Walking in Someone Else's Shoes

Leo didn't understand why his little sister, Ava, was so afraid of thunderstorms. To him, they were exciting—the bright flashes of lightning, the rumbling thunder that shook the windows. He loved to watch the storm from the safety of the living room window.

But Ava was different. At the first distant rumble of thunder, she would hide under her blanket or in the closet, hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't be such a baby," Leo told her during one particularly loud storm. "It's just noise. It can't hurt you."

Ava's eyes filled with tears, and she buried her face deeper into her blanket. Their mom, who had overheard, called Leo into the kitchen.

"Leo," she said gently, "do you remember how you felt on your first day of swimming lessons last summer?"

Leo frowned. He did remember. His stomach had been in knots, and he had clung to the edge of the pool, refusing to let go. He had been sure he would sink like a stone if he did.

"I was scared," he admitted.

"Yes, you were," Mom nodded. "And how did it feel when the older kids laughed and called you a baby?"

Leo's cheeks grew warm with the memory. "It made me feel worse. Like I was stupid for being afraid."

"That's right," Mom said. "Now, imagine how Ava feels when you tell her not to be a baby because she's afraid of storms."

Leo hadn't thought about it that way before. He had just been annoyed by Ava's fear of something he found so fascinating.

"What you're learning about is empathy," Mom explained. "Empathy is when you try to understand how someone else is feeling—like walking in their shoes for a while."

"But I don't know what it's like to be afraid of storms," Leo said.

"You don't have to be afraid of the exact same things," Mom said. "But you do know what it's like to be afraid of something. Remember how your swimming teacher helped you?"

Leo nodded. "She didn't make fun of me. She showed me how to float and told me she wouldn't let go until I was ready."

"She showed you empathy," Mom said. "She understood your fear and helped you feel safe. That's what Ava needs right now—not someone telling her she shouldn't be afraid, but someone who helps her feel safe."

Leo thought about this. Then he went to the living room where Ava was still huddled under her blanket. A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Ava whimpered.

Instead of telling her not to be afraid, Leo sat down next to her. "Hey, Ava. I'm sorry I called you a baby. Being scared is okay. I get scared of things too."

Ava peeked out from under the blanket. "You do?"

"Yeah," Leo said. "I was really scared of the water last summer. I thought I would sink."

"But you're a good swimmer now," Ava said.

"That's because my teacher helped me feel safe until I learned not to be afraid," Leo explained. "Maybe I can help you with the storm? We could build a fort with pillows and blankets, and I could tell you about how thunder and lightning work."

Ava considered this. "A fort might be good," she said cautiously. "And maybe we could read a book inside it?"

"Sure," Leo smiled. "I'll get the pillows, and you pick out a book."

As they built their fort and settled inside with flashlights and books, the storm continued outside. But Leo noticed that Ava jumped less at the thunder. Once, she even peeked out of the fort to watch the lightning with him.

"Thanks for not making fun of me," Ava said as she snuggled next to him with her book.

"That's what big brothers are for," Leo said. "To understand and help, not to make you feel worse."

Later, when Mom came to check on them, she found both children asleep in their fort, the storm forgotten. She smiled, knowing that Leo had learned an important lesson about empathy—one that would serve him well throughout his life.