When Crisis Leaves Little Room for Empathy: Reflections on the Human Element

The world has been confronted with an unprecedented threat—one that has disrupted daily life and left a trail of collateral damage in its wake. The full scope of its ramifications remains difficult to grasp, even now, as the crisis continues to unfold. While some may already be searching for silver linings or opportunities for growth, there is no denying the profound socio-economic impact this moment has had—and continues to have—on individuals and organizations alike.

As I write this, I am in my second week of social isolation. And I find myself wondering about the human element in all of this. I wonder whether there is still space to consider it at all.

Where Empathy Seems to Go Missing

What strikes me most is an apparent lack of empathy—something that is, in many ways, understandable given the circumstances. Yet I can’t help but notice how little room there seems to be for expressing how people are actually feeling or being affected.

Mental health resources abound, and that’s a good thing. But much of what I see points to the same advice: maintain a routine, establish a “new normal,” adjust to working from home, talk to your children about COVID-19. What I haven’t seen are conversations about coping with having no alone time. Or about the emotional toll of making deeply difficult decisions—such as having to let people go in order for an organization to survive.

Before going any further, I feel compelled to make something clear. I am, by nature, a positive person—action-oriented, solution-focused. Complaining is not my default mode. I share this not to justify myself, but to set a boundary. Because what I am not looking for are responses like: “Think positive,” “Hang in there,” or “Others have it worse.”

I already know all of this.

What I truly need is far simpler: an empathetic ear.

When the Adrenaline Wears Off

The first week of isolation went surprisingly well. I felt energized, focused on what could be done professionally, grateful for the unexpected family moments that emerged from this new rhythm. Mother-daughter walks became a balm for the soul (and not bad for the hips). Cooking healthy meals together and sharing them as a family felt like gifts—small, grounding joys that filled my heart.

Then, over the weekend, reality settled in.

Schools were closed “until further notice.” Case numbers were rising. And it became clear that this situation would not be measured in days or weeks, but in months.

That realization brought with it a new layer of responsibility. It meant making hard decisions in the best interest of organizational survival. It meant acknowledging that those cherished family moments also came with the absence of any real alone time—except, perhaps, in the washroom. In short, there was a new reality to face. And this was only week two.

Like many, I pushed those thoughts down. “Keep on trucking,” people said. So I did.

But my body noticed before my mind was ready to listen.

Insomnia crept in. Sleep became fragmented. My appetite swung between constant cravings and complete disinterest, unsettling my digestion. Mornings began to feel driven by duty rather than my usual sense of purpose. And through it all, I tried to do one simple thing: reach out and talk.

Not Being Heard

After one too many conversations where I attempted to express how I was feeling, I finally understood what was truly troubling me.

I wasn’t feeling heard.

When I spoke about how painful it is to let people go—especially from an employer’s perspective—I was often met with a familiar rallying cry: detach emotionally, it’s your job, just do what needs to be done. On more than one occasion, I was told not to let emotions get the better of me, or to stop trying to save the world.

This, to me, is precisely where the human element disappears from the conversation.

Why is it so difficult to allow space—even briefly—for someone to acknowledge the emotional weight of making profoundly difficult decisions? Why has it become almost taboo to speak about feelings in times like these?

Let me be clear: I understand the gravity of this moment. I know there are people risking their lives every day. I know there are urgent priorities that demand focus and action. I also recognize that crisis often pushes emotions aside, as our minds prioritize survival.

Perhaps we silence ourselves because others seem to have it worse. Perhaps empathy feels scarce when we are stretched thin, juggling work, children, uncertainty, and fear. Perhaps our brains simply don’t leave much room for it when processing collective trauma.

Honestly, I suspect it’s all of the above.

Making Room for the Human Element

Still, I believe this: allowing space for people to express how they feel matters.

Letting someone say, “This is hard,” or “This decision weighs heavily on me,” does not make them weak. It does not mean they are incapable or unable to cope. There is a difference between knowing what must be done and carrying the emotional impact of doing it.

Allowing those feelings to be voiced—without judgment, without slogans—might actually help people endure this moment more fully.

As for me, I would deeply appreciate something very simple. If I sound off, or if I say that something feels challenging, I don’t need fixing. I don’t need perspective. I don’t need encouragement packaged as dismissal.

I just need someone to say:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

When everything feels unsteady on the outside, the gaze remains alert — a quiet witness to what unfolds within.