If you see me fall into a pit of quicksand… don’t you jump in too
If you see me fall
In to a pit of quicksand
Don't you jump in too
I wrote this haiku at the Mindful Self Compassion course at Mana, after a session on compassion fatigue. A reminder to myself: jumping in to "fix" doesn't help either of us.
We’ve all been there. Someone we love is sinking. Every instinct says jump in and pull them out.
And then just like that, both of you are stuck there together.
But what’s the alternative?
My urge to fix
I've been there so many times. As a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend. And yes, as a coach.
Listening to someone I care about talk about something they're really struggling with, my brain flooding with "helpful" suggestions. Tempted, over and over, to share my clever idea. My solution. Feeling the urgency to solve it. To make them feel better. And to make me feel useful.
I know how I feel when I'm on the receiving end of advice when I am struggling. Frustrated, irritated, resistant. Needing to disconnect.
I know better. But that urge is so strong …
Whose suffering is it?
The question that shifts it for me: whose suffering is this urge actually coming from?
And the truth is, mostly, it’s mine.
My discomfort at watching someone I love in pain. And an old belief that it’s my job to make my loved one feel better. If I can't fix it, what am I for?
That's empathy at work. With empathy, we feel the other person's feelings. We join them in their distress. Stay there too long and we start responding out of our own discomfort. We call this compassion fatigue. A more accurate name is empathy fatigue. Neuroscientists Tania Singer and Olga Klimecki found that empathy on its own lights up the brain's pain networks and wears us down. Compassion lights up networks linked to warmth and care. It's sustainable.
What the urge takes me away from
When I jump in, my "help" takes one of two forms:
Rescuing, taking over, or controlling. "Here's the solution."
Minimising, avoiding or erasing. "At least …"
Either way, I've left the person in front of me. I'm busy with my idea and my discomfort. I'm no longer really there.
For them, it can feel like not being listened to – I went into fix-it mode before they'd finished. And like not being trusted – my solutionising says I know better.
Coaching gives me the opportunity to see what good comes from NOT rushing in. From allowing my client to fully express and feel the feeling before turning to solutions. Then finding her own.
Sometimes a potential solution floats into my mind. But I guarantee whatever she comes up with is truer and more powerful. Every time. Because it is hers.
Making that space means I have to stay on the edge. Supporting her to feel it, without rushing in. That's presence.
And staying on that edge is so much harder with the people I love.
Compassion for both of us
What helps is holding compassion for myself at the same time as compassion for them.
For me: my discomfort. My temptation to fix. My lack of control – I can't solve this for them. For them: their pain, and their capacity to find their own way through.
Kristin Neff describes two sides of compassion. Tender compassion comforts and accepts. Fierce compassion protects, provides and motivates – it keeps us steady, and knows the difference between what's mine and what's yours. Tender without fierce is where I lose myself in someone else's struggle. With both, I can stay on solid ground. Close enough to reach. Steady enough to be useful.
Two practices that help
1. Notice the urge
Notice when you're getting hooked by the impulse to help. Tight chest. Words rushing to your mouth. Your mind three steps into the solution.
Just name the urge, silently: "Here's the urge to fix." Press your feet into the floor. One slow breath.
Make an active choice: what is needed here, right now? Compassionate connection, or helping them to think it through? If you are in doubt, ask them.
2. One breath for me, one for you
For when awareness of someone else's suffering is feeling distressing. Take a conscious breath in to steady yourself - silently say, "In for me". Send a loving breath out for them, wishing them ease, silently saying, "Out for you".
Being alongside someone who is struggling is one of the hardest things love asks of us. It's also one of the most respectful.
