We generally know these things intuitively. For most people with a typical brain and a normal family experience, we learn these cues through lived experience starting in childhood. These signals are vital information coming into our body about what another person’s intention is and whether they are safe for us.
The Essential Role of Connection
Safety is not only the absence of threat, but the presence of connection. This presence is critical because the lack of connection is what makes space for othering, discounting, and contempt and cruelty. We simply do not have the capacity to be cruel or contemptuous toward someone to whom we feel connected. When we receive these signs of safety, we can be pretty sure it is safe to relax, be authentic, express our emotions, be vulnerable, and have meaningful and deep conversations.
Empathy in the Context of Chronic Conditions
I have been examining this concept closely through the lens of being a patient with chronic conditions. For me, understanding that empathy is not optional—it is something I must have—has been vital. My nervous system has been begging for this. The core issue often comes down to this: not enough empathy, and too much cruelty and contempt.
Because of this, finding providers who can genuinely offer empathy is especially important to me.
The Healing Connection
I will never forget the day I met one of my pain specialists. When he entered the room, it was like the sunshine came in; there were so many cues of safety. I immediately felt comfortable and that I could trust him, and I still do, over three years later. He is wonderful; he pays such attention to what is going on with me and responds to it out of goodness.
The Detached Provider
In stark contrast, his boss, who owns the practice, does not offer cues of safety, but danger. When I saw him for a consult about a potential procedure, things went so badly that I decided I could never even let him touch a hangnail. He expressed only a highly fake cognitive empathy. That attempt seemed to be a strain for him, as his body moved into a strange, jerking contortion. He even tried to rip me off by upping the price of the procedure by 50% after he had already given the line item costs. He saw me as an object—a billing code, something to go in his pocket—which is very different from the doctor I work with and care about.
Subsequently, I saw a new provider, a functional neurologist at a “Brain Center.” He supposedly understands how the brain works and what we need for healing from PTSD. Unfortunately, there were no cues of safety from him or his staff. Everything was cold and clinical, focused on the protocol. Nobody even said my name once during the entire visit, which lasted about an hour. That experience convinced me not to go back. Even if I found the treatments themselves helpful, being in that kind of environment would not be adverse to my healing.
I am grateful that I understand this: connection is a must, especially with your healthcare provider. If they cannot provide that—if they cannot function well enough themselves to safely connect—I do not need them to be in my life, and they certainly cannot help to move my health forward, only cause more harm.
