Sympathy vs Empathy: What Not to Say

"Oh, Sweetie.  You lost your baby?  I'm so sorry.  I lost my dog.  I know how you feel."

Really?  REALLY?  No, sorry, you don't know how I feel.  You feel sorry for me, and that's fine.  But comparing my baby to your dog?

Believe it or not, the above phrase is said more than you'd think.  The person speaking is well meaning, but they are blurring the line between sympathy and empathy.  That is a line that should never be blurred.

People sometimes get confused between sympathy and empathy, I believe.  Deffin.com does a good job of delineating between the two (here is the link complete with examples and times to use either  http://www.diffen.com/difference/Empathy_vs_Sympathy).

According to Deffin, sympathy is acknowledging another's emotional hardship and providing comfort and assurance.  Empathy is understanding another's hardship because you've been there yourself or can put yourself in their shoes.   The problem is that some people think that they can emphasize when they really can't.

Take the example above, for example.  What if the situation were reversed?  "I'm sorry you lost your dog, Sweetie.  I know how you feel.  I lost my baby once."  I think that once the words were out of your mouth, both the speaker and the listener would realize the ludicrous nature of the comfort.  How can you possibly compare the loss of a dog, beloved though it might be, to the loss of a child?  What possible connection  can you make?  A person who lost a child may empathize, yes, but would they voice their empathy in this way?  I doubt it.  Well, if you reverse this picture, think of the jolt that the person grieving their child would feel.  Not only has the person just lost someone who she had carried inside her body, not only has she lost a cherished member of the family, but now you have just compared her baby, her son or daughter, to a dog.  I understand that you were trying to empathize, but you can't.  It's not the same.  And I guarantee you that she won't be comforted. At best, she'll see the attempt and appreciate it.  At worst, it will enlarge her grief to include anger at you.

Here is a better way to say it.  "I'm so sorry you lost your baby, Sweetie.  It's so hard to lose someone you love."  The simple sentence may seem empty to you but it's not.  You have acknowledged her grief and affirmed her right to the grief she feels.  Words are going to be empty, really, no matter what you say.  This way, she knows you care and she knows you're thinking.

Let's try another one.  "I'm so sorry you lost your baby.  But remember, you can always get pregnant again."

At first glance, this one seems like a great example of the sympathy definition.  It provides comfort (sorry) and assurance (you can get pregnant again).  But what else does it do?  It brushes past the all-encompassing fact that this mother is full of grief in order to point to a future time when this "mistake" will be rectified and result in the successful birth of a baby.  But again, the response (usually unspoken) on the part of the grieving mother will be REALLY?? I can guarantee you that your words will be unwelcome.  The mother doesn't want to think about some future baby.  She wants--NEEDS--to grieve the baby that she has just lost.  And please realize--that baby does not have to have been stillborn or have lived for a few days.  A mother will grieve the loss of any baby.  As a funeral director once said, "I have conducted services over babies that were so small that the caskets that had nothing in them."  The parents needed to grieve.  The fact that the child was a miscarriage, not a full-term stillbirth, is irrelevant.  If parents need to grieve, they should be allowed that right.  And by the way, how do you know that the mother can get pregnant again?  Aren't you making some pretty big assumptions?  I can only imagine the hurt felt by a mother who has tried and tried to get pregnant and finally conceived, only to lose the baby.  Your well-meaning words are striking another blow, not relieving the pain.

So what can you do to help the mother?  Well, that's the problem.  Our society is a "fix-it" society.  We have come to believe that if we work at something hard enough, we surely will find a way to fix it.  But this will not be fixed.  This will have to be walked through, step after painful step.  Words will do nothing more than be a temporary support--one that might not last much longer than the fragmenting air that supports it.  But--words can be beautiful, if they mean something. For example, Saying that you're sorry is fine, but saying that you're praying--it means something, especially if you follow your words with actions.  It's great to say that you'll pray, but if you text in a few days just to say that you're thinking and praying for her--that shows that you care in a way that is concrete.  You are showing her that you mean what you say.  Why text?  Well, I'm going by my own experience.  I was not able to deal with words very well.  Texting or talking will depend on your relationship and also on the woman's makeup.  You also help her if she needs anything.  But don't say it that way.  Before you visit her, decide what you can do for her and then offer to do it.  Don't say, "If you don't feel like cooking, call me and I'll be happy to cook."  She won't call.  She's in pain.  Just make up a casserole or two.  Bring them over and tell her that you'd like to bring over a meal or two a week, if that's okay.  If she seems inviting, ask if she would like some company.  Otherwise, give her the meal, tell her you're praying, and leave.  You have to realize that sometimes the grief is too great to take alone, but sometimes the grief is too great to be shared.  Everyone differs.

I've said a lot about sympathy.  Next time--empathy.

on being happy: Mr. Kanamori

How was your home room?  Did you spend your days hearing announcements and then sleeping on your desk?  Did you dread the start to your day?  Did you even sleep in so that you could miss it?

Mr. Kanamori's class would never do such a thing.  They are a 4th-grade homeroom in Japan, and Mr. Kanamori has helped them set a goal for themselves:  to be happy.

To be happy?  Seems like a useless goal, doesn't it?  But this incredible teacher has thought of a way to bring meaning and understanding to this goal.  To be happy, they must share with others.  Only in revealing themselves can they help others understand that they are not alone.  Once they understand that they are not alone, the children let go of barriers that have stood for years, and the entire class grows in understanding, empathy, and love.

In the video that I saw, Mr. Kanamori's class writes notebook journals.  These journals are designed to be read tot the class.  In it, the students tell their stories, and the other students then write responses.  The responses pave the way for empathy, as well as give other students the ability to tell their own stories, bringing about the ability to heal.

One boy had been gone for several days.  His grandmother had died, and he wrote the class about the experience.  He wrote about it all, from the grandmother lying in bed upstairs to the family going on a bus to the crematorium to witness the grandmother's cremation.  Afterwards, many other students shared their sympathy; some also shared their own stories.  The children were not afraid to cry about their own experiences, and they also shed tears for the experiences of others.  One little boy had lost his grandfather recently; the tears were still fresh.

Then a little girl stood up.  She had lost her father when she was three, and she had never discussed his death with anyone.  She was afraid that she was the only one to have gone through this and thought that nobody would understand.  When her classmates shared their experiences, she realized for the first time that she was not alone and that it was safe to express her grief.  

A few days later, this same little girl brought a well-loved drawing to class. It had hung in her room since she was a tiny girl.  It was a drawing that her father, an engineer, had made of a machine that was going to be in a parade.  He died before it was completed, and even though the machine appeared, her mother was too afraid to see it.  For the first time, the little girl shared her treasure with her friends and smiled as she spoke of her father.  She was happy.

Happiness is a choice.  It is something that is given away.  It comes with sharing, and it usually comes when two or more are together.  I think that it's hard to be happy without sharing.  

Val, the older I get, the more I understand your wish.  I hope you are happy now--I'm pretty sure you are, since you're surrounded with God and his saints.  I know you made us happy.  I'm going to do my best to make others happy, too.

For a link to the video, press here:  .http://www.wimp.com/homeroomteacher/