when you’re on the outside looking in. But you’re not feeling the way that they do and you may not fully understand the situation.

The truth is, trials can completely overwhelm us sometimes, can change us into a completely different person. I had some people tell me to go out and do service or to try and keep my chin up, have a good attitude, count my blessings, etc. All well-meaning comments that might have been good for someone just having a bad day or a bad week. But for someone struggling to even get out of bed in the morning, someone who feels like they are suffocating in a storm of sorrow, these comments just got swept away by the storm.

It relates to the first lesson about connecting with others. When we try to understand how someone is feeling, we‘ll feel more compassion for their situation and understand their thoughts, feelings, and actions a little better. In my case, there may have been too many things for people to try and understand – not being able to get pregnant, doing all the expensive treatments, and losing so many pregnancies. That’s a lot to absorb.

I can’t excuse everything I said or did during that time. I know there are some people who thought I was being a little melodramatic and that’s probably true. But I understand now how some people lose the faith and get really angry at God. I understand how strong bitterness is, how your rosy glasses can turn black. I understand how people can feel exhausted at the unfairness of the world, throw their hands up in the air and yell, “This is too much!” I understand how people can feel so weighed down by heartache and depression that they drown themselves in something else – drinking, drugs, whatever helps dull the pain, dull the whole world.

I know that sometimes, life is just too hard and you no longer want to be a part of it.

I often think I have all the right answers. In fact, one of my all-time top frustrations is seeing the way people live their lives and knowing they would be so much happier if they did this or that. But I know that life isn’t as easy as making a few calculated moves. Sometimes things trip you up, crap happens, and your emotions get the best of you.

So I try to be a little more patient, a little more understanding and compassionate. I don’t always have all the answers nor do I know everything about that person. Granted, I’ll still roll my eyes and groan in frustration when I see people in their destructive behaviors, traveling down a road to nowhere, playing the victim, or whatever else. I can’t stop caring and hoping the best for people. But I can’t let myself think that I would do any better in their shoes.

For me, I probably could have done better. I could have been more patient, more hopeful, more prayerful, more thankful, and more faithful. But I wasn’t. I struggled. I stumbled. I was broken and am still picking up the pieces. I just hope that people can forgive that, can try to understand and have compassion. I know that would help me and I hope to pass that on to others who are struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

People sometimes ask me what they could do for their friends who struggle with infertility. It’s a really hard question, and especially frustrating because the list of don’ts is much longer than the list of do’s. Not only that, but people do grieve differently. I know people who keep their infertility completely to themselves and I understand why. Yes, there may be some strength gained from sharing with others, but that kind of vulnerability is super risky. Instead of feeling connected and validated, you may find yourself feeling misunderstood or ignored. It’s very painful to feel lonely, then risk putting yourself out there only to find that no one is really listening. It just solidifies your loneliness and you end up worse off than you were before.

Unfortunately, there's no perfect method for approaching your infertile friends (or anyone who is suffering) because everyone is different. That’s going to require some careful discernment from you – some caution and sensitivity - and will be different depending on your relationship too.

But in every scenario, I would apply those lessons: Don't think you have all the answers for them, or would react any differently if you were in their shoes. Be slow to judge and instead choose patience, compassion, and forgiveness. Above all else, SEE THEM. Try to understand and really listen to them. Don’t ask how they are feeling but what they are feeling. Let them know that it’s okay to be angry, frustrated, and sad, that they don’t have to be strong for you. If they want to cry, cry with them. If they want to scream, scream with them. That is the power of empathy, to be that emotional connection for them, to give them your strength, compassion, and understanding. It may not be easy, but you can have a powerful impact.

As with most trials, there isn’t much you can do to solve my problems. That connection is about all you can offer me, but it makes the world of a difference. Maybe it still hurts and I still struggle. But I’m not doing it alone.