(First is the original version, and second, an edited version adapted to fit better with the radio program format. The latter is what actually aired, and can be listened to as well as read here.)
I believe in empathy, and understanding that every life we meet goes beyond the small part we see.
Seven years ago, my family and I learned this life lesson together. We realized that, just as no one around us could tell our idyllic family walk was actually to the hospital where we would learn whether I could survive my brain cancer, we too had no idea what invisible struggles anyone else on the sidewalk faced. Ever since, we’ve strived to have empathy, knowing that we see only a small part of others’ lives.
After slights or wrongs, though my knee-jerk reaction has been judgment, I’m learning to have patience and imagine what the other’s perspective could be. From roommate conflicts to a rescinded internship, this saves both of us from unnecessary grief and grudge, leaving room for happier things. Moreover, many behaviors change from condemnable to understandable with additional detail – e.g. a misdeed could have extenuating circumstances, or a cold heart could trace back to betrayal or loss – in a way that enables us to help others rather than criticize them.
Far more often, though, signs that not all is well are subtler, without outward actions forcing me to notice them. I try to notice little things that are out-of-character, or an affected tone, and check in when something could be off. The troubles can range anywhere from a rough week to a life-shaping tragedy; no matter where they fall, compassion is free to give and I think it’s always worth offering mine.
Moreover, because I try to be compassionate, friends have been able to share their burdens with me even when I didn’t realize something was wrong. This has been most important for the oldest, deepest wounds that over time have become so well-hidden that I never would have guessed them. I have friends who have gone years or decades quietly suffering from scars of abuse, and am sure all of us do. In fact, of all the friends’ past troubles that has been shared with me, each one was a surprise because they had learned to adapt and put on a strong face.
Thinking and living this way has been one of the many great life lessons I learned through my own ordeal. Empathy for others, and awareness that there’s so much more to every life we cross than just the slivers we see, has helped me stay positive, relieved me of resentment, and most importantly understand and build relationships with others. The connections I’ve made this way have all been two-way streets, as I also am encouraged by being able to help others, and form strong and lasting bonds this way. Although my own scars from cancer still ache at times, I wouldn’t trade away all the lessons I’ve learned.
I want to start new conversations and build new connections to share this life-shaping lesson. Having grown back all my hair, I’m shaving it off to donate to others going through like struggles and simultaneously become a conversation starter and visual reminder that there’s more to every life than meets the eye. I’m shaving my hair because I believe in empathy.
(Now, the message below is the aired version.)
I believe in empathy.
Part of empathy is understanding that every life we meet goes beyond the small part we see. One day, Seven years ago, my family and I learned this life lesson together while on a family walk. To everyone outside, it looked like we were on an idyllic family stroll. In truth, we were walking to the hospital where we would learn whether I could survive my brain cancer. Just like the people who saw us, we too had no idea about the invisible struggles anyone else on the sidewalk faced. This experience has helped us have empathy for others.
Before that, when I was wronged, my knee-jerk reaction was judgment. But now, I’m learning to have patience and to imagine what the other person might be going through, from roommate conflicts to a lost internship. This new perspective saves everyone involved unnecessary grief and bitterness, leaving room for happier things. Many behaviors change from condemnable to understandable with additional information. For example, a misdeed could have extenuating circumstances. A cold heart could trace back to betrayal or loss. This perspective enables us to help others rather than criticize them.
Far more often, though, signs that not all is well are subtler and could easily go unnoticed. It helps that I’m curious (tactfully, I hope) and check in whenever something sounds off. Mom and I have an inside joke because when one of us takes a deep breath or sighs, we reflexively ask if anything is wrong. Often nothing is wrong, but this is how we support one another. The troubles people experience can range from a rough week to a life-shaping tragedy. No matter where they fall, compassion is free to give and I think it’s always worth offering.
Because I try to be compassionate, friends have felt comfortable sharing their burdens with me. Several friends whom I’d least expect are the ones who have gone years or even decades quietly suffering with traumatic scars. For example, after having been silent for decades, one of my older friends confided in me that he lived alone because he was scarred by childhood sexual abuse. I am sure all of us have friends with buried troubles like this.
Thinking and living this way has been one of the many great life lessons I learned through my own ordeal with cancer. Appreciating the fact that there’s so much more to every life has helped me stay positive. It has relieved me from the burden of resentment. And most importantly, it has helped me understand and build relationships with others. I am encouraged by being able to help others, and in the process form strong and lasting bonds. Although my own scars from cancer still ache at times, I wouldn’t trade away all the lessons I’ve learned.
I want to share this life-shaping lesson. Having grown back all my hair after chemotherapy, I recently shaved it off. Not only will I donate it to others going through similar struggles, but shaving also revealed my brain surgery scars. I hope this will be a visual reminder that there’s more to every life than meets the eye.
I believe in empathy.