I’m spending a weekend in the Bergisch Country, in a hotel with a large spa area. What I’m particularly looking forward to is lying around in a cosy hotel bathrobe, taking a sauna, whirlpool and steam bath and slumbering on the comfortable hotel loungers.
Before I start, I want to take a quick shower opening the door to the only shower cubicle in the ladies’ changing room. A commanding voice hisses behind me: “I wanted to go in there now”. I didn’t see the steamroller coming from behind, so I back away. “There are more showers in the sauna area,” the unknown voice continues. To regain my composure, I sit down for a moment. “Or is it very quick with you?” It continues to blare. I stand up saying, “Oh, you know…. That’s not the point at all. I’m just shocked at the way you’re talking to me. But I’m probably just very fragile right now.” I want to leave the room quickly because tears are coming… when the lady suddenly says, “Sorry, I’m in a state of emergency right now – my husband has cancer.” “And I’ve recently lost my brother,” I stutter, starting to cry. We look into each other’s eyes for the first time.
“Sorry!” the lady says several times, starts crying and holds her hands in front of her mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry too,” I reply. Two strangers face each other and feel deep compassion for each other.
Compassion means seeing with the other’s eyes, hearing with the other’s ears and feeling with the other’s heart. I realise afterwards how precious this moment is. Behind the gruff surface hides a fearful person. Still, no need to snap at me like that: don’t shoot the messenger! If I had left the field silently and offended, I would have missed this special moment. By daring to tell a stranger that their behaviour was not okay, I gave my counterpart the opportunity to reflect on their impact.
“Vulnerability is the birthplace of change,” says Brene Brown.
She is so right.