When Decency Starts to Disappear

You Never Know What Someone Else Is Going Through. How many times have you heard that phrase in your life?

For some, it’s a gentle reminder……“Hey, you might be slipping away from your empathy here. Maybe it’s time to check in with yourself.”

For others, it goes right over their heads, exposing a low tolerance for empathy or an outright avoidance of it altogether.

Past me would have said those are just two types of people in the world. Some land firmly in one camp, others in the other, and a good chunk fall somewhere in between, living in all those beautiful and frustrating shades of gray.

And trust me, I wish this were a deep dive into Christian Grey and the many complexities of the BDSM world, but alas, it’s not that kind of post.

Anyway, back to the point.

What I’ve come to realize is that empathy exists on a scale. Some people have loads of it. Others seem to be running on empty. And as human beings, we each get to decide how we navigate that reality.

We ask ourselves:

How do I want to proceed?
What do I want this relationship to look like?
Do I want a relationship at all?

We make a choice, and we move on.

At least, that’s how it’s always worked for me. That’s been my lived experience. Until now.

But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let’s start with the basics. What is empathy, anyway?

The dictionary defines it as “the ability to understand, share, and vicariously experience the emotions, thoughts, and experiences of another person. It involves taking another’s perspective, acting with compassion, and fostering stronger social connections.”

In other words, empathy isn’t just one thing. It’s layered, dimensional, and deeply shaped by our own life experiences.

So……what does that actually mean in real life?

It means we might not fully understand what someone else is going through. We may not get how they feel or why they’re reacting the way they are. But empathy allows us to acknowledge that their feelings and reactions are valid and rooted in something real they’ve lived through.

Empathy doesn’t mean we feel sorry for them. That’s sympathy.

Empathy means we celebrate with them when they win.
We cry with them when they’re overwhelmed.
We sit beside them in silence when there’s nothing left to say.

We show up.
For birthdays, funerals, protests, vigils.
Not because we know exactly what to do, but because we care enough to be there anyway.

Lately, though, I’ve been struggling.

I haven’t been able to write for weeks. Everything feels unimportant right now. I’ve realized I’ve been in survival mode. Frozen. Caught in this loop of asking myself, “What do I want to do?” as if that simple question could move me forward while it feels like chaos is happening everywhere at once.

I’ve been trying to hold space for everyone. Trying to keep that gray area alive. But the truth is, it feels like that space has been erased. Burned. Gone.

The divide between those who still feel deeply and those who have shut off completely has never felt more clear. Or more terrifying.

This realization is so heavy. The loss of humanity and the lack of empathy for others feels deeply unsettling. And the fact is, we don’t have a manual for this. We don’t even have past experiences that fully prepare us for how to navigate it.

Sure, we can scour history books to understand some of the logistics and patterns at play, but that was then and this is now. While there are parallels, things are still different. And from a Comfortably Human mindset, those history books rarely talk about the emotional toll. The triggers. The nervous systems on fire in the middle of all this discourse.

We have people dying, and we can see it with our own eyes.
We have sexual assault accusations everywhere.
We have people struggling just to put food on the table.

Much of this isn’t new, but it has never been so constant or so unavoidable.

And from an emotional standpoint, whether the news is fake, factual, or somewhere in between, the impact is real. It is overwhelming. It is triggering. It is horrific, especially for those of us who still feel deeply.

What do you do when you don’t agree with someone’s values, and staying silent feels like complicity?

Because this moment isn’t theoretical. People are being harmed. Words from people in power are not just offensive, they are dangerous. Dehumanization is not a difference of opinion. It is a precursor.

And when you’re watching this unfold in real time, exhaustion isn’t a signal to stop caring. It’s a signal that something inside you is demanding change.

Here’s the truth we don’t say enough.

Empathy does not mean absorbing violence quietly.
It does not mean staying polite in the face of harm.
It does not mean continuing to explain humanity to people who refuse to acknowledge it.

Empathy without boundaries turns into self-erasure.
But empathy without action turns into despair.

What can you do when you’re exhausted and still want to make a difference?

You get strategic, not silent.

You choose where your energy lands instead of letting it be drained everywhere at once. You stop arguing in spaces designed to exhaust you and start acting in spaces that actually move things forward.

You attach your empathy to behavior, not debate.

That might look like showing up locally instead of online.
Supporting organizations doing the work instead of fighting strangers in comment sections.
Calling things what they are, even when it makes people uncomfortable.
Refusing to laugh off language that dehumanizes, even when it’s labeled “a joke.”
Protecting people being targeted instead of debating whether they deserve protection.

And sometimes, it looks like anger.

Anger gets a bad reputation, but anger is often grief with a backbone. It tells us something matters. The goal isn’t to get rid of it. The goal is to aim it.

Not at individuals you’ll never change.
But toward systems, policies, and behaviors that cause real harm.

And sometimes, action looks quieter than people expect.

It looks like stepping back long enough to reset your nervous system.
It looks like tending to yourself, so your empathy doesn’t calcify into bitterness or collapse into numbness.
It looks like choosing rest, reflection, or healing not as avoidance, but as maintenance.

Taking care of yourself is not abandoning the work.
It is how you stay in it.

If you’re exhausted right now, it doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’ve been paying attention.

The work isn’t to shut down your empathy.
It’s to stop letting it be weaponized against you.

Empathy can fuel action.
It can sharpen boundaries.
It can sustain resistance.

And for those of you who still care, even when it hurts, even when you’re tired, even when it feels like screaming into the void, you are not naïve.

You are responding normally to something profoundly wrong.

The divide we’re living in isn’t about politics at its core.
It’s about who we are willing to see as human.

And choosing to act from empathy, even when you’re exhausted, is not weakness.

It’s resistance.

Written by Stacy Dahlke, LPC, an EMDR-trained therapist helping anxious, overwhelmed adults in Wisconsin navigate trauma, adult ADHD, identity shifts, and the courage it takes to begin again.