I will always remember the first day I met Sarah in the emergency department. A rear-end collision at a stoplight—nothing more than a fender bender. But the other driver was incensed, hurling insults at Sarah about being careless and incompetent, that she should have her license revoked. What that other driver didn’t know was that Sarah had just left the hospital where her twelve-year-old daughter was fighting for her life. She wasn’t focused on the road; her thoughts were three floors above her in the pediatric ICU. It was quite the humbling moment. What I realized after all of that is something I took for granted during all those years of training to be a surgeon—everyone has baggage. Everyone.
A lot of time spent watching people—in every sense of the word—has shown me this: Remember that colleague who you thought was brusque in the meeting? Maybe they have marital problems. The barista who let you skip breakfast, forgetting your order? Perhaps they’re drowning in student loans while working three jobs. What about that neighbor you waved to who never waved back? Perhaps their acute depression is so acute that getting out of bed is a feat as monumental as climbing Everest.
We pass through life seeing only the thin surface—freshly washed clothing, styled hair, and enforced smiles. Like, as if looking good, smelling clean, and being groomed equals finding or having peace of mind. Talk about losing perspective on how to evaluate peace of mind. To judge a person based on how they look is nonsensical, like judging a person’s well-being based on whether the gown from the hospital is tied right. The nonsensical level we live in is where we base our evaluations daily.
I have operated on CEOs that if you told me they were preparing to compete for a gold medal in the Olympic Games, I would believe you. But they feared dying before they met their grandkids. I have taken care of the homeless and treated them with more dignity and grace than certain millionaires. I held the hands of teenagers battling cancer with more bravery than a decorated veteran. None of these fights on the inside had labels on the outside.
It’s messier and more complicated than we want to admit and acknowledge. Each one of those you run across in our day—a grocer, an abrasive motorist, a once friend, or an unreasonable boss—is all engaged at some level in a little battle: sadness, anxiety, chronic pain, financial instability, addiction, loneliness, or fear. Occasionally, they are going through all of the above—before breakfast.
This isn’t to spout a justification for poor behavior but to recognize that hurt people, hurt others, and healed people heal others. When someone lashes out at you, it’s close to never about you, but more likely, they are battling their battle.
This knowledge probably leaves you wondering, what do I do with this? Be kind. Not kind in a syrupy, insincere, look-over-their-shoulder kind of way, but the actual human kind of way. Kind that says, “I see you are human, and considering the response, it is hard for both of us.” The absence it costs gives everything.
Kindness doesn’t mean you are a doormat. It means responding to a gruff remark with patience, to rage with consideration, and to reticence with warmth. Not because they deserve it, but because you don’t know the silent battles they are fighting. That small show of compassion may just be their silver lining in that day of darkness.
I have witnessed individuals grow under the gentle weight of even the most simplistic grace. I have seen tough shells soften under the least hint of mercy. I have learned that kindness is no weakness but the strongest asset one can possess.
Everyone you meet knows nothing about you. Be kind. There may be a day when you wage your own unseen battle and wish someone chooses the kind of kindness that doesn’t trigger you.
