Dear Mom,

You have been dead for nine and a half years. With every day it feels like what you have missed multiplies exponentially. It can feel shocking at times. As if you wouldn’t even know me if you passed me on the street. Before you died, I was still in my twenties. Working in the membership department of a private club and striving to figure out where my life would go next. I’m barely recognizable now.

You missed my wedding. A career change. A move to Chicago and back to Los Angeles. The entire lives of my children.

If you saw me today, even with all the changes I’ve made, I hope that you would recognize me. I hope that at my core I am still the same person. The daughter you raised. Despite the parenting flaws, you did teach me gems as well. Some of the most important life lessons taught to me were by you at a very young age. But it’s been a while. And I worry that I am losing my best qualities. The most important lessons you taught me feel like they’re getting lost in the complications of life. 

The one lesson that stands out above the rest. The one that was the most impactful for me and would be the heaviest one to lose is about compassion. It was a central part of my upbringing and hugely important. But I must say, as I get older, it’s increasingly more difficult to fit compassion into my life. At times it’s challenging to find it for myself. It’s also hard to have an unconditional compassion for others. It’s something I’m constantly working toward, but as the world keeps getting darker that idea moves further from my reach. And now I also struggle with teaching it to my own children. 

Growing up, I feel we had a unique circumstance. As kids, we were taught about compassion and empathy on a different level than most. I have always attributed that completely to Paul. The fact that my oldest brother was born with a severe birth defect launched our family into a world where we were essentially activists for people with disabilities. You made it your mission to teach us that all people, no matter what, deserve our respect and empathy and that many need people like us to advocate for them. To support them and love them and to spread the word that everyone has the power to help. 

I was brought up to understand the importance of volunteer work. To always set aside a certain amount of money for charity. To show up and help out. But it’s not easy. It can feel at times like there are so many roadblocks getting in my way. I want to extend compassion to all. I want to be secure in my belief that all humans are deserving of empathy, no matter what. It doesn’t feel good to admit, but I do find this hard to grasp at times. And that’s coming from me, someone who grew up learning about these concepts. If I can struggle, it must be that much harder for those who didn’t have my experience.

I wonder if you would have taught us the same lessons without Paul. If we weren’t a part of that world by circumstance, would we have still found it? Would you have still advocated for those who can’t advocate for themselves? Would I have learned compassion and empathy at all? Is this why most people in the world are so selfish? Is it because they didn’t have a Paul in their family to teach them how to be kind? And am I doing enough to convince my own children that they need to care deeply about all humans? Is that even the right message? I hope so. But I’m not entirely sure.

So, this is what has been keeping me up lately. What I have been struggling with. For a long time, I believed that an unconditional compassion was necessary in the world. The idea that forgiveness is the only way. Reconciliation and peace. No revenge and retribution. No death penalty and war. Now that I am at that point in my life where it is time to teach life lessons to my own children, I am at a loss as to how to fully tackle this complicated topic. In the real world where there is hate and murder and truly horrific atrocities, it seems less and less likely for a collective agreement to extend compassion to all. And as my children run into rude kids and bullies. As they get picked on or pick on others. How do I talk to them about it? The answer doesn’t feel as simple as I had imagined before this stage.

It doesn’t feel right to tell my kids to simply walk away from a bully. It doesn’t feel right to say hit them back. It doesn’t work long term to tell a kid that the bully is probably going through something at the moment and it’s not really about you. When my kid comes to me with a story of someone being rude to them, I need to meet them with compassion. But I also want to try my best to teach them to extend the same compassion to the one who wronged them. That they should respond with only kindness. Is that appropriate? Is it a terribly messy mixed message?

I fear that our society has gotten so far away from compassion that it feels a bit hopeless. Because ultimately, if I teach my kids to forgive and move on and think about what the bully is going through, am I just telling them that the victim doesn’t matter? Or worse, that the victim’s job is to take care of the bully? But then I also fear the flipside. It’s a hard balance to teach a kid the importance of taking care of themselves without that being taken as permission to be selfish.

And it’s not lost on me that in this scenario my kids are the victims. They could very well be the bullies, which is an equally terrifying possibility. 

I’m so fed up with the world moving into the direction of mostly selfish that I’m starting to say things that I fear could lean toward breaking down self-esteem. ‘It’s not all about you’ comes up way too often. I don’t want to say that to my children. How do I teach compassion and how to be a good citizen while still teaching self-love?

I will say, on a positive note, something that has been working lately is recognizing the selfish acts of others. Having conversations with my kids openly about things we witness in our day-to-day life that isn’t kind. 

Here, let me provide you with an example. 

Last week I was on my usual walk around my neighborhood. I witnessed a mail truck pull off to the side of the road to make a delivery. It was a busier street than some of the others around here, so this truck was in the way of traffic. There were three cars behind the truck. The first car immediately put on its blinker and turned its wheel to go around. But the second car got out first. The third car second. The first car waited patiently for its turn. And it got me thinking about how shitty we are as a society. The polite thing would have been to allow the first car to go, well, first. I hardly think that the second and third car were in a big enough hurry to need to go before the first in line. But for some reason, they couldn’t wait. 

This is a very common story in our life and not shocking to my kids. I can think of countless examples of the same idea. Of people being selfish. Walking the world like it is theirs. Like it belongs to them. As if they always have the right-of-way, no matter what. It’s the people at the grocery store who can’t be bothered to return their carts and leave them in the middle of the parking lot for someone else to deal with. It’s the people who push through a doorway, ignoring all the others who were there first. It’s almost every single time I’m driving down a narrow street of Los Angeles and I am the car to pull over to let the other car have space. And it’s definitely the outstanding amount of dog shit on the streets of this city, particularly in the nicest neighborhoods. 

When I see these moments of selfishness in my own city, it makes me wonder, why are people so shitty to each other? Why are people so selfish? So impatient? Why is it jarring when we witness acts of kindness? Why have we moved further away from compassion being mainstream?

And of course, it seems easiest to give up on adults and turn to the next generation since there is still hope for them. But then I wonder, is it even possible to raise compassionate humans while not sacrificing their own self-worth and self-esteem?

Now, I fully understand that compassion is a complex concept. It is multilayered and complicated and just because a person doesn’t extend compassion to all other humans doesn’t mean they are a monster. But I am curious as to what stops us from being compassionate in the first place. Why is it so complicated?

One aspect that I’ve found, which I’ve already touched on, are the people who walk the world assuming that they have the right-of-way. Always. And the best way I can describe these types of people is self-absorbed. Or self-centered. Selfish. People who live their lives with the assumption that they are the most important person in the room. I believe these people lack compassion because they simply don’t care about others. That and the fact that they must take care of themselves first.

And listen, there can be positive aspects of such a personality type. There is even an entire self-help fueled idea of self-care. It’s the old adage of putting your own oxygen mask on before helping others. That we can’t help the world without helping ourselves. Essentially, if we put one hundred percent of ourselves into benefitting others we will burn out and lose ourselves in the process, in turn not having anything left to give back. 

Listen, I’m all for self-care. There are many times and places to put oneself first. But I wonder if this is being weaponized. Are we using this idea to make ourselves feel better for all the shit we do to others? Or, more accurately, to give ourselves an easy out when it comes to giving back to society. I can’t be bothered to put my energy into volunteering or calling my senator or representatives to demand change. I can’t put effort into helping at the expense of my own sanity. And that sounds so convenient. So, well, selfish.

The next example is what I struggle with. Having a lack of compassion due to trust issues. In my case, a distrust specifically of men. Like, I can safely say without any doubt that I will not help a man stranded on the side of the road. If a man has a broken arm and needs help with his groceries? Nope. I’m not helping. In my opinion, this is called self-preservation, and it is fully driven by fear and distrust in the male species due to countless examples of men proving that they can’t be trusted. That’s just simple stats. And maybe influenced a bit on one too many documentaries made about Ted Bundy.

So, I see the benefits of being selfish as a way to help ensure my own safety. For protection. I get that. But it is something that I struggle with. It conflicts with my desire to hold compassion with no strings attached. It also provides me with a healthy dose of guilt knowing that I could be leaving someone stranded who actually does need my help.

And then there is quite possibly the worst version of a lack of compassion. This is the person who simply hates others. Someone who is full of fear. Full of cruelty. They can’t see a future where they can find respect for a person who they truly believe is worth less than themselves. And those lesser people can’t possibly deserve compassion. They can’t earn empathy no matter what. This is where racism lives. Sexism. Homophobic and Transphobic and Antisemitic and Islamophobic. All those forms of hate lead to a severe lack of compassion. It’s this version that is the scariest and the loudest, in my opinion. But also, in a way, the easiest to teach my kids about. They understand the significance of hate. This one I am confident I can provide valid lessons about. Especially with my own experiences with Paul and growing up having to constantly remind friends that the word retarded was unacceptable. That people with disabilities were, in actuality, still people. 

Then there is the one version that scares me the most. Indifference. These are the people who don’t vote because their rights aren’t on the ballot. These are the people who don’t concern themselves with problems that are happening on the other side of the world. Out of sight, out of mind. These are the silent types. They aren’t going to help because they don’t feel the need to. It doesn’t come from hate or fear. It comes from complacency and boredom and a lack of enthusiasm. These are people who don’t have sympathy as a character trait. Definitely not outside of their own socioeconomic category. It still amazes me that an antonym of compassion is indifference. It seems so innocent next to hate, but it can be so powerful. 

I do wonder sometimes if I am at risk of becoming indifferent. The problems of the world can be too much at times. Overly complicated. Messy. Ugly. Confusing. And I’ve found myself, usually after days of doom scrolling, shutting off the news and ignoring it all. I find it hard at times to keep up with everything without risking my getting desensitized. Once I start to feel numb, I turn away. But maybe the answer is actually to open my eyes wider. Maybe these are the moments where having unconditional compassion is most crucial.

As I look at all these opposites of compassion, it isn’t hard to see myself in all of them. To see some hate in me. To see indifference and selfishness. To see distrust. 

Is there a way to be compassionate and empathetic in general without being naïve? Without being ignorant to the real dangers in the world? Or is any reluctance to compassion turn into hate? Is indifference just as bad? And is the worst the knowing choice to look the other way because of an engrained distrust?

At the end of the day, I don’t have answers to these questions. I’m sure they will continue to keep me up at night. But asking them feels necessary for my growth as a human as also as a parent.

I asked the kids last night at bedtime what they know about being kind and compassionate. Scotland said, “That we need to treat people how we want to be treated.” I know that is the standard statement to teach kids, but maybe it’s still the best. Because ultimately, isn’t that another way of saying be kind to yourself AND be kind to others? It isn’t saying treat people how you want to be treated UNLESS that person is kind of shitty and you don’t like them. It’s basic, but I think it actually works.

Might not work for the entire world. That message is unlikely to fix all the problems. But it can help guide my children and I think it can help guide me. As I search for the answers to the more complex questions, I’ll start small. Baby steps. Just be a kind person. And hopefully the rest will fall into place. 

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel