The full message

On a family walk one Seattle evening, we looked perfectly normal from the outside. No one who crossed our path had the faintest idea that we were in the city to find out whether I would live or die from my brain tumor discovered days before. I have never forgotten the epiphany my parents shared with me then: just as the others on the sidewalk hadn’t the slightest knowledge of my parents’ anguish, neither did our family have any inkling of their troubles. This life lesson – to have empathy for others because there are trials in their lives that we might not guess or see – makes an invaluable difference, both for all those whom we become able to touch and support, and for us in the stronger connections and deeper meaning we forge.

Sometimes these at first hidden struggles have clear signs when seen from a certain perspective. Stephen Covey, in The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, told the story of the man on the subway who was apparently oblivious to his young children’s disruptive behavior. When the author confronted the man, the latter softly apologized as he became aware, telling the former that he and his family were returning from the hospital where his wife had just passed and none of them knew how to handle it. Now aware of this, the author was instantly able to empathize and ready to offer any support he could. This specific story is especially poignant, but more general examples exist aplenty.

Many long-term cases can be traced back to upbringing – a youth coming from a home where conflict and violence were the norm could not have learned there to respect others; children who are never accepted or encouraged will not learn to be gentle with or understanding of others. Learning about someone’s trials can change your response from animosity to empathy, enabling you to help them rather than return to them the harsh treatment which may be all they have ever known. Dad told me of a man who thanked him at a free community dinner for the first meal he’d had that day, just when Dad was starting to feel cynical about how many just wanted a hand-out, and Dad’s sentiments changed instantly.

Dichotomizing people as good or bad is easy but not necessarily realistic, especially when all we have to go off is a snapshot of their life with no information on what’s going on behind it. Rather than react with swift judgment, give the benefit of the doubt and imagine in what situations you might have done the same thing. You’ll be able to find a reason more often than you might expect, and have a chance to meet the person in question where they’re at and make a difference for them.

These instances, in which someone’s actions or inactions perturb us, are when we most easily see that things are not well behind the scenes in their life. Yet, in many more cases there is little or no sign of trouble. Dozens of times I’ve responded to a friendly “How are you?” with an automatic “Fine, thanks!” before realizing and muttering to myself that it was a knee-jerk lie. Lifelong burdens can be the least visible as we adapt and learn to hide them for the sake of our social personas. An older man I knew went decades without telling a soul of the sexual abuse that scarred him into living a life alone that wasn’t what he truly wanted. In fact, each time a friend’s troubled past has been shared with me, it has come as a surprise because they had all adapted to keep a strong face.

The burdens that weigh us down range from an isolated rough week to trauma that is never forgotten, but any silent suffering across the spectrum is a place where we can empathize. One way to start is by simply looking for changes or things that seem not quite right. Maybe a friend will be more solemn than usual, or you could notice a listless air about someone alone at a coffee shop. We can reach even further by becoming the sort of compassionate and trustworthy people whom others feel safe in coming to for support with their burdens. This is especially important for deep, long-lasting scars that over time become nearly unnoticeable from the outside. If we care for others in general, then by inclusion we care for those with deep hidden scars, and they will be able to confide in us even when we couldn’t have known there was a need to reach out.

As we open conversations with others to understand one another’s hardships, sometimes we will find that their ordeals lie beyond what we have been exposed to and can truly understand – for example, most of us have never been traumatized by war or debilitated by mental illness, and can hardly imagine their weight. It is here that the distinction between understanding and empathy is most important. In times like these, we should simply show that we care and do our best to learn, acknowledging that we don’t understand and respecting this limitation. Even when we don’t truly understand, we can certainly still truly care.

My entreaty for you is to make a point of checking in with one another, be on the lookout for when under the surface things might not be right, and strive to be the kind of person others will know they can seek for support. Reaching out is hardest when you feel lost under the weight of your struggles, and if you can think of a time you’ve felt this way, chances are the greatest help came when someone noticed from the outside and broke through your dark days to lift you up. My insightful friend Julia Canick asks “How are you, actually?” to open this. She has written artfully on the importance of the question in her university experience, and it generalizes to everyone and is worth the read. If we learn to empathize with others, we can be the one who finds them when compassion is needed most.

All in all, remember that the people you encounter day to day are just as human as you, and more may have gone or be going on for them than you can see. Try to empathize and think of yourself in their place, and if they welcome it, offer your support. Often, you’ll find you’ve been there before and may know how to guide them to somewhere better. Always, you’ll be able to lend a listening ear, a helping hand, or a shoulder to lean on.

As a visual reminder that I hope will get conversations started about empathy for others’ hidden hardships, I’m uncovering the scars and implanted shunt that show what I’ve lived through. This has the double-benefit that I can donate all my hair to others affected by cancer. Please remember, though, that this is only an illustration – this story has not been specifically about me. It’s about your friends, neighbors, coworkers and classmates; about many misfits, troublemakers, addicts, and rebels. It’s about everyone whose lives we only get snapshots of from the outside. If after reading this you try to feel what is going on in those lives and lend your hand, I will be glad, and we will all be the better for it.