A month ago, a friend asked how I was feeling. After a few minutes of describing the contradictory emotions bouncing around, my friend began to address them like bullet points. They did not make sense, and I should not hold on to them. 

I stopped talking. 

The vulnerability of being not only upset but wrong, too, was a double whammy. 

More recently, someone began to express their emotional state to me. My knee-jerk response was to explain why the problem was not so bad, and they would be better off accepting it. 

Then my mouth slammed shut. I remembered being the one whose experience was invalidated, and it was enough to stop me. I listened with more empathy. 

In that moment, my resentment toward the person of some time ago shifted. Now I was grateful. Understanding what those placating words do to minimize someone was as important as learning not to drive my car into someone's house. They live there. 

At the tail end of our holiday extravaganza, I tweaked my back. Not bad enough to call an injury, but it limited my mobility for a couple of days. In the stationary position afforded me as I tried not to aggravate it, I had time to remember. The many people who use walkers, and pain meds, and endure knee replacements are woven into my community. There are others who have fallen off ladders with unfortunate results. I give them passing compassion, but I could step it up a notch. 

Even from the chair I found myself in.