There is too much sadness and trouble in the world. I don’t know how to process all the things that are hard and wrong.
It’s not even my life that is full of sadness. I have it pretty darn good, actually. I love my kids and my husband, and they love me back. We have enough money for the things we need, and we have enough to save a little. We never go hungry, we even get to pick what we want to eat most of the time. We have fun when we are together. We are pretty healthy. Our life is good.
But.
People I love have hard things going on. New babies, and sick babies, and getting old is hard, and money problems, and family fighting, and faith crisis, and addiction. I love them, and pray for them, hoping that my faith can help. But as I pray about their troubles, I think about all the other people having the same troubles as them. And that makes me think about all the people with even worse troubles: refugees far away, homeless people in my town, and all the other towns, and addicts, and mental health problems, and abuse, and death, and violence, and hopelessness, and loneliness. It turns into a spiral of all the people suffering in the world in all the ways I know about that people suffer. I think about the people I have seen being mean and intolerant and snarky that day or that week, and how that hurts other people and it hurts them. I think about people suffering from the consequences of their poor choices, and how when it is your own fault it makes it so much harder. Except for the people who are suffering because of other people’s choices, and how maybe that is harder. And I feel so helpless to relieve any of the suffering. I don’t even know how to pray about it all. It overwhelms me.
Oh, I know the stories about throwing the starfish back in the ocean, at least I can help one. I know I serve my family and help them. But it all feels so small and insignificant. It feels like when my brother used to be paralyzed by the thought of infinity and a never-ending universe. The sadness of the world feels so immense that is it incomprehensible.
I am grateful to have been blessed with empathy. It is easy for me to feel what other people are feeling and have compassion for where they are coming from. I love being able to be an emotional support for people. I love being able to listen and help and love people in that way. It is one of my favorite parts of life, one of my favorite things about myself.
But.
Sometimes.
Why is it sometimes so overwhelming?
It all sounds so silly when you spell it out. I have anxiety that hurts my stomach all day and keeps me up at night because of other people’s problems, with which I have nothing to do, and which I cannot affect, at all, in any way.
When it gets overwhelming I don’t want anyone to know in case they then maybe they won’t let me help them or tell me about the problems because they are worried about adding to my stress.
Actually, most of the time I don’t want to complain about anything emotional, or share anything emotional, because I am so afraid of burdening someone else. Not that I wouldn’t want someone to keep anything from me for that reason, because I love sharing other people’s burdens in that way. I want to feel their pain and mourn with them and love them. I am so grateful for that sense of connection and love.
But.
Sometimes the very thing that most helps me connect with people is that thing that makes me feel the most lonely.
