Empathy: a Burden or Superpower?

Imagine this:

It’s pouring rain. You’re standing at a bus stop, no umbrella, soaked to the bone. Everyone around you is rushing by: jackets pulled tight, faces turned away. And just when you’re about to give up hope…someone taps you on the shoulder. They’re holding out their umbrella. Not saying anything grand. Just a tiny gesture that says, “Hey. I see you.” That, right there, is empathy.

Unlike delivering big speeches or solving the world’s problems overnight, empathy stands still in the storm with someone else. Empathy offers them shelter, even if it’s just for a moment.

I used to think feeling so much was a weakness. Like carrying everyone’s sadness would crush me eventually. I wished I could be tougher you know, like those movie heroes who walk away from explosions without flinching. But life isn’t an action movie. It’s softer. Messier. More like a coming-of-age film where the real power isn’t in muscles: it’s in moments. Moments when you choose to stay. Moments when you choose to feel, even when it would be easier to look away.

But if I’m being honest, empathy has always felt like a double-edged sword to me. Some days, it feels like a superpower like when I pick up on my sister’s mood even before she says a word, and just knowing makes her feel lighter.  And other days, it’s heavy like carrying invisible weights that no one else can see.

One misty rainy evening in London

I remember this one evening in London. It had been raining, that soft, misty kind of rain the city is famous for. I walked into a tiny café near Covent Garden, hoping to dry off and warm up.  In the corner sat an older man, his coat still dripping, staring out the window with such quiet sadness that it filled the whole room. I didn’t know him.  We never spoke. But sitting there with my coffee, I felt the ache of whatever he was carrying. It was so strong, it almost felt like my own.

That’s the strange thing about empathy. It blurs the line between your story and someone else’s. Sometimes it’s beautiful like laughing with a stranger at the absurdity of getting soaked in the rain, and feeling, for a moment, less alone in the world.  And sometimes it’s overwhelming like walking into a room and picking up on every unspoken tension, every hidden sorrow, without anyone saying a word.

There were days I wished I could turn it off.  Even at home.  Sometimes, after long conversations where I held space for everyone else’s worries, I would sit in my room, feeling completely drained like I had lost little pieces of myself. But even then... I wouldn’t trade it.  

Because some of the most meaningful connections I’ve ever had: friendships, moments of deep understanding with strangers, even simple memories with my family  were built in those spaces where empathy made me stay a little longer, listen a little deeper.

Empathy, for me, isn’t about swooping in to fix things.  

It’s about noticing.  It’s about sitting quietly with someone else's joy or pain, even when there’s nothing to say, even when all you have to offer is your presence.  It’s about those late-night conversations where words run out, but your being there says everything.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

So, is Empathy, my burden or superpower? You tell me 🤗