Part 2 of my un-expected series on empathy. Part one is here

Empathy isn’t something you have or are, it’s something you do.

I grew up in an abusive environment. I learned to read micro-expressions in people’s faces, running around and responding to feelings that weren’t even shared yet, to try to avoid the consequences of my stepdad’s anger, or my mother’s sadness.

I learned well, so well that it took me a long time to learn to not do that. I often think back and realised that other people didn’t realise that I did things based on what I assumed they were feeling, regardless of their actual emotions and needs. They just saw me doing things and assumed I had my own reasons, separate to them. Sometimes I was correct, sometimes I wasn’t. It doesn’t matter either way. While I was reading people’s feelings, I wasn’t practicing empathy. I was kind of doing the opposite, creating a story in my mind for the emotions I perceived and running around them to manage them so they didn’t have to.