There is and has been a quiet ache inside of me for quite some time. I cannot pinpoint a time, an event or a circumstance when this feeling began. I've carried this feeling for so long it feels like it is a part of me. I think there is a word for what I am feeling — empathy.
Google says: "Empathy is the experience of understanding another person's condition from their perspective. You place yourself in their shoes and feel what they are feeling. Empathy is known to increase pro-social (helping) behaviours."
I've spent a lot of my life trying to walk in another person's shoes to try to understand their point of view. Perhaps this is the reason I have such monumental issues with my feet. Maybe this is why I walk through life "barefoot" as much as I can. I can feel the terrain better without the constraints of my own ill-fitting "shoes.”
When I have a conversation with another person, I jump into the protagonist's shoes and feel them out. I offer what I think I may feel if I was in those shoes. I constantly play the devil's advocate. Not necessarily because I agree with that side of the argument, but to try and feel my way through the other side of the story.
I've been told to stop doing that. Sometimes a person just wants you to agree with them and support them. But it isn't in my nature to blindly side against an opponent who isn't there to defend their actions. So I still quietly wonder about those who hurt the ones I care about.
There are two sides to every story. Even when I tell my own story, I try to advocate for the other side when I feel the alliance shifting to defend and support me and me alone. Yes, I've walked through some uncomfortable and unjust situations. But how did I get there? What did I say or do to provoke the behaviour that was being judged? Why did I allow myself to be treated in that way? How did it feel to be "the other person" within the equation? When the dust settles after an explosion, I always go back to determine the cause. There are two sides to every story, always.
I quietly walked through the first half of my life. Within a group, I rarely spoke unless spoken to (one-on-one conversations were a totally different matter). As the years went on, I became braver. People who know me now would never believe my quiet origins. I have developed a "voice" throughout the years. Now I struggle to silence myself.
You hear more when you don't talk. I have been listening in proportion to my talking. The times when I get very quiet and just sit back and watch, listen and gently prod the conversation along seems to have reignited my sensitivity gene.
Life hurts, plain and simple. Far too many people I know are the walking wounded. Some are barely walking any more. When one's physical pain starts to match the emotional battles they are waging within, I feel powerless.
People are hurting out there. So many are carrying the weight of quietness on their shoulders, unable to say their words aloud and start to share some of the burden they are carrying alone. It is those who are the quietest who are my biggest concern.
I used to be quiet. Then I started voicing the words I didn't think anyone else knew but me. I am flawed. I have made and still make many errors in judgment. As I started "confessing my sins" aloud, I found others shared their stories with me. By opening myself up and revealing my deepest, darkest thoughts, worries and secrets, others started to feel safe to tell me their story. I found true friendship. The moment I didn't feel so alone and isolated, the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy.
My heart is heavy with concern over those who have shared their story with me. All I can really do is listen. When it seems safe to do so, I gently prod and try to nudge the conversation in a way the person I'm talking with hears their own answers. No one knows your answers but "you.” As much as I know the feeling of wanting to walk into a fortune teller's den and have them tell me what to do next and show a "coming attractions" reel, deep down inside I knew I had to find my own way, in my own time.
It's hard to hear another person's story in progress when they are knee deep in their own personal battle and can't see their way out. I was on the listening end of that conversation and I was terrified because I didn't feel qualified to be "that friend.” I'm not qualified to say, "Do this" or "Don't do that.” The only thing I can do or say is to throw the person a line and hand my end of the rope over to a qualified professional, armed with knowledge and resources that far exceed what I have to offer.
I have no answers. I have only two ears to listen and the willingness and open heart to want to help by letting another unload their burden. If you are feeling weighed down by the world, I hope you find a safe place to land and someone to trust with your story. Your story is as important as anyone else's. Please don't keep it to yourself.
