Walk with Empathy

I’m meeting Empathy today. We agreed to meet for a walk on the beach.

To be honest, I don’t think much about what this meeting will look like or what we’re going to talk about. With her, it just flows. We never seem to run out of things to say.

I get out of my car and see her standing there, looking out into the distance. A soft smile plays on her lips. There’s something very calm, very steady about her. She feels like a slow-moving wave - gentle, constant. And that wave carries a lot of people with it.

I walk up to her, say hi, hug her quickly.

We haven’t seen each other in a while. I’m curious about how she’s doing, but I’m also eager to tell her how I’ve been. I know my stories will be met with understanding, with acceptance. That’s what I expect from her. I expect her to take me onto that wave, to make me feel weightless for a moment. To soothe me, the way the sea does. I expect a lot from her.

We grab coffee and start walking down the beach. The sand shifts under my feet. It takes more effort to stay balanced, to move forward. The sea air hits me - sharp, salty, unmistakable. It’s a pleasant day, but not warm enough to sit. So we walk side by side. The conversation starts light, but it doesn’t stay there.

Empathy tells me about people in her life, about situations, about struggles - hers and others’. She goes deep, into layers and meanings, into emotions behind emotions.

At first, it feels natural. Then it starts to feel heavy.

I can see it - she carries a lot. Other people’s emotions, their pain, their frustration. It all sits with her, clings to her and people like that. They like that she takes some of it away from them. If I have to be completely honest, I like that too. I want her to take some of my emotional load. I want to feel lighter when I’m with her.

As if sensing my need, Empathy shifts conversation towards me. She starts asking questions. A lot of them.

Every answer I give is met with more depth, more feeling, more interpretation. She tells me how difficult it must have been, how strong I am, how much I must have carried.

At first, it feels good and I even feel a pang of guilt. She makes me feel seen and understood. She validates me in a way no one else does. She holds space for me, but I don’t want to hold the same space for her. I allow myself to be selfish for a moment longer and go with it, because I feel exactly how I wanted to feel – that ride on the wave. I would have stayed there, but validation without boundaries starts to weigh on me.

I start to feel how misaligned Empathy and I are. I want to release what I’m carrying, while she keeps bringing me back to it. Holding it, pressing into it, keeping it alive. That’s not what I expected. I expected lightness. Instead, I feel like I’m being pulled under the wave I wanted to ride so badly. The conversation that started gently has become draining. I feel it in my body now – heavy, slow, dense.

I look at her. She doesn’t seem to notice the shift. Does she know she’s doing this? Or is she so used to carrying everything that she doesn’t know how to let it go?

I feel relieved when our walk comes to a natural end. She hugs me goodbye - wraps her arms around me, shifting us from side to side. The hug that once felt warm and safe now feels different. Heavier, closer than I want it to be.

I feel held by her, but not in a way that frees me - in a way that keeps me there. A sharp realisation crosses my mind.

I don’t want to be suffocated by Empathy.

I don’t want to be pulled under by it.

I just want to leave.

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