Tag Archives: relationships

Empathy

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It is said that it is empathy through which we manifest our humanity. It is what makes us different from the other animals.

em·pa·thy   [em-puh-thee]
noun
1. the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.

It’s the part of us that comes out when we say, “I know how you must feel.” or “I hear ya.” or “I can relate to that.”

It’s also the part of us that we sometimes ignore.

Who Has The Corner On Empathy?

You come home. It’s been a rough day. You need to vent. The closest person to vent to is your spouse/partner. So you let loose.

Sometimes, your spouse/partner will sit patiently and listen. Some people think this is the woman’s role. They’ll cry with you. They’ll hug you.

Men, on the other hand, want to solve the problem. They offer advice or suggestions about how they would have tackled the situation.

Of course, anyone who’s venting doesn’t want to hear it. They just want to be listened to. They want someone to say, “I know how you feel and you’re right!”

When Empathy Leaves The Room

It’s when empathy starts to disappear that relationships start to crumble.

It’s starts with the little things, really. Instead of extending a kind word or signal  that you understand, you contradict and offer the other point of view. You think you’re providing balance. Instead, you’re putting yourself squarely in the other camp.

As much as we would love to think we are all brothers and sisters working hand-in-hand to create world peace, the fact is that the world is sometimes us and them.  Even if the “them” are people at work, clients, people at the store, crazy drivers or whoever.

Sure. There is always the other point of view. After all, we should all aspire to the lofty goals of St. Francis of Assisi’s prayer:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Sometimes, though, it just isn’t meant to be. No, sometimes we want to vent, we want to be right and we want someone on our side to tell us they understand.

We want empathy.

 

Insatiable Appetite

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It happens more often than I would care to admit.

I get pissed off, irritated, angry. Sometimes, I’m just plain nervous or bored.

When that kind of thing happens, I eat…and eat…and eat.  It seems that unless I am completed gorged I cannot stop.  It’s not the “good” stuff either. Nope.  It’s sandwiches and cookies and brownies and all sorts of stuff thats:

  1. easy to make
  2. easy to eat
  3. fast and fattening

That’s the stuff that puts me in a coma where I don’t have to feel what I’m feeling and where I don’t have to deal with what I don’t want to deal with.

The Feeling of Powerlessness to the Nth Degree

Usually this insatiable appetite comes on when I feel absolutely powerless and no matter how much I try to exert some power – my personal power, as the self help blogs would put it – I fail miserably.  Here is an example:

Recently, my mother-in-law has been transitioned into one of those “independent living” places for old people who really can’t live independently anymore.  As a result, all the detritus and general shit from decades of accumulation have been divided up among the children of said mother-in-law over the past few months.  Never mind that most of this stuff has no practical use whatsoever.

Well, it turns out that my lovely wife wants this “corner” hutch thing and an antique-ish sewing machine the size of a cabinet.  Never mind that it won’t go with anything we own.  Never mind that it will never be dusted or cleaned.  Never mind that, at least the hutch, will be a display case for decades old “china” that her mother got as a wedding gift or maybe bought at the 1940′s equivalent of Target. The sewing machine will just sit.  I don’t sew.  My wife doesn’t sew.  It has been literally sitting at her mother’s for well over 30 years doing n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

No matter how much I objected to this crap being bought into our house (ostensibly, my house, too) my objections were overruled.  ”Fuck you, Ken.  This is my mother’s stuff, my grandmother’s stuff and I want it even though I will never use it or maintain it.”

Isn’t that lovely?

So I Eat

So I went and fixed myself a sandwich followed by some horrible pudding pre-made by Jello® followed by another sandwich and some juice and now I’m about to eat a chocolate covered strawberry I picked up at the Maryland BBQ Bash in Bel Air, MD last Friday.  As much as my conscious mind is saying “Stop”, the little devil on my left shoulder is saying” Go ahead.  You’ll feel better.  Fuck everyone.  Who cares if you look like a fat pig aho can’t fit into an airline seat or go to the movies?  Eat. Eat.”

I gave up booze a long time ago or I’d be pounding ‘em back.  The worst part of this is that there was really no discussion.  She said she was bringing them into the house (from Michigan, no less) and even though I objected strenuously, it didn’t matter.  Great marriage, huh? Ripe for marriage counselors, how-to sites on building relationships, etc. etc.

It’s a bitch.