I Kicked a Guy in the Balls on the Paris Metro Because He Asked Me to
This is the life I lead as a people-pleasing empath
Do you remember that viral video from 2016 of the 8-month-old baby crying emotionally to his mom’s opera singing?
That’s how I would summarize my general state of being in the world. I feel a lot of things, and I feel them deeply. When I see another human feeling an emotion, I tend to absorb it right away. And I am convinced that this sometimes-debilitating empathy is lodged deep in my DNA. It started long before me.
My dad (born 1942) won’t call the internet company about an error in his bill because the customer service rep might be having a bad day and he may make him upset. My dad’s mother (born 1921) once leapt from their family car after it was violently rear-ended to reassure the other driver:
“Don’t worry! It was probably our fault!”
But when, you ask, did this genetic mutation culminate in you kicking someone’s balls in a foreign subway system?
This writer (born 1983) happened to be studying abroad in Paris. It was a hot summer day, the kind that makes your thighs stick together when you walk.
I was returning home on the Metro one afternoon in a near-empty train car. I was listening to Belle and Sebastian on my Discman.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. A short man in his mid 50s looked at me as if he was in pain.
“Please, miss!”
(In French, of course.)
“I have this medical condition with my nerves, and I’m having a problem with it, and the only way to stop it is if you put your foot right here (gesturing to his balls.)”
(Still in French…)
No, I did not immediately get up and head toward the other end of the train car to escape this man. Instead, my mind attempted to piece together some kind of plausible medical condition that could be relieved by someone kicking your balls. A seizure? Allergic reaction? Some kind of erectile implant malfunction?
His story didn’t quite fit with my medical background knowledge. But then again, was my French really that good? The guy looked so desperately in pain, and I couldn’t leave him here in this empty Metro car in that kind of condition. I did a quick cost/benefit analysis of this transaction, and I decided to just help the guy out.
So I placed my sandaled foot on his upper thigh, and gave a little nudge.
“No, it won’t work that way. It needs to be harder like this!”
The man gestured with his hand, punching himself in the balls. Things were taking a turn real fast, but I was sure as hell sticking with this to the end.
So I kicked this guy with all of my might, straight in his balls. He fell back, doubled over (in pain, agony, relief?) just in time for the Metro doors to open and for me to rush out.
And that is how someone whose natural state is to absorb other people’s emotions ends up kicking a stranger in the balls to help him.
Since that ball-kicking day on the Metro I have had plenty of other cringe-worthy moments like this in my life. There have been moments when perhaps my intuition should have led to a different, “safer” reaction than to trust another human.
For example, there was the time I woke up in a hotel room to see a house cleaning staff sifting through my purse, and my first thought was to say “Oh, sorry to startle you!” when they looked up and saw me awake.
Wait, you’re thinking — how does this woman even survive in this world every day?
But hear me out. I’m still here, I’m safe, and I’ve grown to see this as my superpower instead of my weakness.
At work, I’ve learned to embrace the fact that I care deeply about the staff I supervise. Sometimes it’s more challenging for me to give difficult feedback if I know someone is trying their best, but that just makes the feedback I give more heartfelt and meaningful.
At home, I can genuinely connect with my children when they are having a tantrum about their pasta not being in the right-colored bowl, because their feelings still seem valid to me.
And if I am so lucky to call you a friend, I sure as hell will do anything for you if I know it will brighten your day. Even if you asked me to kick you in the balls on the Paris Metro.
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