Compassion Obsession

Lately I’ve been focused, bordering on obsessed, on compassion. I’ve been reading all of Brene Brown’s books while handling my dad’s illness and death, and the combination has left me with an unshaken resolve to have compassion coursing through every cell of me. 

I’ve come to realize the great divide that separates someone who is sorry for you and someone who is sorry with you. The first is pity, and it’s shown only at a distance safe enough that the hurt won’t touch them there. The second, empathy, and it’s a rare gift indeed. It’s the friend who returns to the place where they were hurting just as badly, or the person who is willing to imagine just how frightening and alone your grief must be. Both are brave and beautiful, and that is exactly what I want my life to be.

My resolution has left me wondering how I can find everyone who is hurting, because so many people are drowning in their lives of quiet desperation. It has left me stopping myself short of anger or even annoyance to remember that people are doing the best they can with what they have. It’s halting and humbling. 

It is brave to admit you’re hurting, and I would love more than anything to hurt with you. So contact me, and we can cry or talk or go on a walk or eat chocolates or whatever you need. I mean it!

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