Compassion fatigue: a phrase that peaked during Covid to explain the emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion from feeling too much for others. Specifically, those in the so-called “helping professions” are especially prone and remain vigilant against this seemingly inevitable state. But…there might be a way to reframe this idea.
Recently I listened to a Buddhist meditation teacher explain the concepts of compassion and empathy, and was inspired. He explained that empathy is feeling others’ emotions, and this emotional deluge can drown us. Whereas compassion is feeling for others and taking action to help. This action creates an upward energy that can drive us.
How do these terms of pathos relate to teaching? Put your ear to the ground post pandemic and you’re liking to hear faculty and staff bemoan their compassion fatigue. For instructors this fatigue can translate into stricter policies, tougher grading, reluctance to participate, and hibernation in one’s office. Some of these reactions may, outwardly, be meant to ‘prepare students for the real world’ but, inwardly, they may be a way to self-protect and conserve energy. Understandable, right? But in a world where some instructors at a community college may withdraw and hide behind “rigor,” it seems to me that students may lose. And if students lose, who really wins?
Many argue that students are less prepared than in the past, less compliant with attendance policies, and more interested in using AI than their own brains to complete their work. This phenomena is convoluted by students’ personal stories: mother has cancer, a lost job led to eviction, and lost health insurance prohibits another’s ability to obtain prescriptions. Unless we have hearts of stone, we feel for our students, whether we know their personal stories or not. But how do we balance compassion with expectations? After all, kindness does not preclude rigor. What actions can we take to practice compassion in order to thrive?
The other day I read an article by David Brooks, and he asked, “Are Americans getting meaner?” We’ll all have our subjective answer to his question, but Brooks’ answer was yes. He further argues that we are getting meaner maybe because we’re getting sadder.
None of us want to feel hopeless in our lives, personally or professionally. So the next time I feel the wave of sadness wash over me with a student’s story, I won’t get swept away in empathy. Instead, I will listen, and then I will consider how I can help. Maybe it’s an extension on an assignment. Maybe it’s connecting her with a community resource. And the next time I am faced with a colleague whose negativity is like an Arctic blast, I’ll remember C.S. Lewis’s quote: “I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.” Sadness wears many masks.
A respite from academic work is my nighttime reading of mysteries, detective fiction, and so on, and a sweet treat in this genre is anything by Louise Penny. Her beloved detective, Armand Gamache, is gentle and strong. Calm and deep feeling. He’s a character I admire, and last night I read a passage I want to share because it reminds me of…well…us and our students: “That given direction, clear expectations, and encouragement, given a second chance, people could flourish.” Maybe a rebellion against anger and sadness and so-called “compassion fatigue” is to give ourselves and each other a second chance to succeed in a world that can be so hard against soft hearts.
