Empathy in the Mirror: When Performance Isn’t Fake, Just in Progress

(A Rewriting Normal Reflection)

I read something recently that called out LinkedIn as a platform full of performative empathy.

People sharing stories about grief, burnout, or inclusivity, not necessarily because they cared, but because they knew it would look good.

At first, I understood the discomfort. I don’t like fakery either. I’ve worked in spaces where people said all the right things while doing very little to back it up. I’ve seen empathy used as a shield, a strategy, and sometimes a silencer. It can feel hollow. Worse, it can feel like manipulation.

But the more I thought about it, the more complicated it became.

Because I’ve also been someone who has performed empathy.
Not because I didn’t mean it, but because I was utterly depleted and had nothing left to give.

And I did it anyway. And I’m glad I did.

It wasn’t fake.
It was exhausted, masked, and measured, but still real.

What If We’re Practicing, Not Performing?

We often talk about “performative empathy” like it’s always a con. But what if, for some people, it’s actually a rehearsal?

There’s a psychological concept called behavioral rehearsal. It’s used in therapy, coaching, and education. People practice responses before they feel natural. Role-play kindness. Try on courage. Fake calm in a storm.

Sometimes, we act “as if” until something starts to shift.
And maybe empathy works the same way.

I wonder how many people posting polished thoughts about mental health, leadership, or loss are actually trying to grow into those words. Maybe the language comes first, because that’s what’s visible. And maybe, unless someone has zero self-awareness, those words start nudging their behavior.

If we want empathy to become a norm, it’s not surprising it often starts in the public square. It’s where we try on beliefs before we own them.

Is that shallow? Or just human?

Self-Awareness Is Rare, And Still Possible

According to organizational psychologist Tasha Eurich, about 10–15% of people are truly self-aware, even though 80–90% believe they are. That’s a huge gap. But it also means most of us are navigating from somewhere in the middle: reflective in one moment, reactive the next.

I’ve asked myself this question too:
Am I self-aware…or do I just think I am?

I don’t have a clean answer. But I do believe I’m empathetic.
And I’ve seen how that belief shapes my actions, even when I’m tired or unsure or feeling the cost of it.

Maybe that’s all any of us can do: notice, question, adjust. Keep trying to move a little closer to who we hope we are.

I’ve Performed Empathy While Depleted

There have been moments, particularly in seasons of burnout, when I’ve offered empathy while craving it myself. It wasn’t performative in the hollow sense. It was strategic survival. A way to stay connected to something real, even when I felt frayed.

And I’ve come to believe that masking, though often a burden for neurodivergent people like me, can sometimes be used for good. Not all masking is false. Sometimes it’s a bridge between who we are and how we want to show up.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Or sustainable. Or ideal.
But it means I’ve learned to hold space for messy empathy, for the clumsy, exhausted kind that still tries.

When Empathy Is a Tool for Power, Not Connection

Of course, not all performance is a prelude to growth.
Some people perform empathy to protect power, deflect critique, or polish their image. And they’re not just individuals, they’re institutions.

Think of political leaders offering staged apologies.
Corporations with “we care” campaigns while union-busting.
Workplaces that post about mental health but punish people for taking leave.

In those cases, empathy is a product, not a practice.

This is where we need to be careful. Performative language can soothe just enough to stop real change. It can silence real emotion. And it can leave people who are truly vulnerable feeling betrayed or dismissed.

I’m not saying all performance is progress.
But I’m saying some of it is.

Discernment matters. But so does generosity.

How Can You Tell the Difference?

Here’s what I’ve started to notice, in others and myself.

Practicing Empathy	Performing for Power
Words grow more specific over time	Words stay vague or branded
Shows discomfort and stays present	Deflects or blames when called out
Changes behavior after reflection	Doubles down or disappears
Seeks diverse feedback	Avoids challenge or surrounds with yes-people
Acts consistently, even when unseen	Only acts when visible or praised

This isn’t a perfect list. But it helps. Because we can’t afford to be naïve, but we also can’t afford to give up on people entirely.

The Risk of Hoping for Change

I’ve spent much of my life giving people the benefit of the doubt.
Sometimes it has brought connection.
Other times it’s brought disappointment.

I’ve lost friendships because I showed up unfiltered.
I’ve had moments where I still don’t know exactly what I did wrong, only that the door was closed behind me.
I’ve carried that confusion, and turned it over again and again.

But you know what?
I wouldn’t trade the reflection that came after.
Even if the other person never reflects at all.
Maybe that’s a strange kind of peace, that I get to grow, even if they don’t.

Still, I wonder:
Is that softness a flaw? To hope? To stay open to the idea that people might change?

I don’t think so.
I think it’s a kind of stubborn faith. And maybe that’s what keeps me grounded.

Masking, Motherhood, and Wanting More

I’ve also watched empathy (or the expectation of it) reshape my life in ways I didn’t plan.
Becoming an “accidental homeschooler.”
Resisting the return to mainstream systems that didn’t fit.
Navigating the slow burn of being seen as “just a mum” while quietly advocating, planning, building, dreaming.

I helped my husband advocate for a pay increase that now supports our family. I carved out flexible ways of working. But I also know that a traditional job, with my ADHD, my energy, my need for systems, might not be sustainable without burning out again.

Still, I’m aware of the risks.
I know that older women are one of the fastest-growing groups at risk of homelessness.
I carry that fear too. It’s always in the background noise of my brain.

That’s why I’m not just hoping to re-enter systems.
I want to reshape them.
Not just for me, but for anyone who’s been asked to perform strength when they needed support.

The Written Word Still Matters

So here’s where I land:

Yes, empathy can be faked.
Yes, it can be used as camouflage.
Yes, we should be cautious about who we trust.

But also…

Let’s not forget the power of trying.
Let’s not dismiss the people rehearsing better ways of being, even if they’re clumsy or slow or still learning the lines.

The written word has always been how change begins.
It’s how we test ideas before we live them.
It’s how we nudge ourselves, and others, into growth.

So if someone says something kind but doesn’t fully mean it yet…
What if we treat that as a seed?

Not a guarantee.
Not a pass.
But a possibility.

One worth noticing.

One worth watering.

I’m still figuring things out

I’m still figuring out what self-awareness looks like in real time. I’m not sure I’ve nailed it, but I know I care. I know I reflect. I know I try. And maybe that’s what matters most right now: staying in the process.