The Lonely Bachelor: A Story About Vulnerability

I've noticed an interesting trend among my clients; particularly those who come to therapy because of a maladaptive behavior that's getting in their way. Often even if they've identified the problem and are motivated to change, they feel powerless. After experiencing disappointment over and over, they mostly believe that change is impossible. Clients with this mindset usually come to their first session looking defeated, skeptical, and often having already predicted that I won’t be able to help them. One of the first interventions I use with these clients is the Empathy Equation. Here's an example.

A client, let's call him Andrew, was a 40-year-old bachelor who was fed up with his long history of failed relationships. At our first session, Andrew said his goal was to learn how to be "less picky" about the women he chose to date. According to his assessment, the problem with his love life was that his standards were too high. He thought if he could learn how to settle for less attractive, successful, and confident women, he might finally find a long term partner. 

Naturally, I was struck by his automatic l assumption that the only thing he had the power to change were his expectations. While I agreed that he had unrealistic expectations, his pickiness didn’t seem to be the heart of the matter. After building trust, I gently encouraged him to tell me his story. Together, we discovered several traumatic events and abandonments early in his life that he had never validated or processed. He was forced to be the "man of the house" and the breadwinner in a rough city at a very young age. It had trained him to project confidence, hyper-masculinity, and perfection at all times to keep from getting stabbed in the back. The business he got involved in just to keep food on the table had required constant bravado and intimidation. Unfortunately, this habit had continued in his dating life. 

Andrew was baffled by the rejections that kept happening despite his best efforts. It would go like this: He'd meet a woman, hoping she'd finally be "the one". He'd spend their first couple dates trying desperately to impress her. He'd show off his spotless, chic apartment and wear clothes carefully chosen to flatter his body. He would brag about his career success, portray himself as fun and carefree, and tell his date about how many people relied on his wisdom and support.

His strategy of projecting absolute perfection inevitably backfired, though. Shocking, I know. If he didn't alienate the woman he was wooing with false arrogance, he would spiral as soon as any vulnerability was required. If she asked him about something he perceived to be a weakness, he would instantly feel humiliated and inadequate. To make the pain more bearable, he'd quickly pivot and identify a flaw in his date. He'd then fixate on it until he'd convinced himself that SHE wasn't good enough for HIM. Thus emerged his theory that his standards were simply too high. 

Andrew's denial about his shame had completely blinded him to the true cause of his relationship troubles. Even after identifying the true issue, several more weeks went by, the cycle playing out again and again. I suspect that deep down, Andrew was still holding out hope that his perfection gambit might work if he just tried hard enough. Finally, however, he was ready to accept the truth: His outdated defense mechanisms were pushing him to withhold empathy from others, and more importantly, from himself.

As the insight grew, he quietly told me a deeper version of his story. He said he'd only survived his traumatic childhood by using bravado to bluff his way out of danger. He had to pretend that he wasn’t wounded. There was no room for mistakes or weakness. As an adult, he’d just continued bragging, competing, and posturing to prove himself. Considering how much professional success it had brought him, the idea of intentionally letting down his guard felt completely counterintuitive. His inner caveman was driving the train. Cognitively, Andrew understood the problem, but when he had opportunities to show vulnerability, he would revert to his old habit and put up a front. 

The first few times he tried to go against his instincts, he had panic attacks, but he kept trying. Slowly but surely, the facade came down, revealing a much more relatable human underneath. By the end of our time working together he was in the longest relationship he’d ever been in. Not only had his love life improved, but the symptoms of depression and anxiety he'd felt for most of his life were significantly reduced.

So what exactly happened? Andrew had started out by noticing the feelings, beliefs and behaviors that were getting in his way. He'd been listening to the inner caveman for so long, he'd confused his behaviors with his identity. But as he started to investigate how his origin story had impacted him, the puzzle pieces fell together. Suddenly his frustrating feelings and habits made sense. Once he understood himself (aka learned self-empathy), he realized he wasn't trapped reacting the old way.

As he learned to have compassion on himself, he gained confidence that the true version of him could be known and loved. By detaching his unhelpful behaviors from his identity, he had the power to choose a different strategy than the one that had been sabotaging him for so long. Much like in my experience with the Bieber Incident, the Empathy Equation helped Andrew reach a deeper understanding of what he was feeling (shame, judgment), believing (survival requires perfection), and behaving (sabotage of intimacy). Once he had accessed self empathy, he gained control of himself.

The Bieber Incident (aka Confronting My Trauma)

I'm going to take a break from the Empathy Equation to tell you my "you have unresolved trauma" wake-up call. It took the stupidest form ever. A seemingly innocuous joke triggered a full-blown panic attack for me at work, witnessed by dozens of people. At the time, I was working as an office admin for the youth ministry of a very large, very conservative church in Dallas. The team of fun-loving youth pastors I worked with was notorious for playing silly pranks on each other and laughing hysterically. Fun, right? Well, this particular day was the first time the joke was played on me. TW: I definitely didn't react in a fun-loving way.

My boss, the youth director, had acquired a larger-than-life-sized cardboard cutout of a pre-teen Justin Bieber a few months prior. It had already been featured in numerous practical jokes around the office. High-fives had been had by all. On the day of the Bieber incident, as I jokingly refer to it now, I was walking out of my office to check the mail when a gigantic, man-shaped Bieber jumped aggressively out at me from the shadows. He even roared like a monster: "Bugatey, bugatey boo!!"

In the past, when any of my coworkers had been the victims of this prank, they had shown momentary shock and then immediately started laughing. Not me. I made a high-pitched scream and jumped so high, I was practically crawling on the ceiling. I started shaking uncontrollably and crumpled to the floor, sobbing, gasping for air, and feeling like I was absolutely dying. My boss, who had been wielding the offending Bieber was speechless. After regaining control of my limbs, I fled to the bathroom, locked the door behind me, vomited, and cried as I tried to stop shaking.

I was absolutely mortified by my public hysteria, especially since I generally pride myself on being in control of my emotions. (I better not see anyone rolling their eyes!) My desperation to prove that I was a fun, chill, and *ahem* normal member of the team was crushed in that one spectacular meltdown. I spent about an hour locked in the bathroom, getting my panic under control, and, naturally, spiraling into shame. 

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, multiple well-meaning coworkers grimaced at me with worried expressions. My boss apologized profusely and after a few minutes of silence, he tentatively asked, "So…um… What happened?" I was at a loss. I’d just spent the last hour asking myself that exact same question. (Well, technically, I think the exact question I was asking was, "What the fuck just happened?")

The Bieber incident was the first time I truly confronted the fact that I was still deeply impacted by childhood trauma and I needed to address it. I'd gone to therapists numerous times (always at churches) for depression, but the topic of trauma had never come up. I had chalked up my depression to be a “thorn in my side” that I just needed to live with. The Bieber incident proved it wasn’t going to be that passive of a process.

Confused but intrigued, I started looking for explanations for why I reacted the way I did. Google insensitively informed me that having an “exaggerated startle response” is a common symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Rude. The more I read, the more the sobering reality started to sink in. I went to a psychologist (this time, one who specialized in trauma) who confirmed the diagnosis. It was like discovering a gaping wound in my chest that I’d been blissfully ignorant of until then.

I started trauma therapy and reluctantly began examining the long-tucked-away memories of my childhood and the problematic thinking patterns that had come with them. I gave myself permission to stop running from my darkest memories. It was miserable. Whenever I processed a "big" trauma, it seemed like 4 more would pop up in its place, like a diabolical hydra. I was determined, though, hungry to learn about what I was experiencing. 

Although I didn’t have the words for it then, the Bieber incident had kickstarted a pivotal change in how I viewed myself. In hindsight, the work I was doing in therapy was me working through the Empathy Equation…for myself. My PTSD breakdown had highlighted feelings, beliefs, and behaviors that didn’t make sense to me. In order to solve that mystery, I had to investigate my identity, experiences, and circumstances with curiosity and non-judgment.

As I slowly got to know myself, I discovered a problematic core belief that had unconsciously been the foundation of my worldview my entire life. It was this: My feelings don’t matter. It wasn’t a belief that I had chosen, but one that I acquired through years of repressed trauma and trying to smother my fear for the greater good. The Beiber incident made me realize I had a habit of shutting off any awareness of my needs in order to handle situations where I felt trapped and powerless.

Confronting my trauma forced me to start paying attention to my body’s constant tension and stress and actually look for solutions instead of hiding. As I slowly opened the door to self-empathy, I not only uncovered parts of my identity that I had never acknowledged before, but I actually started treating myself like I mattered. That was the year I quit my job and started my master's in counseling.

Experiences & Circumstances (The Empathy Equation)

We’re working through the Empathy Equation and here’s a quick reminder:

Identity + Experiences + Circumstances = Feelings + Beliefs + Behaviors

Earlier in the blog, I talked about origin stories, the dramatic backstories of heroes or villains that help to explain their motivations. Origin stories aren’t just in fiction, though. Every single human has an origin story of their own and, believe it or not, their feelings, beliefs, and behaviors can all be understood in that context. Today I’m focusing on the most obvious parts of someone’s origin story: their experiences and circumstances.

Experiences are the unique events that we encounter throughout our lives that shape how we see the world. Formative experiences are like plot developments in the origin story of our life, setting the stage for how we will interpret events and react in the future. Experiences can be adverse (abuse, poverty, illness, etc.), positive (relationships, accomplishments, etc.), or just neutral, but they all play a part in molding us. The way we were raised, friends we’ve had, jobs we’ve worked, our love life, our losses, and even major global events are all experiences that influence how we think and how we see the world.

Let’s do a thought experiment. Think about a major event that happened in your childhood. It doesn’t matter if you perceived it to be a “good” or “bad” experience. How did that event impact the way you saw the world? What did it motivate you to do? Now imagine that you have a clone, someone whose brain and identity are perfectly identical to yours. If you experienced that pivotal childhood event but your clone did not, what would be different about their perspective on the world? How much a difference would it make?

In that scenario, we’re noticing how one single event, or lack thereof, could impact two humans with the exact same brain, genetics, capabilities, etc. In real life, no two brains are identical though, so we have an even greater range of possibilities. If you had 10 different kids experience the exact same event at the exact same time in their development, each of their responses would still be completely unique. Their own unique identities and other experiences would heavily influence the way they perceived that same event.

Circumstances are similar but even more acutely relevant. They are the immediate contextual factors that impact how we think and feel right here, right now. These factors can be anything from getting a poor night's sleep to having a midlife crisis. Because circumstances are immediately relevant, they have a huge impact on our feelings, thoughts, and reactions.

When you start thinking about how Identity, Experiences, and Circumstances affect each person uniquely, it’s no wonder that we respond to the world in such drastically different ways. Our very perception of what’s going on is subject to the filter that we each carry around with us. In turn, as each of our experiences gets integrated into our worldview, they start to impact how we interpret new information moving forward.

The first half of the Empathy Equation is a person’s origin story. Their identity (who they are), their experiences (what they’ve been through), and their circumstances (what’s stressing them out right now) all set the stage for what they’re feeling, thinking, and doing now. A person’s experiences and circumstances will never be exactly the same as any other human’s. And when we recognize that no two identities are identical, it makes sense why similar experiences and circumstances would provoke vastly different responses from different people. 

The next time you encounter someone who is feeling or thinking something that doesn’t make sense to you, you need not assume that they are being irrational. Maybe it would be irrational for you, but you are not living in their body, with their memories, with their stressors. Conceptualizing a person’s unique origin story goes a long way toward helping us understand why they react the way to do to the world.

Identity (The Empathy Equation)

In my last post, I introduced the Empathy Equation. Here’s a reminder:

Identity + Experiences + Circumstances = Feelings + Beliefs + Behaviors

In order to do it justice, I’m going to break down each element in the equation in detail. Today, we’re focusing on identity, the first term in the Empathy Equation. Identity in this context refers to the traits, values, and roles that make a person who they are. Each person’s identity is completely unique and completely subjective. Our identities develop early in life but continue to evolve over time as we get to know ourselves and learn more about how we fit into the world.

Traits are the parts of our identity that are usually born in or formed in early childhood. They are the basic categories that we use to identify ourselves such as name, family, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, culture, etc. Other traits are things like personality, temperament, genetics, and any physical or mental predispositions that we’re born with. Developmental psychologists theorize that most of our personality develops within the first few years of life, making it a foundational part of who we are and how we act.

Values are the motivational parts of our identity. They inspire passion, bring us a sense of purpose, and define our character. We often form our early values through family and culture, but our most meaningful values are the ones we choose autonomously. When our behaviors are aligned with our values, we feel confident and comfortable. When our behaviors are incongruent with our values, we usually feel ill at ease until we either change our behaviors or choose new values. When I work with clients who want to understand their identity, we usually begin by identifying their values.

Lastly, Roles are the parts we play that are modeled after various archetypes. Psychologist, Carl Jung described these archetypes as representations of the universal parts of humanity’s collective unconscious. Each role or archetype that we try out plays a part in molding our identity. We choose which roles we want to adopt and we can change them from one season of life to the next. Although identity roles can correlate with jobs or careers, they don’t depend on external behaviors. When our values change, our roles often also adjust to fit our new understanding of who we are.

If I’m trying to understand someone’s feelings, beliefs, and behaviors (the second part of the empathy equation), the first thing I’ll want to investigate is their identity (aka. their traits, values, and roles). Before I start, though, it’s essential to remember that identity can’t be “right” or “wrong”. Identities simply are. When a person makes a helpful or unhelpful choice, we can’t blame it all on their identity. Remember how I used to work with inmates in the jail? Do you think those people I met were there because their core identity was “a criminal”? Of course not! They each had unique personalities and values and roles that were valid and useful, regardless of the choices they made.

Why do I bother to point that out? Sadly, many people operate on the toxic belief that a person’s identity itself can be evil or broken. Not only does that false logic make us write people off prematurely, but it also causes toxic shame that makes us feel trapped and unable to change. Healthy self-love and respect for others allow us to grow and adapt while still embracing and accepting our identities.

That being said, an identity role can get in the way of productive change if we cling to it even when the evidence shows that changing would be more adaptive. When someone attaches a belief system to their identity, there is always a risk that their values will be compromised. We’ll go into more detail on beliefs when we get to that part of the Empathy Equation, but it’s important to understand the difference between a belief (what you think) and an identity (who you are). When things aren’t black and white, we can do a lot of damage by stubbornly clinging to a belief that isn’t congruent with our values.

Perhaps this is why we often see scandals emerge where someone who professes positive values justifies harmful actions because of a belief system that was a higher priority to them. The more I’ve learned about Religious Trauma, the more I’ve come to recognize the misunderstanding that many people of faith have about the nature of beliefs and identity. That’s a topic for another blog, though.

Below is a list of values that I often go over with my clients. What resonates with you?

• Adaptation (flexibility, accommodation, adjustment)
• Ambition (drive, aspiration, desire)
• Analysis (assessment, evaluation, investigation)
• Authenticity (truth, genuineness, originality)
• Ballance (temperance, moderation, carefulness)
• Belonging (connection, acceptance, community)
• Caution (careful, tentative, thoughtful)
• Certainty (undoubting, assured, confident)
• Collaboration (cooperation, participation, teamwork)
• Compassion (mercy, grace, benevolence)
• Competition (rivalry, contest, controversy)
• Consistency (dependability, stability, predictability)
• Courage (bravery, daring, fearlessness)
• Courtesy (politeness, kindness, deference)
• Creativity (invention, innovation, discovery)
• Curiosity (inquisitiveness, questioning, exploring)
• Discipline (reserve, restraint, regulation)
• Diversity (nonconformance, defiance, resistance)
• Duty (obligation, responsibility, work)
• Empathy (sensitivity, understanding, inclusivity)
• Excellence (achievement, accuracy, success)
• Excitement (adventure, anticipation, variety)
• Freedom (autonomy, independence, agency)
• Gratitude (thankfulness, appreciation, contentment)
• Humor (amusement, levity, sarcasm)
• Influence (persuasion, impact, guidance)
• Integrity (ethics, honesty, honorability)
• Intentionality (purposeful, deliberate, mindful)
• Justice (impartiality, equity, fairness)
• Logic (reasoning, intellect, deduction)
• Loyalty (commitment, attachment, allegiance)
• Nurture (care, soothing, support)
• Optimism (hopeful, expectant, positive)
• Order (organization, categorization, systematic)
• Passion (expression, drama, poignant)
• Peace (serenity, calm, harmony)
• Play (enjoyment, fun, amusement)
• Power (strength, authority, leadership)
• Practicality (objectivity, groundedness, realism)
• Productivity (activity, effort, industriousness)
• Progress (evolution, improvement, advancement)
• Propriety (poise, decorum, properness)
• Recognition (respect, esteem, honor)
• Selflessness (helpful, altruistic, sacrificial)
• Simplicity (clarity, directness, plainness)
• Skepticism (doubt, suspicion, critical thinking)
• Spirituality (supernatural, sacred, metaphysical)
• Tolerance (inclusivity, forbearance, non-judgment)
• Virtue (righteousness, morality, principal)
• Wealth (abundance, affluence, prosperity)
• Wisdom (insight, perceptiveness, discernment)

The Empathy Equation

Humanity's origin story is still pushing us toward the brutal, tribalistic behaviors that helped us survive back when those were the only options. In the old days, survival required unapologetic violence against rivals, brutal hunting and slaughtering, and unabashed procreation with any fertile partner. No one was asking anyone for consent. It was rough.

Today, there are 8 billion of us crowded on a planet that we’ve sucked dry as we continue to seek domination above all else. Our survival as a species now requires a drastically different approach. But since our inner caveman never grew out of his brutish mindset, he's still urging us to fight, hunt, dominate, and make babies ad nauseam. Reality is somberly telling us that those strategies won’t work anymore. It’s time to adapt. But how?

Our capacity for empathy has given us an invaluable tool that the inner caveman does not understand. Whenever we encounter a challenge, our brain democracy jumps into a debate on how to handle it. The inner caveman screams, "Fight those other people! They're different, they're the enemy! We've got to get ours before they come and take it!" Other voices in the democracy respond too. Our inner scientist says, "Actually you're barely any different from them at all. It makes more sense to work with them rather than against them." Our inner nurturer says, "Why would we cause pain for one of our people? Surely there's an alternative." 

This is the nexus at which we stand. We can keep using outdated strategies or we can try something new. If we have any hope of stopping our inner caveman's violent impulses, we need a foolproof way to convince him that every single person who looks, thinks, or acts differently from him isn't his enemy. We're all just one tribe now (picture a Coke commercial, but less problematic.)

This predicament is why the Empathy Paradigm matters. When I stood face to face with my enemy in a cold jail cell in 2017, my inner caveman was hungry for battle. He was incredulous when I sat down and spoke gently to a man who had destroyed the innocence of many children. I could see reflected in him the man who had stolen my innocence and safety 20 years prior. Despite my rage, I opened my heart to the most unlikely thing: empathy.

It took some time for me to understand what took place that day. The rage and disgust in me broke and were replaced with connection, something I was conditioned to avoid. Like raw new skin, I was painfully sensitive but undeniably changed. As time passed, I began putting words to this paradigm shift. In the empathy paradigm, I had no enemies. 

Prior to this experience, the entire world had been against me. The suffering and isolation of my childhood had left me bitter, cynical, and chronically suicidal by age 5. By age 8 I had multiple traumas to add to my list of evidence against trust and connection. I was broken, no matter how many times I said the sinner's prayer. But suddenly, after two decades of dutiful survival, I stumbled into safety.

After meeting and forgiving Joe in the jail that day, I had an excruciating realization. Joe wasn't my worst enemy. I was. I had hated the body and mind I'd been trapped in for my whole life, never uttering a single kind word to myself. Yet here I was, learning to forgive someone else who by all accounts should be unforgivable. I spoke to myself the way I'd spoken to Joe and began to feel something tender and unexpected. Empathy, the very last thing I ever thought I could possibly have for myself, bloomed in my chest.

This healing experience of learning empathy, not just for my enemy, but for myself was too profound to deny. As I talked to loved ones and colleagues, my new paradigm became more concrete. Its foundation was simple: Once I understand someone I no longer want to hurt them.

With Joe, the inmate, it took digging into his horrible past and current reality to realize that I understood his choices. In turn, it prompted me to view myself with grace instead of hatred. I was elated and determined to create a formula that could cultivate this kind of understanding for anyone. Here's what evolved:

Identity + Experiences + Circumstances

=

Feelings + Beliefs + Behaviors

In statement form, the equation sounds like this: “Based on who you are, what you’ve been through, and what’s been going on lately, the way you're feeling, thinking, and behaving is understandable. I still may not agree with you, but I understand your reasons.”

The Empathy Equation, despite its relative simplicity, is deceptively challenging to practice. Learning with genuine curiosity and non-judgment is something our inner caveman has rarely accomplished. Even our evolved, civilized brains are conditioned towards othering and inflexibility. So when it's time to empathize with different people, this skill takes intentionality, time, and practice.

Intentionally learning and understanding why other people feel, think, and act the way they do is essential to empathy. The good news is, once we've seen someone's suffering and connected with them, we can't help but accept them into our tribe, forgive them, and protect them. Sorry inner caveman, no more blood feuds for you, buddy.

Othering The Enemy

When beginning my internship hours to become a counselor, I took a job as a crisis interventionist in Dallas. I wasn't sure how I wanted to use my counseling license, and since regular therapy sounded boring, I made the most of my adrenaline-fueled skill of being “good in a crisis”. I had no idea how much vicarious trauma I was about to incorporate into my nightmares and future therapy sessions. You live, you learn, I guess.

I adjusted to a stressful but rewarding routine of driving to crisis situations each day, often working late into the night. My partner and I would be dispatched to meet people all over the Dallas-Fort Worth area who were struggling with things like suicidal ideation, acute trauma, psychosis, self-harm, substance use, domestic violence, and pretty much any other mental health crisis you can imagine. We worked closely with the police on many of these cases.

After two years of community crisis work, I transferred to the Dallas County Jail where I met with recently arrested inmates who had been flagged for suicide risk or other mental health concerns. My job was to assess their risk, connect them with resources, and most importantly, offer them empathy and emotional support. In many cases, I was meeting these clients on the worst day of their life and they were not always happy to see me.

My typical approach to therapy is to offer every client what Carl Rogers calls “unconditional positive regard”, no matter who they are or what they’ve done. This approach proved insufficient, however, the day I was assigned to counsel an inmate who had been arrested for raping a child. Having personally been the victim of sexual assault in my childhood, he was in the one category of humans that I had absolutely no positive regard for. I knew immediately that I needed a strategy that didn’t rely on my instincts.

The inmate (let’s call him “Joe”) was a registered sex offender who had already been convicted of sexual assault of a minor twice before but had been released on parole. The evidence indicated he was likely guilty of the new charges and would spend the rest of his life in prison. As I reviewed the jail records I had on him, I numbly noticed myself shutting down emotionally. I felt a familiar detachment from my body, a trauma response designed to help me ignore my racing heart and shortness of breath.

Taking some deep breaths, I thought about the challenge ahead of me. I could have referred this client to a colleague, but I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I encountered a trauma trigger at work. For better or worse, I wanted to confront it. The first step was to stop ignoring my intense reactions. I chose to consciously confront my obvious bias toward Joe.

Immediately, I realized that I saw all child molesters as monsters who were categorically undeserving of compassion. Recognizing this hatred in me made me more uncomfortable than I’d anticipated. If I genuinely wanted to help Joe rather than harm him, I couldn’t continue hating him. I needed to find a way to push past my instinctual disgust and stop seeing him as a monster. To do that, I needed to get to know his origin story.

As I sat at my desk in the courthouse preparing to meet Joe, I organized my thoughts. Crisis training had taught me empathy is essential for helping someone de-escalate from a crisis. This rapid-form of empathy requires the clinician to think about the person in crisis in the context of their identity and life experiences. Only with that perspective can the clinical can offer meaningful understanding.

I jotted down a list of questions to ask Joe that I hoped would help me understand him better. Who was he? What parts of his identity needed consideration? What had he been through? How did he see the world? What circumstances were contributing to his distress right now?

Feeling determined but sick to my stomach, I sat down outside his solitary confinement cell. Internally, I was repeating a mantra of “don’t judge, just listen” over and over. I bent over awkwardly to speak to him through the small feeding door to his cell. With as much gentleness as I could muster, I started asking him questions, taking notes as we went.

Joe was a Black man in his mid-thirties who had been raised in Texas by a drug-addicted single mother. He had been born into extreme poverty with a family history of mental illness and minimal education. All of this was saturated in the racial inequity that Black Americans face in the south. With these basic facts about his identity, I knew that Joe had been born into a life of adversity.

Next, I asked about his life experiences. He told me he had been the victim of multiple forms of abuse, including sexual assault, starting when he was still a toddler. Survivors of early childhood sexual assault often have a skewed understanding of consent and body autonomy if they don’t get the chance to really address it in therapy. Additionally, studies have found that perpetrators of sexual assault are extremely likely to have first experienced sexual trauma in their own childhood. 

Jail records informed me that in addition to his trauma history, Joe had untreated mental illness and had sustained multiple brain injuries that impaired his cognitive reasoning and impulse control. Sadly, he had never gotten the treatment he needed for these issues or even been educated on healthy sexuality and consent. Like most sex offenders, Joe didn’t spontaneously decide to abuse others without a catalyst; he was a victim first. He had already continued the cycle of abuse before anyone had told him that the violations that were done to him were tragic and wrong.

Lastly, I asked Joe what he was feeling that day, crouched in his cold, solitary cell. Due to his suicide risk, he was wearing nothing but a thin paper gown. He was humiliated and terrified of the inevitable violence that awaited him in the general population. He said it was like living a nightmare that was never going to be over. I imagined Joe as a small vulnerable child, afraid and desperate for understanding.

As we spoke, I was surprised at how quickly my empathy bloomed. I found myself genuinely moved by his story. He wept as he told me that I was the first person who had ever cried about the things he had been through. He hadn’t expected anyone in the world to show him kindness. I no longer saw a sociopath or a monster in him, I simply saw a human who was hurting.

When I left work that day, I felt like I’d been through a battle but I knew something life-changing had happened. Setting aside my anger and disgust to find out who Joe really was had been a healing experience I wasn't expecting. Since then, I’ve seen this kind of intentional empathy play out in astonishing ways over and over, affirming that my interaction with Joe was not a fluke.