Someone shared a story with me recently regarding a child speaking disrespectfully to a parent in public.
As they told the story, their body language shifted, their tone tightened, and it was clear they were reliving the moment with visible intolerance. The story was presented as evidence of a parent who simply didn’t care about how their child spoke to them. That moment opened a broader discussion on parenting, “out of control” kids, and the belief that today’s parents must do better.
As a child trauma therapist, I’ve seen those moments play out more times than I can count. As a single mother many years ago, I was that parent. And every time I found myself on the receiving end of glares, unsolicited advice, or outright judgment, I hoped the people watching wouldn’t break their ankles jumping to conclusions. Instead, I prayed they’d walk, carefully, intentionally, down the path of empathy, if only for a few steps.
If they had asked (and most didn’t), they would have learned that I was a single mom working full time, going to school full time, and raising a child with undiagnosed autism. Meltdowns, yelling, boundary-testing — those were daily experiences in our home. Sometimes the goal was just to make it to bedtime without either of us breaking. I didn’t forget how I was raised. I just had to decide which battles were worth fighting.
“Pick your battles” wasn’t a parenting strategy. It was survival. I needed to save my energy for the moments that felt like life or death, not for preserving the comfort of onlookers.
There’s a kind of disconnect I often see, especially from those who’ve never had to live in survival mode, or who didn’t even realize they were in survival mode.
At some point, that child becomes an adult, and hopefully, they begin asking uncomfortable questions. Why did we only eat rice for dinner every night? Why did we play “indoor camping” with candles and flashlights when it was not storming outside?
While childhood protection is necessary, it allows our children to hold onto wonder just a little longer. It also can unintentionally create a bubble that limits compassion.
When that bubble stays intact too long, it can create adults who ignore a mother begging for her child to use a locked restroom because she hasn’t purchased a beverage yet. A child who needs to use the bathroom urgently shouldn’t be up for a policy debate. But when policy is prioritized over people, we become complicit in inflicting pain.
Empathy is not about perfection. It is not always convenient. But it is powerful. It pauses judgment. It redirects the impulse to react and replaces it with a willingness to listen.
Empathy is not a weakness or passivity. It is a radical, active force that demands courage, humility, and perspective. It is time for an empathy revolution.
In our families, in our communities, and in our politics, it is not enough to observe, we must choose to understand. The next time you see a human being reaching their limit, pause without mocking or questioning their struggle. Listen to their story and then act with compassion. Because when we choose empathy, we don’t just change outcomes, we change the world.
Tara D. Wallace is a licensed clinician and trauma therapist in Topeka, Kansas. She is an adjunct professor and executive director of Lighthouse TCO Foundation, a nonprofit organization working to address racialized trauma in communities of color.
This article was originally published by Kansas Reflector, a part of States Newsroom.