By Jessica Mickley
Director of Outreach and Training
The other day, I was in my car (don’t worry, I was headed somewhere essential) when I spotted two teenage girls, walking side by side down the street. I was immediately suspicious, followed by annoyed. And then angry. I glared as I drove past.
My incredibly stressed and worn-out self assumed that they were breaking the rules of social distancing.
Now, there’s a good chance that they were, against all current guidelines, getting within six feet of someone they do not live with. There is also the possibility that they are sisters who are very close in age. What frightened and frankly disappointed me was how quickly I went negative. I didn’t hesitate to judge and silently admonish those two.
I facilitate a training about empathy, yet in that moment, I had zero.
My experience has a name: compassion fatigue.
There are two definitions of compassion fatigue:
the physical and mental exhaustion and emotional withdrawal experienced by those who care for sick or traumatized people over an extended period of time
apathy or indifference toward the suffering of others as the result of overexposure to tragic news stories and images and the subsequent appeals for assistance
My coworkers and I have been working nonstop since day one of the COVID-19 pandemic. The management team has been adjusting our advocacy model to fit this new reality; advocacy supervisors are helping the volunteers find new, often out-of-the-box ways to support our children and families; and the communications team is on a mission to keep our advocates, donors, and supporters up to date on Passaic County CASA operations, even while everything is rapidly changing.
We are all pushing ourselves because we genuinely care about the children and families we serve. Plus, my coworkers and I all recognize that the negative effects of COVID-19 will go way beyond health outcomes. During and after a crisis, the rate of child abuse and neglect almost always increases. We are anxiously anticipating this wave of new children entering the child welfare system.
Overall, I’ve been feeling pretty good, or “as well as can be expected,” like I’ve been signing my emails. Not great, but still very focused on Passaic County CASA’s mission. Like my coworkers, I’ve been overwhelmed with concern for the children, families, and communities devastated by this crisis. My empathy and compassion for them all has run deep.
For all except, of course, those two poor teenagers.
My colleagues, my family, the children we serve, and yes, even those teenagers, deserve me at my most empathetic and compassionate. So I jumped into gear.
Since that day, I’ve compiled a list of tools to help me, and hopefully also you, address compassion fatigue:
Practice self compassion
My compassion fatigue didn’t just affect my empathy toward others; it had drilled away at my kindness and compassion toward myself. Now, when I start to beat myself up, I take a deep breath and say, sometimes aloud, “You’re doing fine. You’re living through a pandemic. You’re doing the best you can!”
Get outside
I love the sunshine and a cool breeze almost more than anything, yet I was depriving myself of these simple pleasures, partially, I think, because of a fear of going outside, and partially because I’m supposed to be using all this “free” time to be productive (see previous bullet). Turns out grass beneath your feet cures almost all.
Revisit an old hobby
I used to be a ballet and jazz dancer, but somehow abandoned this favorite hobby along the way. I recently found a weekly Zoom dance party that has been an absolute joy.
These three tools got me back to feeling almost like my normal self. There are plenty more tools out there (click here for one resource) that may work better for you. I implore you to find try out some strategies for yourself, before compassion fatigue strikes and you end up as a grown woman in her car, glaring at two teenage girls.