Compassion and Pain Stealing

Today I remembered that compassion means “pain taking”.
Not pain asking.
Not pain borrowing.
Not pain sharing.
Pain taking.

Taking has such a hostile connotation to it. Like you are commandeering something. You take candy. You take a bike. You take a test.

You claim it.

You steal it.
You take what belongs to you and refuse to give it back.

Compassion is not sharing pain. It’s not in itself empathizing, sympathizing, or even listening. It is stepping in a taking claim of someone else’s pain.

Which means you don’t wait. You don’t tell someone to come and find you if they need you. That’s sympathy. Pity even sometimes. You don’t sit to see if you can come to their aid.

You do it.

You send text messages that say “I’m on my way over. Be ready.”

You say “Be honest with me. I WANT to know.”

You hug not because you understand but because she needs to feel understood.

You all not to talk but to listen...
You listen not so you can hear but so he can talk.

You look for an area of need and you step in.

It’s a near hostile take-over. You stake claim on their pain and you make it your own.

True compassion feels like a whirlwind. You don’t know what hit you until suddenly you realize your load is lighter. It leaves you shocked and amazed. Dumbstruck and confused. Baffled at others’ care. Wondering why and how. Questioning if you gave them permission. Realizing they never asked.

But that’s okay.

Because compassion isn’t pain asking.

Or even pain sharing.

It’s pain taking.
Pain stealing.
And nothing means more than someone who has just stuck claim into your