The Cost of Comparison

Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us. ~ Brené Brown, Atlas of the Heart

There were times – many many times – in the process of healing my broken fifth metatarsal that I struggled. Like, twisted-up-in-packing-tape kind of struggle: frustrated, confined, angry at everything and everyone.

Struggle often feels like heaviness in my heart and tightness in my belly, a narrowness of vision and a shallowness of breath. Not long after recognizing that yes, I’m suffering and struggling right now, however, my mind veers off to those whose situation is much worse than mine.

The person with the more traumatic, long-standing injury.

The person with a life-threatening illness.

The one who lost a partner or whose nation was at war.

I roll my eyes at myself. Tell myself to get over it. Don’t be such a baby wah-wah.

Dr. Brené Brown calls this “comparative suffering” and she is not a fan.

In his wonderful new TED Talk, Ten Percent Happier author and podcaster Dan Harris suggests that by being kinder and more loving to ourselves, we are more able to offer that same kindness to others. My own experience concurs that when I am being tough and harsh with myself, when I bully myself into positivity, that spills over onto anyone around me. Be gentler with me, and I find myself extending that same gentleness to everyone.

The same is true for when I’m struggling. Instead of feeling my own pain and suffering, if I automatically compare myself with others (and chastise myself for being a whiny pants), I don’t build empathy for myself...or for anyone else.

So the first good reason to feel your own suffering is to build empathy for yourself and anyone else who is suffering (which is EVERYBODY).

What’s more, though, is that if we talk ourselves out of our pain, we never actually feel it. Which is something that sounds like a good idea but really isn’t.

As Brené Brown points out, “hurt is hurt,” pain is pain. If I don’t feel my own, it will go underground, lodge itself in me only to squirt out as rage or depression or a cross word. Instead, I can choose to allow myself to feel and identify whatever hurt I’m experiencing, no matter how small in comparison. If I choose to feel it, I am both processing and healing myself, and I’m building my empathy muscle so I can be fully with anyone in my sphere of connection.

Everybody struggles in one way or another. Everybody. Whatever hurt is hurting you, feel it and honor it. Resist the habit of comparison and shutting yourself down. When you open to your own tender, painful places, you make space not just for you but for everyone.

The Magic Words of Empathy: This Sucks

Half way through a month-long hiking and biking adventure with my beloved Frank, I broke my foot.

Again.

A year and a half ago it was my left 5th metatarsal. This time it was my right. This break is often called “the dancer’s break” so I guess this makes me some kind of super amazing double dancer. Or something.

We were with my husband’s enormous midwestern family when it happened. I was dancing in the grass with my second family. The weather was beautiful, the music was about summer and freedom. I felt seen and appreciated by these glorious, much-loved people. Then I felt a tiny wobble in my foot, a little pop … and I knew.

My foot was not the only thing that broke. My heart broke, too. And my spirit. The recovery from the first break was long and arduous and I was juuuust feeling that I had my body, my strength and my full movement back … and then this. I hobbled out of the Minneapolis Urgent Care clinic in a boot and on crutches…crushed. I felt embarrassed. Ashamed. Discouraged. Disheartened. Disappointed. Dis-spirited.

When we got back to the house full of family, I couldn’t bear to face them. With tears prickling my eyes, I crutched my way to collect what I needed to start cancelling things. Frank went into the house and gathered everybody around.

Minnesotans, the ones I know anyway, are deeply kind people. They focus on the positive even when things are wretched and miserable. Like when it’s winter for the seventh month in a row. Or when you break your foot in the middle of your vacation. They want things to be OK. Oh yah, for sure, they love a silver lining, donchaknow.

Frank knew this. And he knew it was too soon for silver linings. So he gathered everybody around. I wasn’t there, of course, but I imagine he said something like this.

Susan broke her foot. She feels terrible about it. All she really needs right now is empathy. We’ve learned from her last break is that empathy never starts with the words “at least.” Even if you see the silver lining or want to remind her of all the positive things that are happening, it will not help to tell her that. The magic words of empathy are “this sucks.” It may not seem like that’s enough to say and you may want to fill up the space with trying to fix it for her but trust me, “this sucks” is all she needs right now.*

Meanwhile, I skulked back into the house and started cancelling everything. Every single part of that was painful.

As I sat in the kitchen, upending all the excitement of the trip and cancelling all my classes, people started filtering in. First, my actor nephew from L.A. gingerly approached and said, “Susan. I’m so sorry this happened. This sucks.” Then my gentle brother-in-law put his hand on my shoulder and said, “This just sucks, Susan. I’m sorry.” My niece and nephew generously welcomed us to stay some extra days at their beautiful home. One by one, my family acknowledged what happened and simply was with me in it.

One by one, this lovely family tenderly looked me in the eye and said, Yes, this is a crappy thing that happened and I wish for you that it hadn’t. They didn’t try to help me see how it really wasn’t that bad or question my judgement about dancing barefoot in the grass. They didn’t pretend it didn’t happen or make a joke. As they spoke the magic words of empathy, I found myself feeling less devastated. I felt supported, embraced, loved, included.

The last time I broke my foot, I got “at leasted” a lot. And it helped me. It strengthened my empathy muscles. I feel more skillful talking to and being with people in their suffering. I learned what feels like support and what feels like abandonment. And now that the break is on the other foot, sitting in a kitchen with my next few months stretching into a mess ahead of me, I feel the amazing healing power of “this sucks.”

• We are wise people but we did not come up with this on our own. We’ve learned most of what we know about empathy from Brené Brown and we stole “this sucks” from Dan Harris. If you’re not sure what the difference between sympathy and empathy is, or you find yourself itching to find a silver lining, check out their work here and here.