Human Compassion
Today was a classic example of how your emotions can help or hurt relationships.
I was stuck in my phone walking down the hallway at work. I had just changed into my scrubs, went to the bathroom, and I was heading to the break room to sit and wait to clock in and start the day.
I happened to look up and saw the janitor twisting her shoulders. You know the look, eyes squeeze shut, hands opened but strained, maybe even an audible sigh.
Some paths: least resistance, look down and pretend to ignore. We had already made contact, so perhaps I sigh and role my eyes too, the common bond of a sore body enough to make a small connection. Maybe even a sorry or some other haphazard phrase to build the strength of the understanding and empathy.
But I didn’t. For whatever reason, I felt like a) she needed more b) she wouldn’t mind if I touched her c) I was empowered to provide for her in this way.
When I was next to her in the hallway, I put down my phone and reached for her. Her eyes were still closed, but I’m not sure if I said anything. I reached out and ran my nails and rubbed her back, something I perceive as comforting because of my history and my mother’s ability to make everything better with a back rub (also how she perceives comfort, perhaps genetic just as much as it is habit).
The love and kindness she expressed was utterly astounding. My heart was flabbergasted that my simple act meant so much. She hugged me, blessed myself and any children I had. The human compassion moment at its finest. I had to hug her again, that the connection happened.
I was stuck in my phone walking down the hallway at work. I had just changed into my scrubs, went to the bathroom, and I was heading to the break room to sit and wait to clock in and start the day.
I happened to look up and saw the janitor twisting her shoulders. You know the look, eyes squeeze shut, hands opened but strained, maybe even an audible sigh.
Some paths: least resistance, look down and pretend to ignore. We had already made contact, so perhaps I sigh and role my eyes too, the common bond of a sore body enough to make a small connection. Maybe even a sorry or some other haphazard phrase to build the strength of the understanding and empathy.
But I didn’t. For whatever reason, I felt like a) she needed more b) she wouldn’t mind if I touched her c) I was empowered to provide for her in this way.
When I was next to her in the hallway, I put down my phone and reached for her. Her eyes were still closed, but I’m not sure if I said anything. I reached out and ran my nails and rubbed her back, something I perceive as comforting because of my history and my mother’s ability to make everything better with a back rub (also how she perceives comfort, perhaps genetic just as much as it is habit).
The love and kindness she expressed was utterly astounding. My heart was flabbergasted that my simple act meant so much. She hugged me, blessed myself and any children I had. The human compassion moment at its finest. I had to hug her again, that the connection happened.
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