The Heart That Cannot Look Away

A personal reflection on connection, empathy, and the lasting bonds we form

Hi friends,

I'm interrupting my regular newsletter to share something that's been weighing heavily on my heart. The recent flooding in Central Texas and the tragic loss of young campers has left me deeply shaken—not just as a therapist, but as a mother.

When empathy spirals

Two weeks ago, I sent my ten-year-old son to church camp just a few hours from our home. I have a seven-year-old daughter at home whose wild, imaginative spirit fills our days with wonder and chaos in equal measure. The details of the Texas tragedy hit so close to home that I find myself unable to look away from the news, searching for stories of hope and connection to the helpers working tirelessly to bring resolution and peace.

The wild, imaginative spirit of seven-year-old girls is fresh in my mind—I live with it every day. I know too well all that these families have recently lost.

I'm reminded of Fred Rogers' wisdom: "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'" In times like these, I cling to that truth.

But I'm also overwhelmed thinking about those parents—how they're processing this unimaginable loss, questioning every decision, wondering how life continues when the world inevitably moves on from their tragedy. As someone who feels things deeply, I don't know how to turn off this processing. And honestly, I'm not sure I want to.

The therapist's heart

There's another layer to my response that I wanted to share with you. When I see news like this, I don't just think about how I would handle such a tragedy—I immediately think of my clients. Always and forever.

A former client of mine spent decades attending and then working at summer camps. She was extraordinary to work with, and her love for that community was profound. When I saw the headlines, my thoughts went straight to her: How is she processing this? Is she connected to these camps? Does she know these families? I hope she's okay.

These thoughts come at unexpected times for unexpected reasons, but here's what I want you to know: when we work together as therapist and client, our souls become connected. It's so much more than treatment plans and therapy goals. I become connected to who you are, what you love, what brings you joy—and yes, what causes you pain.

The lasting imprint

That knowledge doesn't disappear when our sessions end. You leave an imprint on my heart. I think about former clients more than you might realize. I worry about you when I see world news that might affect something you care about.

As a therapist, this is a very real experience. And while I could reach out to former clients, there are professional and ethical considerations that complicate that impulse in ways that might not make sense to those outside the helping professions.

For the deep feelers

I wanted to put this reflection into the world because if you're someone who feels deeply, if you form profound connections with clients, colleagues, friends, family members—you're not alone. This can be a confusing and overwhelming way to move through life, especially when you make such deep connections with others.

But your connections are important. They are needed. They are needed in this world.

Sometimes the depth of our caring feels like too much to bear. But it's also what makes us human, what makes us helpers, what makes us healers.

To my former client who loved summer camps: I'm thinking of you and hoping you're surrounded by support during this difficult time.

To the parents in Texas: my heart is with you in ways that words cannot express.

To all of us who feel deeply: keep looking for the helpers. Keep being the helpers. The world needs your tender hearts.

With love,
Mary

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