I used to think that I was crazy.
I would work a full day, spinning plates and putting out fires left and right and I would be upbeat, chipper, making inappropriate jokes with my black humour and skipping along like a skimming stone. Almost the moment I left the office, it would change. It was like someone pulled the charging plug; my energy would drop and with it, my mood. All of a sudden, the aches and pains of the day would fill my mind with nothing else to distract them.
I cried on the train home, more times than I care to count, my face swivelled towards the window or shielded by the curtain of my hair.
I thought that I was crazy, that there was something wrong with me that my energy and mood could shift so quickly. I hadn’t realised that it was part of the personal cost of doing business, the heavy weight of empathy taking a toll on my wellbeing.
When I first moved to Bristol to study law, I set up a volunteer role that would have me in the local courts one day a week. I supported victims and witnesses in the Crown Court, showing them walk-throughs of the Court so they understood the process, escorting them in and out as they gave their evidence.
In order to accompany these people I would often sit next to the usher, listening to their evidence, my face an absolute mask of anonymity as the jury tried to figure out who I was and why I was sitting there, watching for my reactions.
I very quickly specialised in a certain type of case, typically domestic abuse, rape, child abuse. I have sobered up and soothed more stressed-out sex workers than most will ever meet. I once received a bollocking for automatically taking the hand of a 6 year old who froze at the sight of her alleged abuser. I spent a full day sitting in a small room with a women, a girl really, not even 20 and only a few days younger than me, sitting through her second rape trial after the first resulted in a hung jury.
The first few days I worked for the Witness Service, the dam would break the moment I crossed the threshold of the court building; I stood on the kerb with tears rolling down my face. In later years it would become more normalised, but I would sit for a full day, listening to the details of the how and the hurt, impassive and silent, supportive and safe, but I would go home and sob at some melodramatic shite on the telly.
A part of me knew, even then, that the emotional burden of other people’s pain caused me mental and physical harm, but I could not turn away. I have always had a theory that my experiences have to be worth something, to mean something, and more than most I understood what it was to feel powerless, helpless, voiceless and unheard. I wanted to help amplify the voices of those who got to court, knowing I never had and never would.
Some might say that I wasn’t cut out for this work.
Some might say that it’s the cost of doing business.
Here’s what I know now.
There is a heavy weight that comes with being an empathetic person. For the purposes of this article, I am referring to the simple psychological definition of empathic; an ability to understand and share the feelings of others. This is the trait that we all have, to some degree or another. It isn’t rational or logic-minded, it is the ability to recognise, to understand, to share in those feelings having a physical and emotional understanding of what it is to be there, to feel that. It is different from sympathy, which I understand to be the rational appreciation of the emotions of another, with absolutely none of the feeling. I would become enraged listening to other supporters ‘offer a sympathetic ear’ and would often find them condescending and trite, pitying the people they supported rather than meeting them on their level.
Sympathy is easier to manage. It is logical and really nothing more than the barest acknowledgement that someone else is feeling something. It often comes with platitudes and cliches'; only sympathetic people said things like ‘she is in a better place’ or ‘at least she isn’t suffering’ following the death of my mum. An empathetic person would never say that, knowing that reminding someone in pain of the suffering of someone they love does nothing but torture them.
I truly believe that it was my empathy that made me good at my job as a lawyer. God knows I was told often enough; how I was so good with the difficult people, how my clients just needed a ‘matronly, nurturing arm around the shoulders’. I was the ace in the hole who was brought in when clients were on the verge of, or already had, complained, because I could get them back on side. I could convince them that I wanted to do a brilliant job for them and that I understood because, well, I did.
Empathy meant I had no airs and graces with clients; I know what it looks like when someone turns up to your home in a black skirt suit and high heels, the veneer of professionalism, of distance in place. So I was the lawyer who would kick off her heels, wrap her hands around a big mug of builders tea or get on the floor with the dog. So many meetings were conducted from under a warm bundle of fur; if you’ve ever wondered if you’re empathetic, see how an unknown dog reacts to you. My ability to become a human dog-bed in under 2 minutes is legendary.
Empathy meant I could forge deep connections with people, even if they were suspicious, hurt or afraid. It meant I had could corrall my clients (even when they were whole families). It also meant that I was often the go-to in teams, not necessarily for technical expertise, but I was the one others came to when they felt overwhelmed, when they didn’t know how to handle their clients, or when they needed a loving kick up the backside. I can’t count the number of times I have wiped a team member’s tears away in the work loos, disappeared for a calming cuppa with a colleague or held impromptu stress management lunches, long before I launched Burnout Prevention Sessions.
Empathy meant people confided in me, even their most guarded secrets would spill out of them and they would stare at me shocked, before I laughingly told them that it wasn’t their fault, I had that effect on people.
Sound familiar yet? How about this?
Empathy meant that I was always ‘on’. I’ve never just been the person who was great with clients at work. I’m that person, talking someone down in the supermarket or sobering them up at a wedding. Blame my background in customer service, or my difficult childhood perhaps, but that antenna is always up and scanning (I’ve jokingly called this the ‘empath meerkat antenna’ because it’s always up, it’s always looking, and I can spot upset at a hundred paces).
This has meant that I would leave places exhausted; not just crying on the kerb outside Court, but working in open plan offices was like a psychic attack at times. Try as I might to retreat into my bubble, I had to build physical boundaries to keep people out, whether that meant working in meeting rooms, hiding in the library or putting earphones in (and inevitably getting told off like a child for using my phone in the office).
Empathy means you’re not only feeling and managing your own thoughts, feelings, emotions and dramas, you’ve got the inside track on everyone else’s. Have you ever tried listening to one conversation whilst talking in another? It’s draining - it’s also usually only possible if you’re empathetic. It’s my favourite party trick, particularly if someone is being less than wonderful about me whilst they think I’m distracted. I’ll always hear it, and I’ll always call you out on it.
Being around people who are in pain is a particular point of issue. Being the professional problem-fixers that we are, we are almost always around people who are in some kind of pain, big or small, longstanding or minor aggravation. Like watching the television and simultaneously listening to opera, there is a lot of noise, a lot of energetic, and the empathetic will pick it all up, soaking it in like a sponge.
And then, of course, it drives us further. Sure, you were planning to leave at 5pm but then that client called with that problem and yet again you couldn’t just say no, and you leave feeling a failure having tried to please too many people and losing out yourself. People pleasers are naturally empathetic - how else can you know you have had the effect you’re looking for unless you can read and respond to other people’s emotions?
Empathetic professionals are brilliant and bright; they spy solutions no-one else has considered yet because they can cut through the noise to what really matters to their client. They will work harder and for longer than anyone else because they are emotionally invested in the outcome. They are perfectionists and people pleasers because the pain of letting other people down is just too much to bear. They will work to the benefit of others, even when it is to the detriment of themselves. And, because they are so invested emotionally, when they feel let down or ineffective it can create an incredible burden that accumulates over time to leave them feeling ineffective, helpless, hopeless or even taken advantage of.
In short, they are brilliant. They are also at greatest risk of burnout.
Remember the World Health Organization’s definition of burnout? An occupational phenomenon characterised by chronic excess stress not successfully managed. There are three dimensions; chronic exhaustion or depletion, negativity or cynicism towards work and reduced professional efficacy.
Empathetic professionals hurtle headlong into burnout because of the double edged sword of their gifts taking such a personal toll.
So what is the answer?
To shut down emotions and work in a logical, clinical manner?
To move to a less stressful job away from people in pain?
To reconcile yourself to always feeling exhausted, rubbed raw with other people’s struggles and like someone has doused you in lemon juice and salt to boot?
To stop being such a ‘snowflake’ (god the number of times I’ve been called this!)
No, I don’t think so.
Screw that, I know so.
We need these people to keep working, to keep doing their jobs and doing them brilliantly. When we divorce ourselves from the human cost of our work, in almost any context we come adrift. We want our lawyers, our doctors, our teachers, to care.
One of the first steps I take with new clients is helping them to get clear on why they do what they do and what they are brilliant at. This means reconciling the fantastic effects of empathy with a clear understanding of where it takes a toll, and taking steps to remedy it.
For example, I know that my energy affects my mood like nothing else. If I have more than a couple of days of poor sleep I am likely to be more snappy, to feel more down, take things more personally and be unable to cope with an overload of emotions. Obviously this wasn’t particularly compatible with being a mental capacity lawyer.
So, I will crack out the magnesium oil spray, row back the coffee in favour of fruit teas and water and I’ll take the goddamn nap if I want to, ok?
Some of the biggest focuses are around turning down the noise and turning up the boundaries. From simple hacks like putting your earphones in to stop listening to everyone or spending thirty seconds at the end of each meeting recapping what you have covered, next steps and your wins, to adjusting the deeper beliefs around the way we think and feel about this empathy.
Just like I’ve been called a snowflake on the internet more times than I care to count (and let me tell you, the demographic throwing at that insult is the same every time), I’ve spent most of my life being told that I’m too sensitive, or irrational and illogical, or that I should be more extroverted or more resilient to what’s going on. If you’ve read this far, you have probably experienced something similar.
One of the biggest changes this work has had on me is the acceptance that I am who I am and whilst I can always make adjustments, improve and reflect, who I am is entirely acceptable. That, rather than feeling like a fraud and an imposter and a loser, if I work to support myself I can create that greater change more quickly.
For me, that means making sure that I have down time. My energy recharges when I’m alone and if that means I’m antisocial on the train, or sitting in silence whilst I let my thoughts re-organise. This means making sure that I book white space in the diary around events, that I give myself the freedom to adjust my schedule. It means employing techniques to create space if I can’t take it by myself, tamping down on my people pleasing tendencies to put myself first - rather than being selfish, this means that I am available for other people more quickly, rather than dragging myself along at 10%.
Finally, it means creating support for and within myself, asking it of others, because I know that I deserve it.
Yesterday, I told a friend that she was being a selfish bitch for not doing everything she could to help make others happy, by getting caught up in her fears and worries.
That’s ultimately what it comes down to. You can fight against your current position or try to ignore it, but empathy is a part of who you are. You can either make a choice to lean in to it, to reconcile and rehabilitate it, to forgive it and to create a more effective way of living with it, or you can let it run you and hurtle headlong into burnout. Which do you choose?
PS Later this month I am holding a very special delivery of my original corporate training offering, the Burnout Prevention Session. However, this one isn’t an in-house booking or local event, it is live and online for anyone who wants to listen to my talk but hasn’t yet had the opportunity.
The Burnout Prevention Session is aimed at helping you to understand what burnout is, how it presents in person, how to recognise it in others, and how to start creating a plan to manage and reverse burnout.
Whether it’s a refresher, an update or a fresh start, this is the foundation that you build on.
Plus, you can join the training sitting in your pyjama bottoms as it’s delivered via an online video call, recorded for you to watch again at your leisure, and you’ll also receive 7 days unlimited follow up by email and messenger to ask your questions and get more support.
Want to reserve your place? This is to take place at a date and time TBC, but will be a weekday evening. This is limited to 25 participants, just the same as my corporate trainings, and costs only £25 per person.