In a world racing forward, it feels like we’re evolving—but to what end? Look around, and you’ll see that we’ve grown acutely aware of the importance of being “sensitive”. We talk about mental health, therapy, and inclusiveness as if these are the markers of our progress. We try to be so careful, so considerate, so perfectly aware of everyone’s feelings. But beneath all this striving, I must wonder: are we genuinely changing, or just putting on masks to fit the part?
I don’t mean to be controversial, but I can’t help putting out a few questions out there for those who might relate with me.
Empathy’s double-edged Sword
Why does kindness feel heavy sometimes? Why does it drain our social batteries, and leave an itch of impatience we’re too ashamed to admit? We smile, we nod, we listen to people vent and pour their hearts out, and yet, deep down, a part of us wants them to just finish and move on.
I can’t be the only one who’s felt this strange tension—this split between wanting to be kind and the exhaustion that comes with it. I do want to emphasize It’s not that we feel this way all the time, but we can’t deny that it happens. Maybe it’s when we’re carrying our own burdens and just don’t have the emotional space to give. Or maybe it’s when the person isn’t particularly close, or when they keep circling back to the same pain without seeking change. Whatever the reason, we find ourselves asking: are we truly being empathetic, or simply going through the motions because we feel we should?
The Gap in Understanding
Take, for instance, people with dark pasts who have found ways to survive. Their stories are powerful. In our effort to be sensitive, we find ourselves reaching to understand others on a deeper level, even when our own experiences can’t fully match theirs. We hear about people overcoming unimaginable struggles and feel drawn to their stories, hoping that by empathizing, we can offer something real. But can I truly understand their pain if I haven’t lived it? Sure, I can listen, even comfort, but there’s always a divide between our experiences. Am I doing them justice by pretending to relate, or is it more honest to simply be there, without any grand illusions of “getting it”?
Do I really have the knowledge to say or not say what they really want to hear? I don’t speak for everyone, but I for sure question expressing/sharing something when the other person doesn’t have anything to say after I’m done.
And this dilemma extends beyond just deep pain—it’s present even in the smallest gestures of connection. We reach out, often with the best intentions, offering smiles, quick conversations, invitations that we hope will make someone feel seen. But what happens after that? Often, they’re left feeling more isolated than before, because a small taste of belonging can be a cruel thing when it’s only present there to be taken away.
The Ephemeral Dance
Then there’s the fleeting nature of importance in others’ lives. At one point, you’re significant—woven into their plans, their every decision
The next, you’re gone, they don’t even bring up your name, you just vanish out of thin air, as if you never even existed… there’s not even the bare minimum human empathy in their heart for you. you’re left wondering, “Was any of it real?” Who has the answers to these questions? Doesn’t it get exhausting trying to convince yourself that it all happens for the better? Even if you have it imbibed in you, it just can be tough accepting it sometimes.
Why we matter; and why we don’t
It’s strange, isn’t it? Sometimes, we’re pursued by people willing to give us the world, to shower us with affection—and we feel nothing. But then, the slightest acknowledgment from someone who no longer sees us can become the very thing we ache for. What a paradox—to chase approval from those who withhold it, while neglecting the gifts freely given by others.
It can be tough to understand your value, your worth when the mind bothers you with a million questions, all unanswered for in the moment. Where did all the benevolent efforts go? What does this perplexity really mean? I believe there’s some hedonic sense to this chase, that we just won’t give up with the hope, but are we actually hoping/expecting something from anyone, or just ourselves? Deep down they gave you some kind of validation, deep down they somehow made you feel “enough”. Think about it, wouldn’t the pain stop once you allow yourself to be there and love you in ways you’ve always yearned for? We know it, yet we fail to acknowledge it.
“The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.” How much of our longing for validation stems from this primal desire to be seen, to matter? Without belonging, the emptiness often festers, manifesting in ways we might not even understand.
Half-lived Moments
We live in a world obsessed with capturing moments, but I wonder: does the joy come from experiencing them, or from the chance to share them later? Are we truly present, or are we imagining how we’ll look back, how others will perceive our curated snapshots of happiness? It’s a strange feeling—half-present, half-drifting, waiting for someone else to complete a moment we haven’t fully inhabited ourselves.
I’ve had my share of heartwarming moments—those fleeting instances that felt perfect, untouchable. I’m grateful I cherished them at the time, even if they now bring a tinge of sadness. I can’t help but wonder: what if, next time, my mind gets in the way? What if fear of loss makes me guard my heart against fully embracing the experience?
Everyone’s a little scared, being brave was never defined as not feeling fear, but opening your heart to the unknown anyway. Nothing’s ever going to be certain. Life’s just a big series of experiences —imperfect, unpredictable, but always meaningful. I believe there are no true mistakes, no missed opportunities, it’s all meant to be an experience.
Perhaps being fully present is the gift we owe ourselves. Not for how a moment might look in hindsight or how others might view it, but for the sake of living it—completely, honestly, and unfiltered.
Conclusion
In a world that pushes us to connect, validate, and empathize, we often overlook the most profound relationship of all—the one we hold with ourselves. Genuine kindness, after all, is a gift that must first be bestowed inwardly. If we can’t extend compassion to our own flaws and struggles, how can we offer others the grace we deny ourselves?
Navigating the labyrinth of human emotions is neither simple nor predictable. We stumble through moments of generosity and selfishness, of clarity and confusion, sometimes leaving scars and other times planting seeds of growth. And that’s okay. Life isn’t about getting everything right—it’s about showing up, embracing the imperfections, and allowing each experience to shape us.
So, pause for a moment. Look beyond the distractions and the need to perform for others. Be present, not because it’s the “right” thing to do, but because it’s what you deserve.
And remember this: the moments that matter most aren’t the ones perfectly curated or universally acknowledged—they’re the ones where you feel deeply, live fully, and choose to be unapologetically yourself.
rawandreal 