Introduction:

Empathy. A word that gets thrown around too casually these days. Everyone talks about it like it’s a badge of honour, something you must have if you want to be seen as a decent human being. And maybe it is. But what no one tells you is that empathy isn’t always a gift. Sometimes, it’s the heaviest burden to carry. Sometimes, it becomes your biggest curse.

It’s the curse that keeps you awake at night, even when everything in your own life seems fine. The curse that eats into your peace when you’re supposed to be laughing with your friends, dancing at a party, or simply enjoying a sunny day. It’s the curse that doesn’t let you move on from what others can forget in a minute.

Let me take you into the world of what this curse feels like.

The World of Empathy and Curse

Imagine this. You're walking in a local market with your mother or a friend. You’re looking at vegetables, picking out fruits, maybe even joking about how expensive everything has become. Then you see her. An old woman, probably in her late seventies, is sitting quietly in a corner with a small basket of lemons. Maybe 20, maybe 30 lemons. That’s all. And even if she sells them all, she'll earn maybe 50 rupees. She’s sitting on a piece of a torn jute sack that’s soaking wet because the rain hasn’t stopped since morning. Her clothes are damp. Her umbrella is broken. She’s slightly shivering, but she still forces a smile and calls out in a trembling voice, “Three lemons for ten rupees, beta…”

You buy some lemons from her. But then you walk away with a knot in your throat. You can’t stop thinking about her. The way her fingers trembled—the loneliness in her eyes. You wonder why life is so unfair. You wonder if she has children. If they know. If they care. You wonder what she eats at night. You wonder if she’s always alone.

You carry her home with you, not in the physical sense, but in your mind. In your heart. She lingers like a ghost, and no matter what music you play or who you're with, you can’t shake off her face.

And then there are animals. Ever seen a sick puppy, skin clinging to bones, fur lost in patches, a deep wound near its tail with dried blood crusting the edges? Or a cow walking slowly with her ribs sticking out, her back hunched, flies buzzing around a wound that never seems to heal? And suddenly you’re frozen. You want to look away, but you can’t. You feel this crushing sadness building in your chest. You want to do something, anything, but you don't know how. You curse yourself for walking past. And for days, maybe even weeks, those eyes haunt you.

Then there are people. A little boy selling pens at a traffic signal, trying to match your pace, tapping your window with eyes full of hope. An old man with a broken spine is trying to sell handmade fans in the heat. A man from a Dalit background sitting at a distance, hesitant to approach a crowd of upper-caste men, knowing they might insult him even after he’s worked hard. A beggar so thin he looks like bones stitched together with a sackcloth, chased away by stones when all he asked for was something to eat.

These aren’t just scenes. They stay with us. They follow us into our dreams. They show up in the middle of a joke, in the middle of dinner, and sometimes when we’re smiling at something we really wanted to enjoy. Because that’s what empathy does. It doesn’t let us look away and move on. It plants stories and faces and voices inside us. It demands that we feel, not just once, but over and over again.

And so, while everyone else laughs, we’re carrying invisible weights. While others enjoy a trip or a party, we’re thinking about someone who didn’t even have shoes on a rainy day. That’s the curse of empathy. The curse that makes you feel so deeply that you sometimes forget to feel your own life. You forget to breathe without guilt. You forget how to just be.

So, what do we do with this curse?

Maybe we can talk about it. Maybe we sit with it, acknowledge it, give it a name. Maybe we don’t run from it, but we also don’t let it drown us. We learn to hold space for others without losing ourselves in the process. We figure out how to feel without breaking.

Let’s figure out, together, how to carry this curse without letting it crush us. In the next part of this reflection, we’ll explore a few gentle ways to ease the weight just enough to make room for our own joy.

How to Feel Deeply Without Losing Yourself

Here are some ways to help you carry the curse of empathy…without letting it crush the spirit that makes you who you are:

Let yourself feel, but practice letting go.

You can honor the old woman’s struggle, the stray dog’s pain, and the child’s loneliness by acknowledging it fully. Sit with it, cry if you need to. But then, let it out. Write it in a journal, sketch it, say a prayer, or talk to a trusted friend. Make it a ritual: feel, release, breathe. Let some of the heaviness spill into the world and not stay stuck in you that crushes you under its weight.

Create a space that is yours alone.

Every deeply empathic heart needs refuge. Find a quiet corner where your own soul can take center stage. Read a comforting book, tend to plants, play your favorite music, or just stare and observe the things around you. Fill this space with reminders of your own joys, your dreams, your laughter. It doesn’t mean you’re selfish; it means you’re refilling a cup that others so often drink from. And remind yourself that it's absolutely okay to be selfish, to forget about the world around you.

Practice the art of micro-action.

You cannot rescue everyone or make their lives easier. But you can change one moment for one life. Smile at the woman selling lemons. Feed a street animal once a week. Share a meal with someone hungry, offer a word of kindness, donate what you can. Your empathy is most powerful when it moves from ache to action, no matter how small. So practice whatever is under your control. If you believe you have some kind of privilege, use it for the betterment of others.

Learn to set invisible boundaries.

You do not need to take in every sorrow, every story, as your own. Imagine a gentle barrier, like soft glass, between you and the world’s hurt. You can see it, acknowledge it, but you don’t let it pierce you through. It’s not a wall; it’s a filter. It lets you decide how much you let in, when to rest, and when to reach out. Set boundaries that set you free.

Find others who understand the weight.

There are people, some close, some far, who share this burden. Who feels similar to what you feel. Connect with them. Let their words and companionship be a balm. Knowing you’re not alone in feeling so much can make the load lighter and the world less cold.

Celebrate your capacity to feel.

Empathy is rare, especially in a world racing toward numbness. It is rare in a world that is so self-absorbed in the world of social media, which disconnects us from reality. Yes, the things we earlier talked about hurt. But it’s also proof that you’re alive to all the colors of human existence. Let this be your anchor on hard days, that you are someone who cares fiercely. That is a strength, not a flaw.

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