Holding Space: Empathy Over Erasing

Sometimes, I wish I could just…erase the hard parts. The times when a child’s hurt look felt like a physical ache in my own chest. The desperate urge to fix it, to make it all better, right then and there. And I understand that feeling. I really do. We want our kids to be okay. It’s in our DNA, I think, to protect them from pain. But wanting to make it go away isn't always the most loving thing we can do.

There’s a difference, you know, between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is feeling *for* someone. It’s acknowledging their distress and feeling sorry they’re going through it. Empathy is feeling *with* them. It’s walking into their experience, acknowledging their emotions, and validating them without necessarily trying to smooth things over. As a pediatrician, I see it play out constantly – a scraped knee, a disappointing test score, a friend’s exclusion from a game. The temptation to swoop in and minimize, to say "it's not so bad," is enormous.

I learned a lot this fall, watching my dad recover from his stroke. My mom, bless her heart, struggled. She’d want to take care of everything, to shield him from any discomfort, any worry. And it came from a place of immense love. But his own resilience, his grit— that was crucial to his recovery. And it wasn’t about minimizing the stroke, or pretending it hadn’t happened. It was about facing it, working through it, and acknowledging the difficulty while still finding the strength to move forward. It was a reminder that sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is to hold space for someone’s pain, not to try and evaporate it.

With my own kids, I’ve had to actively check myself. I remember, a few years ago, the absolute despair in my middle child’s voice when she didn’t get a part in the school play. My first instinct was to say, "Don't worry, honey, it's just a play! There will be other opportunities!" Which, I realize now, was me offering sympathy. It was me trying to lessen her disappointment. But what she needed was empathy. To be heard. To have her feelings validated. “It sounds like you're really disappointed," I said instead. "That's okay to feel sad when you really wanted something." It didn’t make the sadness disappear, but it did make her feel seen.

There's a tricky balance here, of course. We don't want to invalidate our children's feelings. We don't want them to feel like their pain isn't important. But consistently jumping in to "fix" things, to take away all the bumps and bruises, that can inadvertently send a message that they aren't capable of handling challenges on their own. It can create a sense of dependency, a feeling that they need to be rescued from discomfort. And that isn’t what we want for them, is it?

I've been thinking a lot lately about enabling, and how easily it can creep in under the guise of love. It's tempting to smooth things over, to take the blame, to shield our children from the consequences of their actions. But those consequences, however unpleasant, are often valuable learning opportunities. They teach responsibility. They build resilience. They prepare them for a world that isn’t always going to be gentle. My dad's stroke recovery, in its own way, reinforced this. It wasn't about avoiding the difficulty, it was about navigating it.

It’s also about understanding that sometimes, a child’s distress is a reflection of something bigger. Something they’re struggling to process, something they need to learn to manage. I had two crisis situations with clients recently, both involving seemingly small conflicts that had spiraled into something much larger. It struck me then that, sometimes, our instinct to swoop in and rescue can actually prevent a child from developing the skills they need to navigate complex social situations on their own. It’s a hard thing to watch, I’ll admit. Seeing your child struggle is agonizing. But it's also a chance for growth.

Ultimately, parenting isn't about eliminating pain. It’s about equipping our children with the tools they need to face it, to learn from it, and to emerge stronger on the other side. It's about fostering resilience, accountability, and a belief in their own ability to navigate the inevitable challenges that life throws their way. It’s a long game, and sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to simply be present, to listen, and to offer a hand, not a rescue.