On holding space without losing ourselves

I used to believe that empathy meant carrying the weight of another’s pain as if it were my own. A colleague once shared his struggles with a failing project, and I found myself so entangled in his despair that I carried it home like a heavy briefcase. Another time, listening to a friend’s grief, I felt drained for days — not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much.

For a long time, this was my default: if someone suffered, I mirrored their suffering. If someone was anxious, I caught their anxiety like an infection. It left me depleted.

But over the years, something shifted. I learned that empathy does not require me to drown in someone else’s storm. When I began practicing the art of holding space without absorbing, I noticed a remarkable change in myself. I still felt compassion, but I no longer carried invisible burdens home. Instead of walking away heavy, I walked away clearer — able to return to my own life with energy intact. It was not detachment; it was healthier connection.

This is especially important in the world we live in today. Every day we are bombarded with news — wars, crimes, corruption, tragedies. If empathy means absorbing it all, we would collapse under the weight. It is good to be sensitised, to stay aware, to care. But it is unwise to become overly sensitive to the point of paralysis. We cannot serve the world if we are constantly crumbling under its grief.

And here lies the deeper truth: others need us not as mirrors of their despair, but as steady witnesses of their strength. We are not meant to sway with every gust of their storm. We are meant to be the light post in the stormy night — steady, clear, quietly shining. If I lose myself in their chaos, I cannot guide them toward calm. But if I remain rooted, I can reflect back not their darkness, but their possibility.

Now, when I sit with someone in pain, I remind myself: My task is not to carry their weight. My task is to hold the lantern so they can find their own path.

So the next time you feel drawn into another’s struggle, pause gently. Ask yourself: Is this mine to carry? If not, stand firm, shine steady. Sometimes the greatest gift we can give is not joining someone in their sorrow, but staying clear enough to remind them that healing is still possible.

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Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar

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