Relative Empathy

Last week, I was at a luncheon where former Congresswoman Gabby Giffords and her husband Mark Kelly spoke. Kelly did most of the talking as Congresswoman Giffords had a difficult time speaking as a result of injuries from being shot in the head. I didn't realize the degree of her disability. She seems bright and cheerful in photos. She smile might be a little off, but other than that she looks healthy. It seemed there was a struggle behind each word she spoke. She has a difficult time walking. It seemed that attending this luncheon with 1,500 was exhausting for the guest of honor. It probably was not as exhausting as the month of therapy while she was recovering from a gunshot wound, but exhausting nonetheless.

Kelly made a comment towards the end of his speech. He had recently had surgery on his arm after he had a pole vaulting accident. ("Yes," he said. "Pole vaulting.") He was complaining about his arm one morning over the breakfast table, and he said Giffords replied, "You have to be frigging kidding me."

This made me think of relative empathy. Can we have empathy for those who are suffering less than us? Clearly, getting shot in the head is way worse that hurting an arm, but for the person whose arm is hurting, it is still a big deal when they can't get dressed or make lunch. They might have pain, even if it is temporary. Are they not allowed to complain? Are we in a competition of who hurts the most?

I hope not. And yet...

It can be hard to have empathy for people who are struggling with problems far less complicated than our own. To be clear, I am not talking about people who are whining about imaginary problems. Jack is growing through a challenging time in his job. To outsiders, it would appear that he is fine, but he is disappointed in himself with some aspects of his own work. The job he has now has so many tasks and expectations that he can't possibly do them all, so he picks what he thinks is in most need of attention. His focus tends to be on the good of the organization while neglecting his own development. He worries about the long-term implication for his career by sacrificing other external parts of the job.

I have been a volunteer, a stay-at-home mom and a budding politician for the past sixteen years. I feel like Gabby Giffords listening to her husband. Jack is worried about whether or not is career is perfectly awesome, whereas I don't even have one.

But then people who are suffering health-wise from issues far greater than a torn ACL might not think I have reason to complain. I was told by one friend I injured myself doing a leisure activity. I am fortunate enough to have time and money to ski, and I have good health insurance that pays for surgery and physical therapy. Jack and I have saved enough money for rainy days that we can pay the out pocket expenses without deciding which bill we won't pay that month or charging it to the credit card. Then again, Jack has a good enough job that we can afford to save money and still take vacations and ski. We still make choices. We drive old, used cars. I wear old clothes. We live in a small house that had what my friend Sarah gently called "deferred maintenance."

To be clear, I am not complaining. Of all of the problems in my life--mother dying of Alzheimer's, a son who struggles with adolescence, a knee that isn't fully recovered--money isn't one of them. When I look at my life, I could easily say it could be better, but it could be worse. My mom didn't die when I was twelve. My son recognized he has some problems, and that gives me infinite hope that he will pull out of this tailspin. If one were heartless, one could say, "All parents die. Being a teenager sucks. Middle age people have bodies that fall apart. What's new?" Well, this is all new to me, even if collective humanity has been experiences these things for ages. I've never watched my mother die, but Roz Chast has, and she wrote about it in Can't We Talk about Something More Pleasant? I got it from the library Saturday, and I've read it twice. Having empathy gives us to the chance to learn about things that haven't yet happened to us--yet.

I haven't been to church in a million years, but I think of the song I heard growing up, "Whatever so you do, to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me." I understand the sentiment. Those who are hungry or homeless or ill or other otherwise suffer need an extra dose of compassion and support from those who have more to give. Yet, I thought it was kind of weird that we would figure out who is "less" than us. Is that condescending? Do we need to compare? I have a friend from college who married a man who became very wealthy. She is tall, thin and athletic. She has two beautiful, intelligent sons. On the surface, she really has nothing to worry about, but she still has worries, concerns and problems just like the rest of us. One of her problems is people telling her she doesn't have problems and she should just shut up. I think that is incredibly harsh, and frankly wrong. Who am I to say she doesn't have problems?

Or, is this why we have tribes? Is this why tall, skinny, rich women tend to have tall, rich friends? Because they can give each other and get back empathy? Does this apply to everyone?

Maybe the point is empathy is empathy, all the way around.