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Let's Talk About Empathy

There are a few [read: many] characteristics that I don't want my son to inherit from me. In fact, it's usually difficult to name more than one characteristic that I hope to pass on. (Tenacity is the one. I have it in spades.) But I discovered a new one the other day: empathy.

"Empathy: the ability to understand and share the feelings of another." (Thanks Google for the definition!)




It's a difficult skill if it's not natural, and a heavy weight when it is. I can look someone in the eye, hear their words, and feel their pain filling my heart. It's why people believed me at Starbucks when I said, "I'm so sorry this went wrong," because I could lace my words with genuine empathy. It feels like betrayal to be handed something you don't want. It can be nauseating to lose money--especially when you had such high hopes for money spent. 

The other day, I posted a PSA for my Facebook friends. In case they didn't know, certain restaurant types serve RAW MEAT to you, and expect you to cook it. I, obviously, didn't know this. Nothing in my poverty-stricken past would have prepared me for this ridiculous idea. (Have you noted that I am resolutely not a fan, readers? If not, note it. Not a fan.) It was one of my nightmares come to fruition. Money lost. Raw meat right under my nose. No cleaning supplies. And an expensive restaurant that didn't cook its own food.  

It was a nightmare. A horrific experience that only an enemy could have dreamed of, and it ruined our anniversary date. What is worse, is that my husband and I had already undergone a brutal week, and our bullshit meters were full.

We needed a good day.

We needed a happy moment.

We needed a beautiful memory.

We didn't get what we needed. So, I warned my Facebook friends, just in case they had raw meat aversions, too. 


The response? Gratitude from some, thankfulness that I spared them a miserable experience. Surprise from others, who frequented such establishments, but didn't know they served raw meat. Some amusement from others, who were decent enough to acknowledge and pity my shock. And, of course, rude comments.  Comments lecturing me. Comments attacking me. Comments that showed that the writers lacked empathy. 

When someone is wounded, we come alongside of them and pick them up. Even if we don't understand the wounds. Even if we can understand the mechanics of those wounds, we lift people up and carry them. We carry people forward, and we champion them. 

We should never place institutions above people, even if we love those institutions. People must always come first.  So even if you love raw meat or an infamous coffee chain or a certain grocery store, if your friend has an issue, listen. Listen so intently that you begin to feel her pain. Show that you care. If that seems too difficult, don't say anything. 

Empathy is a skill learned by practice. If we can't practice in the mundane facets of life, how can we show empathy when tragedy actually strikes? 

And, I get it. Almost. Empathy is in my ENFP skill set. Like it or not, I feel other's emotions keenly. I white knight for others out of habit, whether or not I even know it. I'll take up anyone's cause and run with it, feeling the pain keenly the entire time. I want that for my child, and I want that for the world. Because if we practice empathy, even when it's just a ruined anniversary and a hundred dollars lost, then we can practice empathy in the bigger, greater issues. That's what this world needs. 









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