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The Limitations of Empathy
“Put yourself in his or her shoes,” I often find myself saying to my students in order to encourage them to respond kindly and with compassion. And in some cases, that works, especially when the recipient of my advice has had a similar experience to that of the student in question. If I’m asking a kid to empathize with the disappointment of a failing grade or the misery of the flu, they will come through with greater understanding and tolerance.
But what if I ask them to empathize with something they’ve never experienced?
Sure, they can try to imagine what it would be like to be Anne Frank trembling in the attic with Nazi soldiers below as they read her story. They can write letters from the perspective of Civil War soldiers, relating their experiences to their families back at home. Or, much more recently, they can listen to the adults in their lives tell the story of 9/11 and they can follow along and perhaps name emotions felt on that day.
But they can’t truly emphasize because they lack the underlying experiences.
With kids, I’m aware of and (usually) patient of their limitations in empathy. With adults? It’s harder.I sometimes forget that not everyone has had similar experiences. Not everyone has the background to be able to slip into another’s shoes.
I felt this acutely when Brock and I started dating. He didn’t seem to able to grasp the depth of the betrayal and loss I experienced. It made us both frustrated – me because I felt misunderstood and him because he wanted to understand, but couldn’t. It bothered me, but it was never a major issue. After all, I had a support system for dealing with my past and he wasn’t the primary support beam. And even though he didn’t always understand, he always treated me (and my issues!) with respect and concern.
And then, out of the blue, he recently surprised me. He initiated a conversation about how difficult a divorce must be and how it impacts every area of someone’s life. Now that we’ve been married almost a year (how time does fly!) and he has experienced the intimacy and intertwining that comes from allowing oneself to be vulnerable and open, he realizes what can be lost.
And now he can empathize.
I know he still doesn’t understand the extent of my ex’s pathology (whatever it may be) or the brutality of the betrayal, but I hope he never does. Those are experiences I hope he never has.
Even if it means he will never completely understand.
And that’s the thing about empathy. It has its limitations. After all, you can put on someone else’s shoes, but you still won’t have walked in their past steps.
Seasonal
I grew up in South Texas, which basically has two seasons: “knocking on the gates of hell” (where you risk 3rd degree burns just by simply going barefoot) from about March to October and “I can wear jeans without suffering heatstroke,” frequently called “winter” by the rest of the country. Occasionally, a third season makes a brief appearance when the region receives five years worth of average rainfall in five hours and the interstates turn into swimming holes.
I never really understood seasons as a kid. Fall was marked by the start of the school year and the appearance of jack-o-lanterns (which usually looked as though they needed sunsreen and a fan) rather than by any real drop in temperature. Instead of arriving on the wind in a series of brisk cold fronts, the temperatures slowly seemed to moderate. The lows became a little lower and the highs seemed to struggle to reach their apex before the sun set. Winter was defined by the addition of Christmas lights and luminarios to the fronts of the houses, projecting a cozy ambiance even when you’re in shorts. The deciduous trees held stubbornly to their leaves until spring, when the new growth pushed off the old. Spring, a sign of renewal and life in much of the world, is the season of caterpillars and tree dropping in South Texas. At least until the temperatures grow too hot again for the trees to even bother with such things as leaves.
There were benefits to growing up without seasons – you could camp during fall and winter breaks, a winter coat was an indulgence rather than a necessity, and we used to have “heat days” off school when it was too hot for the busses to run. Nonetheless, there is something to be said for nature’s reminders of the inevitability of cycles and the impermanence of life.
I am now on my fifteenth autumn in Atlanta. And today marks the first day where fall is carried on the breath of the wind through the trees. I celebrated this morning with pumpkin pancakes and a pair of new running shoes.
There’s a slowing, a sense of turning inward, that accompanies the fall. I associate it with reading and cooking and hiking and writing by an open window. I’ve always felt a rebirth in the fall, perhaps because it marks the end of the intense heat and humidity that often terrorizes Atlanta towards the end of the summer. It’s literally a breath of fresh air.
I have fallen in love with the full expression of each season found here. I enjoy the sense of inner nurturing and scaling back in the autumn, the gatherings around the hearth in the winter, the strength of life in the spring and the pure exuberance of the summer. Just as one tires, the next moves in.
I love the reminder that change is inevitable and that every transformation has its own beauty.
And I also appreciate the fact that I can wear jeans in September without succumbing to heatstroke:)
Happy fall, y’all!
The 6 Worst Reasons to Get Married
Okay, so maybe there are worse reasons than the ones below. Like getting hitched because you like the way his last name sounds with your first. Or saying “I do” because you’ve always wanted a Vegas bachelor party a la The Hangover. Or going to a friend’s bachelor/bachelorette party and getting so drunk that you wake up wedded to the hired emm…help. Or signing up for some reality show where you agree to marry a stranger and then allow cameras to follow your every move.
Those would all be pretty bad.
But so are these. And they are much more prevalent and much more subtle.
I Don’t Want to Start Over
In a conversation about her one-year relationship, a friend mentioned that she hopes they will end up progressing to marriage because she “doesn’t want to start all over again.” I get it. Relationships aren’t easy and finding and cultivating one that lasts past the early treacherous stages can be difficult. It’s frustrating and depressing when a relationship falls apart before it reaches the altar (assuming, of course, that marriage is what both partners ultimately want), but a reticence for re-entering the dating scene is no reason to get married. In fact, most likely all you’re doing is delaying your trip back to the dating scene. Only this time with a (or another) failed marriage under your belt. No relationship is ever wasted. Learn from the failed ones and apply that knowledge to the next.
It’s the Next Logical Step
Well, we dated for a year. And then we rented an apartment for another year. And then we bought a dog together. Isn’t a wedding registry the next logical step? Maybe. But maybe not. Sometimes we get so caught up in the “right” or “normal” way of doing things that we turn on autopilot and forget we have a choice. It’s easier to slide in than take a stand. Simpler to avoid conflict or confusion and just follow the well-tred path. But research shows that this pattern leads to a higher likelihood of divorce. Most likely when one partner wakes up five years later and wonders, “How in the world did I end up here?”
I Don’t Want to be Alone
Nobody does. But being married (or having a kid) is no guarantee that you won’t be alone. In fact, feeling isolated and misunderstood is even more painful when you’re with someone. If you enter into marriage with a fear of abandonment, you will cultivate an insecure attachment with your spouse. And if your panicky grasping ways send your partner either literally or metaphorically running, you’ve just fulfilled your own fear. Usually when we don’t want to be alone, it’s because we’re not truly happy with who we are. Start there.
Caving to Outside Pressure
“So, I see your cousin Peggy just got engaged. When is it going to be your turn?” “You know I want grandbabies; when are you going to get started on that?” “All of the other partners at the firm are married. I’d like to keep it that way.” “You’re not shacking up are you? That’s not how you were raised!” Either subtle or overt, the pressure in our society is towards marriage. People who choose to be partnered without papers or (gasp!) remain single are easily ostracized and criticized. You may get Aunt Mildred’s stamp of approval if you wed, but is that really the person you need to please?
Everybody Else is Doing It
Facebook, Instagram and Pintrest can make it feel like everybody else in the world is planning a (professionally-styled yet laid-back Martha Stewart-esque with the latest baubles and bows) wedding. All around you, Misses are becoming Mrs. and bands appear on fourth fingers. Much like middle schoolers in the cafeteria, we want to belong. We want to be an accepted part of the tribe. And so when everybody else walks down the aisle, it’s easy to follow behind like the rats behind the Pied Piper. But remember what happened to the rats? Yeah, it’s best to look before you leap.
I Want to Feel Secure
That marriage vow is funny. We attach meaning and surety to the words “till death do us part” until those words no longer suit us. Somehow a marriage is viewed as stronger, more stable, more secure than any other relationship. But why? A piece of paper does not prevent betrayal or misdeeds. A promise made in front of a priest can be broken as easily as one told over a dinner table. In fact, in many ways, security in any relationship is an illusion. And if you are brave enough to see through it, it can even spice up your sex life. Promise:)
So, if you’re thinking about saying “I do,” make sure it’s for the right reasons, whatever those reasons are for you.
Even if it is because you’ve always wanted to be on a reality show about Vegas stripper weddings.
Not Fade Away
I’m feeling sentimental tonight. I’m listening to some of the music from my teen years. Not the metal, but the folk. The stuff I was raised with and the notes that soothe. I used to listen to these CDs all the time. With my ex. Now, I rarely remember to unearth them from the closet. But I should. Because some memories fade but the music never does.
Here’s one of my favorites from Trout Fishing in America, appropriately called Not Fade Away. Hope you enjoy:)
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 