Pain is my companion throughout most of every day. I know pain’s tag-alongs as well. People who live with chronic pain are often well-acquainted with the fatigue, sadness, anger, and even despair that their pain brings. The biggest thing for many of us, though, is what we have lost because of our pain. I’ve certainly had to deal with this, but I know that my losses are nothing compared to those of others. At my pain clinic, most of the patients are in some way visibly suffering. Many come with someone to help them walk. For so long, my heart broke for each of these people I saw. Then, after years of going to this clinic, a stranger in the waiting room widened my perspective.

She walked into the office in halting steps, elderly and hunched over. A younger woman (who I later learned was her daughter) accompanied her. She sat down next to me and I smiled and said hello. She asked me how my day was going. Of course, people rarely answer this question honestly and I didn’t. My back ached and my knee hurt so much I couldn’t keep it bent. It had dragged down my mood and colored my whole day. Despite this, I answered with the standard, It’s ok. I was about to follow social protocol and ask her the same thing, but she must have caught the hitch in my voice right before I answered, because she looked at me intently and said, “Pretty bad, then?” There was such kindness in her face that my eyes welled up a bit. After all, who was I to complain to someone who struggled to even walk?

In this pause, the woman’s daughter sat down and said hi as well. I remember feeling like an idiot as I realized I was just sitting there with my mouth open. I forced myself to smile and told her that, yeah, it hadn’t been the best day. The things people usually say after this sort of comment include, I’m sorry or I’m sure it’ll get better or Oh, I’ll pray for you. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with any of those responses, but, somehow, this kind woman said the exact thing I needed to hear that day, I understand. I opened my mouth to finally ask how she was doing, now truly desiring to hear, just as the nurse called my name. I stood up, looked at her, and smiled – a real smile this time – and said the only thing that made sense to me, Thanks.

This simple exchange stuck with me because it opened my eyes to the power of empathy. Due to my pain and other struggles with chronic illness, I do have a particularly well-developed sense of empathy for the sick and hurting. This woman helped me realize, though, that I wasn’t particularly skilled at using it. There will always be a place for grand actions of empathy and kindness, but sometimes that is not only unnecessary, it’s too much. We all know the power of words to both build up and tear down, but sometimes the greatest power comes in knowing when to hold those words back. Most of my experience using words to comfort others has been limited to offering encouragement or advice. Thanks to this woman, whose name I never learned, I know how powerful even a few words of comradery and solidarity can be. It’s something to remember whenever you’re around someone who’s struggling, not just from pain, but from any of life’s trials. Sometimes the most helpful thing a person who’s just getting by can hear is, I’m here.