"I'm Better Than You": Finding the Ego Hidden in My Empathy

I'm better than you.

It disgusts me to write those words, to let them take shape in my mind, to see them staring back at me - harsh and unflinching. But when I silently pick up what clearly belongs to someone else, this is precisely the truth I've been unwilling to face.

The Crisis That Called to Me

In 2020, life wore me like a coat with too many arms - President of a local non-profit, mother to two children under 4, COO of my family business, all while navigating these precious vessels through the storm of COVID. At first, I thrived in this chaos. What can I say? I'm a four on the enneagram - I come alive in a crisis. There's something intoxicating about being needed, about having the answers when everyone else is spinning.

But somewhere around the murder of George Floyd, something inside me began to crack. The foundation I thought was solid revealed its fault lines.

I knew where I stood. I knew what I valued. And I thought I knew what this nonprofit valued, so our leadership team crafted a statement of solidarity - a commitment to be part of the healing, not part of the wound. I wasn't prepared for what came next: the venomous responses, the hate mail that felt like acid on my skin, the desperate pleas to "walk it back."

The Wall I Built Brick by Bitter Brick

That's when I hit the wall - or rather, when I began to build one. I simultaneously resented this organization with every fiber of my being while trying to "save it" by overworking. I became a piece of virtuous, martyr shit.

I stopped delegating. I stopped bringing people along. I stopped letting people in. I didn't just close the door - I cemented it shut.

I did the work with white knuckles and a bitter taste in my mouth, convincing myself this burden was mine alone to carry.

As the first year of my two-year term came to a close, I was hollowed out. Emptied. My light had dimmed to a flicker that could barely illuminate my own next step, let alone guide others. Something had to give, and it wasn't going to be my family or my business.

The Mirror I Couldn't Break

During discussions about ending my term early, one of the women in leadership offered words that landed like lightning: "I understand where you are. I've been there. I've wanted to prove to everyone how 'good' I am."

If I was resentful before, after that comment, I was "Bust the windows out your car" enraged. How dare she reduce my sacrifice to ego? How dare she not see the weight I was carrying?

My mind flooded with righteous defenses: "That's not what this is." "I just see how much others are struggling." "I'm protecting them from more burden."

The Truth That Finally Found Me

But in the moments when I could no longer outrun myself, I had to face it - that woman was right. And it has taken me years to soften enough to receive this truth.

Deep down, I was telling myself a story in which I was the hero - better than everyone because I was shouldering what they couldn't. More empathetic because I could see their struggle. More deserving because I was sacrificing more.

That failure - that 50% of a presidency - has become one of my life's most precious teachers. The lesson? That doing it all, that shouldering it all is not the virtue I believed it to be. It is, at least for me, a form of self-protection. My own way of validating that I am good... or more accurately, better. When my insecurities rise to the surface, this is how they disguise themselves - as selflessness, as empathy, as strength.

The Space Between What Is and What Could Be

This isn't who I truly am at my core. Beneath these layers of protection and performance, I genuinely believe everyone is worthy, valuable, and lovable exactly as they are. So that's my work now - to stop hiding behind empathy-as-shield. To be truthful with myself when I feel the urge to pick up what isn't mine to carry.

I'm learning that true empathy doesn't say "I'll do this for you because you can't." True empathy says "I see you, I believe in you, and I'll walk alongside you while you find your way."

The next time you find yourself silently picking up someone else's burden without being asked, without creating space for collaboration, without inviting others in - pause. Ask yourself: "Am I doing this because they truly need help, or because I need to feel needed? Am I lifting them up, or am I standing on their shoulders to feel taller?"

Our greatest strengths, when misused, can become our most elegant weaknesses. And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply step aside and make room for others to shine in their own light.