misery doesn't need company
on accepting compassion and empathy gracefully
Every text I send my sisters these days seem to start with “I’m sorry for complaining, but…” and ends with a litany of complaints. They tell me to never be sorry for complaining to them, that’s what they are there for. But I am sorry and I feel bad for dumping everything on them.
It’s been a year since I first got sick. In that year, my body betrayed me in myriad ways. A year of hospital stays and tests and procedures and surgeries and recoveries during which my friends and family all stepped up and gave me plenty of attention. With that attention came comfort; the feeling of being taken care of, of being wrapped in a cocoon of care and love and even worry got me through the very long days of feeling like hell.
Eventually, as my illnesses compounded and my sick leave expanded, I began to feel less willing to share my misery. I started to feel like a burden to everyone who had been caring for me. No one needed to be aware of my every ache and pain, or to be subjected to the whims of my ever growing depression. I started peppering all my conversations with jokes, trying to keep it all lighthearted. I’d send tik tok videos and twitter memes and laugh along with my friend and my sisters. I stopped telling them that I was feeling awful, that I was in pain or couldn’t hold food down or was feeling so stressed out from not knowing what was wrong with me. My pat answer to “how are you doing?” was “hanging in there.” I wasn’t going to lie and say I’m okay, but I wasn’t going to elaborate, either.
There’s such a thing as compassion fatigue, and I started to believe my loved ones had reached that stage. Every time someone reached out and inquired as to how I was, I would feel a bit of panic. Do I tell them? Do I let them know I am miserable and in pain and barely surviving? Why would they want to hear that and what would they do with that information, anyhow? Pity me? I didn’t want that. I realize I was projecting my insecurities onto them, just assuming how they would feel if I told them I spent the night crying, or that I was out of pain pills and not sleeping at all.
Compassion and empathy are two traits I value highly. I like to think I exhibit both. I rally around my friends when they are sick or hurting or upset about something. I tell them to vent, to let go, that I will be the person they can lean on. Sometimes all you need is someone to tell you problems to, and I don’t mind being that person.
So why do I think that my friends and family do not want to be that comfort for me, that they don’t want me to lean on them? Is it because I’ve been sick so long that I just assume they are tired of hearing it? It’s not their fault I don’t want to vent anymore; it’s just the part of my brain that thinks I worthy of compassion and empathy is broken. I want to ask the next person who asks me how I’m doing if they really, really want to hear my litany of complaints.
And what good is complaining? It’s not going to change my health status, it’s not going to fix things. It would feel so good to unload, but when the cost is burdening my friends with this information, I hesitate. Oh, I was good at unloading in the beginning. But as time has marched on and I am still getting sick and being hospitalized, that emotional dumping no longer feels like it used it. It just feels tiresome and boring now.
So instead I tell jokes and laugh at funny videos my friends send me and react appropriately to the bitmoji greetings and gifs of bouquets of flowers and dogs smiling. I appreciate all that. I really do. I know that people no longer know what to say or do for me. Like me, they’re just waiting for my body to heal and for this to all be over. I know they want me to vent, they want me to complain, but I no longer feel like doing so. I imagine that they are repulsed by my ongoing issues. I imagine they want to hang up the phone or end the text with a well placed heart reaction.
But they are asking out of pure kindness, aren’t they? And here I am casting aspersions on them, thinking they are just going through the motions or sighing deeply when I say I’m not doing so well. This is unfair to them and I now know that by questioning motives, or questioning their compassion, I have not been a very good friend while they have been nothing but wonderful. I need to work on that. I need to work on me, as a whole. I need to learn that I am worthy of empathy and compassion as much as I need to accept those things coming from other people as real and honest and true.
I think it comes down to the fact that I just want to talk about other things. I don’t always want to complain. I am entertained by you telling me things about yourself and what’s going on in your life. Talk to me about your kids, about what you’re listening to or watching or reading. Tell me about the restaurant you went to last night or something funny that happened at work. Take my mind off of things. It doesn’t always have to be me venting, though I appreciate you letting me do so.
Hopefully I will be well soon, or at least better than I am now and we can have conversations that do not revolve around my malfunctioning body. I appreciate everyone who has reached out to me. I see your compassion. I feel your empathy. I am learning to accept and embrace it all. Thank you.