Empathy or Self Preservation

September 11 happened a month after I started graduate school.  I don’t know how I even made it through that semester.  I spent weeks on end with my eyes glued to the news.  I couldn’t turn the television off.  I would listen to all of the stories.  I still remember the images of the walls with pictures of the missing on them.

Some people left for work and would never walk back in their doors.  They would never say goodbye to their husbands or wives.  Their children wouldn’t have them at their graduations or their weddings.  So many families would forever suffer holes that could never be filled.

When tragedies happened, I would always dive into them.  I would feel this responsibility to hold space for the suffering, believing that suffering is lessened when it is carried alone.  Believing that even when I couldn’t heal the pain, I could at least make sure no one suffered alone.  Believing that every victim deserved to be seen.

Then a few years later Sandy Hook happened.  And something in me broke.

I remember trying to read the news without getting too close.  But really, that was impossible.  Those were babies.  And that was a man who was capable of doing violence to those little bodies.  What did that say about humanity?  What were we as a people really capable of if someone could look deep into all of those fear filled eyes and shut them forever?

I remember watching a news special on it that evening.  I had to turn it off.  I was pregnant.  The emotion of it was causing me to experience serious contractions.  I shut off my empathy to protect the only baby I could.

And I’ve been different ever since then.  I haven’t been as able to enter into the pain of strangers.  I’ve always held myself back.  I’ve pretty much refused to watch any video coverage of any shootings or natural disasters.  I’ll read basic facts because facts don’t speak the pain as loudly.  I’ll keep myself informed.  But it’s an intellectual endeavor.  It’s not a soul thing.

And I think a lot of people would say that this is a wise decision.  I am not a person who can fully encounter those things and still function and get out of bed in the morning.  It knocks me to my knees.  I’m just too sensitive.  In a way I pride myself on my ability to empathize.  But that ability comes with dangers.

And so I find myself more able to function in this world when I hide behind a veil as necessary.  It allows me to go on with my day and think clear thoughts with clear eyes.  It allows me to take care of my family.

But what do we give up when we protect ourselves in this manner?  There’s a reason I used to pride myself on my empathy – I think empathy makes us more human.  It brings us closer in touch with those around us.  It helps us understand people in their everyday just as much as it does in their pain.  It shows us the extremes of human nature.  It shows us truth.

Pain is real.  Grief is honest.  When we look honesty in the face, we learn more about who we are, both individually and collectively.  And that honesty hurts.  But it’s also beautiful.

But what happens to us when we can hear of over a dozen children killed in a school and we look away?  We might be at more peace, but when we bind those parts of us off, will they eventually die?

And maybe that’s part of the national tragedy that is ensuing all around us.  Perhaps the guns kill more than just the initial victims.  Perhaps they take something from all of us that cannot be retrieved.  Perhaps the wounds to our collective psyches will ultimately lead to the failure of our tribe if we find we are able to, out of necessity, shut off the parts of us that make us real.

When we allow a little part of humanity to die, it’s a personal tragedy.  When we allow it to die collectively, what will we as a nation eventually become?

I wasn’t planning to, but after thinking it through, I will take the time some time this weekend, and I will look at the pictures, and I will read the stories, and I will digest the names.  And then I will face back towards my family, and I will re-enter my life, and I will love my people with even more vigor.

Because when faced with tragedy, we can allow ourselves to be overcome, or we can allow ourselves to become numb, or we can allow ourselves to be more grateful and more open and filled with more love.

As Mother Teresa said, if you want to change the world, go ahead and love your family.  My little tribe might not win any wars or cure cancer, but we will keep ourselves whole and we will heal our brokenness and we will make sure that we will be forces of kindness and of light and of hope.  We will strive to be lights that will shine the way for some in this darkness.  Lights that don’t dim themselves and shy away when we encounter the pain in others.  Lights that that will shine more boldly and more sincerely because they are sustained by a belief that we belong to each other and that we don’t leave anyone to suffer alone.

At the very least, we will be able to say, I saw pain and I did not look away.