The mandorla is the almond-shaped space formed by the intersection of two circles. It is also a symbol of empathy in action. In this shape, two distinct identities come close enough to touch without erasing each other. It represents the tender and often difficult work of holding space for another person’s truth while remaining rooted in your own.
Empathy lives in that overlap, not in fixing, comparing, or absorbing, but in being with. The mandorla reminds us that meaningful connection happens not through sameness but through shared presence in difference.
A topic that comes up often in our spinal cord injury community is, “what if SCI was cured tomorrow?” It’s an interesting question. Of course, the idea of waking up in a fully restored body sounds incredible. I would love that physically. But mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, I would not want to go back to the man I was before my injury. I am more refined now. I am wiser, more grounded, and more compassionate. I see people differently now. I carry the kind of empathy that can only come from living through pain and relying on others when you’re at your most vulnerable.
Empathy is not weakness. Caring whether someone has access to healthcare, food, shelter, or education is not weakness. It is humanity. When I hear someone needs financial aid just to replace a broken wheelchair part or keep their heat on in the winter, I don’t see that as a burden. I see it as a responsibility we all share to make sure people are okay. I’m proud that my tax dollars can help someone get through a hard time, go to school, or keep a roof over their head. I’m especially proud that they can help a fellow quadriplegic avoid being institutionalized. Without Veterans benefits, that could easily be me.
There is a lot of noise out there that tries to paint compassion as naïve or soft. I reject that entirely. To be clear, I don’t live on either end of the political spectrum. I’m a centrist who votes based on my conscience. I feel that I have an obligation to speak up because I may have a unique perspective. I have deployed overseas to help defend my country’s views and protect the rights of others, and now I watch as that same government moves to remove protections and safeties from me as a disabled man. So what changed? Was it my move from soldier to “burden”?
It does not make you tough to stop caring. It makes you cold. And if caring about people makes me weak, then I will gladly carry that so-called weakness with pride. Because I believe that real strength is found in standing up for others, especially when the world tells you not to.
Too often, people confuse empathy with pity. Let me make something clear: I don’t want pity. I want understanding. I want someone to see beyond the wheelchair, beyond the assumptions, and take a moment to imagine what it feels like to live in my shoes. Or in the shoes of someone that’s struggling. That’s empathy. It’s the willingness to see the world from another person’s perspective, even when that experience is completely different from your own.
Empathy helps break down the invisible barriers that separate us. When someone chooses to understand rather than judge, it changes everything. Empathy leads to better conversations, more thoughtful actions, and more inclusive spaces. Empathy is not weakness. It is strength. It is a skill, a mindset, and a commitment to seeing people for who they truly are. And if we want a more inclusive and just society, empathy is where we need to start.