Skip to main content

Empathy

Empathy is often interpreted as the ability to put oneself in another’s place, but this simplistic definition does not capture its depth. Empathy is not merely feeling what another person feels; it is understanding their experience without becoming lost in it. This balance between connection and discernment is essential, particularly in professions that require rational decision-making without emotional burdens clouding judgement.

In acupuncture, for instance, the practitioner must attentively listen to the patient’s complaints, grasp emotional nuances, and understand their pain without absorbing it. An acupuncturist who is overwhelmed by a patient’s suffering may lose the clarity needed to determine the most appropriate treatment. Conversely, a lack of empathy results in a cold, mechanical approach, reducing the patient’s trust in the therapeutic process.

Neuroscience shows that empathy is not merely an emotional response but also a neurological function. The brain has specific circuits for recognising others' emotions, enabling an appropriate response to different contexts. However, regulating these impulses is crucial. Excessive empathy can lead to emotional fatigue and burnout, while its absence creates detachment and a lack of human connection.

In clinical practice, empathy must be structured. The practitioner listens, understands, analyses, and acts based on what is best for the patient, without being overwhelmed by the emotional impact of their pain. This approach ensures a balance between compassion and effectiveness.

True empathy is not merely an emotional reflex but a refined skill. It requires perception, control, and directed action. It is not about feeling for another but feeling with them, maintaining the objectivity necessary to make a real difference.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Fallacy of Self‑Sufficiency

Some people will tell you — quite loudly, usually — that they are enough. They need no one, thank you very much. Entirely self‑made. A closed circuit. I, too, fancied myself an island at one time. A small, sturdy principality of one. I paid my own bills. Made my own tea. I even spoke aloud to myself in the supermarket queue, which was meant to prove something. But late at night, when all the heroic independence had been done for the day, there it was — a sort of homesickness without a forwarding address. You know the feeling. You’re supposedly sovereign, but you still wish someone would knock. Self‑sufficiency is a word that weighs a bit too much. It sounds like an insurance policy or a piece of camping equipment. It promises freedom, but only the kind you can fit in a box. Like eating an entire birthday cake alone — which, I confess, I’ve done. Because the truth (and it arrives, as truths tend to, when you’ve just burned your toast) is that we are made of others. We are es...

The Progressive Misreading of Silence

At 5, I entered rooms like a murmur. I was already listening for something behind the noise — something older than voices, softer than footsteps. “He’s such a well-behaved boy,” they said, smiling with relief. But what they mistook for virtue was only quiet intuition. I was not good. I was attuned. At 11, I had mastered the art of presence without weight. I could sit by the window for hours, watching the wind pass through the trees like thought through the body. “He’s quiet,” they would say — gently, but with a trace of discomfort. They couldn’t name the feeling of someone watching without need. At 17, I was called “mature.” But maturity is not a virtue — it is a scar. I had already seen the shape of endings before others saw beginnings. Friends came to me like tide to stone, hoping to be held. I held them, yes — but not always with words. Sometimes silence is the only honest offering. At 24, my stillness no longer charmed. The world asked for brightness, momentum, performa...

On Loyalty and the Quiet Companionship of Pippen

I have a cosmopolitan friend who, by the mercy of chance — that discreet and impartial arbiter of destinies — was born in Serbia. Industrious beyond measure, he treats work not merely as obligation but as a quiet philosophy, a means of aligning oneself with the silent order of things. And he is a companion of a rare kind: steadfast, discerning, and, above all, loyal. His name is Pippen. We first crossed paths in the now-vanished days of Google+ — that fleeting agora where, for a moment, the world’s geeks entertained the gentle delusion that they might, in time, inherit the Earth. It was an age of bright aspiration, tinged with naïveté, yet marked by a peculiar fellowship that transcended all borders and conventions. Among Pippen’s many virtues, loyalty stands pre-eminent. Not the clamorous, performative loyalty so fashionable in this restless age, but the quieter, unwavering kind — the loyalty of one who stays. It is revealed not in grand gestures but in small, consistent a...