The first time my wife cried in front of me, I cried too. It just happened. Her pain moved straight into me and I couldn’t stop it. I still don’t know what she thought about that. Maybe she needed me to stay steady while she fell apart. I never asked her. I was too scared of the answer, as she can be very meanie-pants with her answers.
That same empathetic part inside me, the way I put other people’s feelings before my own, is also why I didn’t fight when she decided we should part ways. I just accepted it. I couldn’t bring myself to turn it into some big battle. It felt wrong somehow. So I let it go.
The worst part came later, during the court proceedings. It sounds like a scene from a cliche movie, but it actually happened. I must have looked pretty bad sitting there during one of the breaks in the court. This man I had never seen before walked up to me. He said I looked lonely. Then he told me his wife had died in an accident. He said he understood how it feels. And then, almost gently with a fear whether I would raise my voice, he asked “can’t you just talk and sort things out between the both of you?”.
I knew right away what he was doing. He was trying to help us fix what he never got the chance to fix with his own wife. That thought hit me so hard I started crying right there in the middle of everything. Like a child. I couldn’t control it. Those words are still sitting with me even now. But there was nothing I could do. My hands were tied. I couldn’t go back and talk to her. I couldn’t make any move unless she wants it. Nothing was going to change just because I felt it.
I keep thinking about that sometimes. How this thing inside me that makes me feel for other people so strongly also leaves me with no real power when it matters.
When I was a child, maybe from first grade if I recall, people started calling me pavam. In Malayalam it means something like “poor thing” or too soft for your own good. Once that tag stuck, a lot of kids figured out they could take advantage of it. I would share whatever I had. I took the blame when it was easier for them. I didn’t push back. It took me some time to understand that being seen that way made me useful to everyone except myself.
After a while I got tired of it, I hated when people said good things about me. I changed. I started picking fights over nothing. Got into trouble on purpose. Became the kind of person other people were careful around. I went from sitting on the first bench to the last bench. The pavam label disappeared almost instantly. Suddenly I had space. People left me alone or even gave me respect, the kind that comes from fear. It wasn’t something which I was proud of, but it worked.
But as I got older and matured, I couldn’t keep the act going. The fights and the image started feeling hollow and wrong in many ways. Deep down I was still that same empathetic kid who felt for other peoples emotion too much, and not my own. I couldn’t pretend anymore. So slowly the armour cracked.
Even after that, I never really changed how I treated myself. I never expected anything from others. When I bought clothes for myself I would compare prices for hours, something I would never do if it was for someone I cared about. Taking care of myself was always the last thing on the list, and it never got done. I told myself it didn’t matter.
For a long time I thought this way of feeling everything was just who I was. Maybe even a good thing. But the older I got, the more I saw that the world doesn’t really make space for it. People like the parts that are useful to them, the listening, the showing up, the carrying of their problems. But when you need something back, or when you show your own cracks, it gets uncomfortable fast. They don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes they pull away. Sometimes they act like you broke some unspoken rule by not staying strong all the time.
I saw it with friends. I saw it at work. And I felt it most clearly when my marriage ended. The same thing that let me feel her pain also made it impossible for me to fight for what I wanted. I could only accept. And in that courtroom, when that stranger spoke to me like I was a real person who might still have a chance, all I could do was cry because I knew it wasn’t in my hands. It wasn’t about ego or control or deciding to let go. The outcome simply wasn’t mine to decide.
Sometimes I hate her to the core. She was mean, she made me feel worthless, like I was someone who could be replaced without a second thought, and yet she still expected me to fix everything and make all the amends. It burns.
But I can’t hold onto that hate. That kid from first grade won’t let me. He still understands her. He still stands for her and wants to be there for her in every possible way. The idiot in him actually believes that if he just keeps trying, if he keeps giving, maybe they could stay happy. He believed there’s something more in this world than just material stuff, that people could actually understand each other better and grow together if they tried.
Maybe that boy never really belonged in this world. Sometimes I think it would have been easier if he had never existed at all. He was always hoping for a deeper kind of love than what most people are willing to give.
I don’t think I’m perfect, and I’m not trying to portray myself as some Mr. Nice Guy. I have flaws, which I needed to work on, but there were some things which was outside my control too.
Sometimes I wished the psychologist had told her and her parents the same things they told me. But they didn’t, which I can understand why. They saw what kind of of person I am and trusted me with those hard truths about her which I was never supposed to tell anyone. I still have to carry that burden, because those are parts of her she’ll never understand.
I tried talking to her about the things that needed work, hoping she would at least agree on something we could start with, before I could address what they have actually said. I hoped there would be an understanding and that we could grow together if we tried. But it never really landed the way I hoped.
It’s the same empathy that held me back, the same boy from first grade who understood her so deeply of her struggle. But that boy kept hoping she would hold on to his imperfections too, and say “stay”.
I don’t think most people are cruel on purpose. I think a lot of us are just running on empty, and when someone keeps giving without asking for much in return, it becomes easy to keep taking. The ones who stay soft get used to it. And when they finally show they’re hurting too, nobody knows how to hold it.
Those words from the stranger still stay with me. A part of me is grateful someone saw the loneliness. Another part of me wonders why the only person who offered to help fix something was someone who had already lost his own chance. I’ve never really seen someone who hasn’t gone through loss themselves tell another person to just walk away and that they deserve better. It’s usually the people who have never felt that kind of pain who say things like that ie even the ones closest to you. The ones who have lost something seem more willing to try and help fix what’s broken instead.
I’m still figuring out what to do with this part of me. How to keep feeling things without letting it empty me out completely. How to protect the soft kid without pretending he doesn’t exist anymore. Some days I think I’ve learned. Other days I’m not so sure.
But I know one thing now. Feeling empathetic doesn’t give you any power to change what other people decide. It only leaves that imperfect boy still sitting there with his hands tied, hoping she might still say “stay.”