Since I was a little girl, I’ve always had a very deep, very powerful relationship with empathy. At times, it could almost feel as if I was being consumed by it. I had adopted so many experiences that were not my own, morphing into people from all walks of life even if I’d only shared a small interaction. While my experiences with this emotion have, at times, left me in turmoil, they have also provided me with the purest, unadulterated joy I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. It is for this reason that I feel so passionate about empathy, and why I feel inclined to share how it has shaped the course of my life, guiding me like a lamp in a distant wood towards futures where I find fulfillment and connection.
How I Define Empathy
I do wish to preface that I, in absolutely no way, claim to be a master of empathy or someone who may bestow knowledge because she knows everything. Instead, I wish to offer guidance towards those who may also experience this emotion as profoundly as I do, or implore others to seek an understanding or endeavor towards implementing conscious empathy into their own lives.
That being said, I’d like to begin with an analogy.
Let us imagine ourselves as a tree in a forest. Expansive and seemingly without end, there are countless species of trees that have decorated the soil, none exactly like the one growing next to it. We know from elementary school that the roots of a tree initially grow downwards, planting themselves firmly into the ground and asserting their place in the crowded woods. In this stage, we may think of ourselves as individuals; we formulate our own perspectives, values, and ideas in the initial environment in which we grew. Simultaneously, we may form subconscious biases, prejudices, and partialities; this is not something to be ashamed of, for it is in our nature.
However, as the tree gathers its rings in the center of the bark, its roots begin to do something remarkable: they reach outwards. In an endeavor to, yes, make more opportunities for means of acquiring nutrients, they begin communicating with one another. In 2016, ecologist Suzanne Simard’s research was published by the Yale School of Environment, and it described how trees help one another, sending nutrients to their less fortunate neighbors via a network of latticed fungi buried in the soil. Although this is not a new concept (Native American tribes have long since proposed this as fact and as an imperative aspect of their culture and spirituality), Simard draws the comparison between the shared root networks of these trees to neural ones in the human brain.
In terms of our little empathy analogy, where does this leave us? Well, if nutrients in these woods are, in-fact, scarce to the point of which one tree must communicate with the others to obtain their needs, why would another share? As you may know, in order to thrive, trees require certain nutritional concentrations of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, which are majorly derived from decomposed animal waste, which is not a constant. Therefore, one may assume that these other trees have shared in this hunger, in being unable to thrive in their current environment. So, they transport nutrients via their roots and fungi to the others. An elementary principle of empathy: they share and recognize the needs of the others in their community. For us, this recognition looks like gradually disassembling prejudices that keep us divided, overriding intrinsic desires to look out only for ourselves, and avoiding navigating our lives on an ideal of self-importance. Only by dismantling these normalized social phenomena will we be able to live like the trees in the woods.
My Relationship with Empathy
As aforementioned, I’ve experienced empathy since quite a young age. I like to compare it to that of holding a light in the palm of my hands: delicate yet powerful. Traversing my life, I’d attempt to adorn all I find with as much of this light as possible. In sharing people’s small victories, like their doing well on a color-recognition test, I shared also in their pride and relief. As the light spilled gently over the both of us, my hands would reach above my head, letting it seep in between the gaps of my tiny fingers and onto our messily braided heads.
However, that light did not always come in the form of, well, light.
Sometimes, that light in the palm of my hands would grow dark and thick, diffusing into my hands rather than resting on them. Slowly, then all at once, it enveloped me inwardly. For instance, the innumerable times I’ve wandered down a busy street, whether it be in Manhattan, Philadelphia, or even a small town of no significance in rural Pennsylvania, and seen someone struggling as no one paid them any mind. Like a movie reel, my mind would play out their hypothetical life: “What were they like as a child? Did their mother care for them, were they safe? How confused and alone they must feel. I wonder how long it has been since they’ve had a change of clothes. Their feet look they have untreated Diabetes Mellitus. If only I had the insulin – but how could they get regular check-ups? Okay, some food and water will do for now, perhaps some new clothes, let me go get some.” Suddenly, grief, loss, and abandonment crept into my heart, as if they’d been there forever. “It could be anyone,” I’d think to myself, “think of the people who have loved them. Do they have any now? Have they ever felt love? Perhaps I could give them some.”
These feelings are not solely confined to strangers, perhaps more intensely, they reach their apex with the people I am close to. Most often, I can readily forgive the follies and wrongs of others for a myriad of reasons, a primary one being that my mind almost automatically switches to the perspectives and feelings of others, wanting to share in their feelings and ensure they are heard. This way, we are likely to reach an agreement, or at minimum, a peace. Like the trees, I know what it feels like to be devoid of what you need. Even if I’ve not known the particular loss, the imagination of such a feeling has always been profound enough. So, I share: the grief, the hardship, the anger, and the hopelessness; it is always my privilege to do so. Yet I also share in the joy, the pride, the love, and the companionship. In truth, I cry often!
Whether what I carry with me is light, dark, or somewhere in between, it has been my greatest blessing, and I would never contemplate suppressing my complex relationship with it. For, as I traverse my path towards a career in healthcare, I am able to utilize this natural inclination of mine to connect with my patients and provide them with holistic care and advocation to the best of my ability. Additionally, this interconnectedness I’ve always felt with humanity as a whole has only been nurtured with age, allowing me to bond with people from all walks of life. I made a promise to myself a very long time ago that I would always keep in touch with my empathy, regardless of the pain and exhaustion it may bring. I’ve accepted that it is a part of myself that I love and cherish deeply.
If you share in this experience, know that you are not alone, and it is worth it; it is a gift, nurture it. If you don’t, I encourage you to be open to experiencing it. Consciously make the effort to remove your own biases and look at things from another’s perspective. It might be the best thing you’ve done.