Giving People the Benefit of the Doubt Doesn’t Give Them the Right to Hurt You
It’s Time To Roll Back the Empathy Doormat
I was an empath before being an empath was a thing.
Ever since I can remember, I have loved my time alone (I am an only child, so I’m really good at that). Crowds, parties, and loud noises send me to the edge of a panic attack. I feel the emotions in a room as if they were my own. Clutter creates chaos in my soul. I can be miles away from a small pile of dishes that I left in the sink (that happens maybe once a year), and it can distract me so much that I can’t focus on whatever I’m doing at the moment.
I hate small talk. My partner can walk into a room and mingle with every person, whether she knows them or not, in 10 minutes or less. Me? I hide in the bathroom and count the hours until it’s time to go home. Violent movies and disturbing news stories physically affect me. (I was a journalist for about 40 years, but somehow managed to thrive in that environment.)
It’s only recently that I was able to put a label on my uniqueness and realize I’m not that unique after all. It was a huge relief to recognize that I’m not crazy and that there are things I can do to relieve the overwhelming symptoms I share with fellow empaths.
I can now celebrate my empathic qualities instead of ignoring them or, worse, self-medicating them with alcohol like I did for so long.
Recognizing You’re an Empath is Only The First Step
You would think that finally having a “diagnosis” for my feelings and behaviors would magically give me the peace I’ve always sought.
You would be wrong.
One of the “gifts” of being an empath, which still tears me down, is the ability to feel what others are feeling and connect with those feelings so much that they become mine. Sometimes, that empathy is so deep that I excuse other people’s behavior because they had a hard life, are going through a hard time, are in denial, etc., so it’s OK for them to act that way.
In such situations, I keep my thoughts and opinions to myself. Experience has taught me that trying to express my opinion in emotionally charged situations will lead to others lashing out at me. So, I usually keep quiet.
While keeping my mouth shut goes a long way toward avoiding unnecessary drama and arguing, silence sends the message that it’s OK to put me down or discredit my opinion.
And that, my friends, is not OK.
Case In Point: Pushing Hot Buttons That Are Better Left Cold
This past weekend, my partner and I went out with a couple we hadn’t seen in a long time. I was looking forward to catching up. During dinner, we got on the subject of television shows we’d recently seen, and the Netflix series Painkiller came up. For those who haven’t seen it, the series deals with the opioid crisis in America and the resulting fallout.
We all agreed that the drug companies, the FDA, and the medical profession are more than just a little responsible for the problem. All was right with the world. Until …
A half-empty glass of red wine in the middle of the table caught my eye, and I announced: “Alcohol is a legal drug. More people die from alcohol-related deaths in the U.S. than from opioid overdose.” It’s a sobering statistic that has helped to keep me sober for almost five years.
I almost cringed as the words left my mouth, anticipating the response and wanting to take them back so badly. The reaction was instantaneous. The death dagger eyes I got from the other couple pierced me to the core. You would think I had suggested handing out Oxycontin to everyone in the restaurant like it was Halloween candy.
“You can’t compare alcohol to drugs,” one of my friends yelled. “Does that statistic include car accidents? Is that just from recreational drinking? Were the people who died alcoholics?
“Alcoholics can’t stop drinking, but normal people can. So you can’t compare the statistics about alcoholics to people who know when to stop.”
At that point, she started sounding like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon, so I checked out of that conversation and changed the subject. My friend knows all about my previous struggles with alcohol. So her comments, even though they didn’t trigger me to lash back at her, hurt me more than just a little.
As we left the restaurant to continue our evening, my friend turned to me and, with more than a hint of sarcasm, said, “I’m not drinking anymore tonight because I’m not allowed to.”
Deflated But Not Defeated
How my friend jumped from the statistics I mentioned to my forbidding her to drink shines a light on her problem, not mine. I have long suspected she has a problem with alcohol. But I am not her judge and jury.
There I go being an empath again—giving her a pass for the swipe she took at me because I recognize she might suspect she has a problem with alcohol.
I should have said, “If that statistic triggers you so much, maybe you should look at your alcohol consumption. I didn’t make up that statistic. So, don’t kill the messenger. Don’t attempt to excuse your drinking by attacking my sobriety, which is not for you to judge.”
But I didn’t say that. Because as an empath, I not only give people the benefit of the doubt, I am also a black belt in “I Suck At Thinking On My Feet.” Thankfully, my writing makes up for that. But I am not a doormat, and my empathy for others does not give them license to walk all over me.
It’s time to use my powers as an empath to give myself some much-needed empathy. Perhaps it’s time you do the same.
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Barb Besteni is a writer, spiritual seeker, former rock star, and animal lover who, at 65, finally achieved the below 20% body fat composition that eluded her in her younger days. After 35 years of writing, copyediting, and producing content for local, national, and international television news, she left the newsroom for the comfort of her home office. Get an email whenever Barb publishes a new story on Medium: https://medium.com/@barbbesteni/subscribe.