When Brokenness Becomes the Bridge to Mercy

When Hope Feels Out of Reach

The air was still, headlights humming along the curb. I was early, too early, for my children’s dismissal. They finish at 7:30. I had been waiting since 6:00, just sitting there, engine on, petrol burning away.

I hate that. Every litre of wasted fuel feels wrong to me. I was raised to be prudent, to turn off lights, to stretch every ringgit. I’ve taught my children the same thing. Efficiency is my language of respect, for time, for effort, for those who paid the price to earn it.

And yet there I was, engine idling, doing the very thing I had always condemned. It wasn’t carelessness. It was numbness. The kind that sits quietly between exhaustion and surrender.

Empathy, I later realised, is a muscle, not a mood. Neuroscientists discovered that when you feel another person’s pain, the same parts of your brain light up as if it were your own. That’s why compassion drains you, because your body is carrying the load too.

That night, I cancelled my meeting on legacy planning, the one about inheritance, succession, who takes over the work, the wealth, the vision. Because when hope disappears, tomorrow feels irrelevant. When you are drowning, you don’t plan for the swim ahead. You just try to breathe.

The Slow Birth of Mercy

I remembered a conversation with a man in his seventies, still sharp, still driven. He told me every investment he made now had to bring immediate return. “No point waiting,” he said. “I don’t know how long I’ll live.”

At that time, I judged him. I thought, what a hopeless way to live. But as I sat there that night, wasting fuel and time, I finally understood. Hopelessness changes logic. It rewires meaning. You can’t talk about ten-year plans when your soul can’t see past ten minutes.

Sometimes, God allows us to enter the darkness so that we can understand those still trapped there. Pain enlarges our perspective. Research shows that people who’ve endured deep suffering often become the most compassionate healers, not because they studied empathy, but because they’ve lived it. Pain trains perception. You can’t guide a storm you’ve never survived.

It’s like understanding hunger only after your plate has been empty for too long. We look at people eating instant noodles or drinking 3-in-1 coffee and call it “low quality.” But Malaysia’s 3-in-1 coffee industry is worth over RM500 million a year. It’s survival fuel for working families. What looks cheap from comfort looks sacred from struggle.

Hopelessness became my teacher that night. It showed me that empathy isn’t born in theory; it’s born in identification.

The Purpose Hidden in Pain

It’s easy to talk about purpose when life feels stable. It’s harder when you can’t even find the will to hope. But maybe that’s exactly where leadership begins, in the silence after strength fails.

Leadership isn’t about having answers; it’s about having awareness. A UC Berkeley study found that as income rises, empathy tends to fall unless intentionally practiced. The richer the comfort, the duller the compassion. Gratitude is what keeps the heart awake.

The same principle applies to teams. Harvard researchers found that groups who face shared hardship bond 30 percent faster than those who only celebrate wins. Victory inspires, but struggle unites.

Empathy isn’t just emotional; it’s strategic. A global DDI study revealed that empathy is the single strongest predictor of leadership success, and also the most lacking. Leaders don’t fail because they’re unskilled; they fail because they stop feeling.

I realised that this hopelessness was not a curse but a curriculum. Brokenness reveals what strength hides. It teaches mercy to the efficient, humility to the confident, and humanity to the busy.

Before this, I was grateful for my peaceful family life, for in-laws who supported us, for stability that felt safe. I used to think that was maturity. But gratitude without empathy can become blindness. You can thank God for your blessings and still miss the pain right beside you.

True empathy begins when gratitude starts to ache for others.

From Judgement to Empathy

I will still advocate for prudence and integrity. I’ll still teach that conserving energy is an act of stewardship. But I’ll do it differently now, with softer edges.

I’ll still switch off the lights, but I won’t shame those who forget.

I’ll still plan for tomorrow, but I’ll understand those who can’t see past today.

I’ll still lead, but I’ll remember that some days, leadership looks like simply showing up.

Hope, I’ve learned, isn’t just an emotion; it’s a formula. Psychologist Charles Snyder called it Goals + Pathways + Agency, knowing what you want, finding a way, believing you can move. Even small acts, keeping a promise, cleaning a desk, saying thank you, can biologically restart the hope process.

That’s why quiet leadership is the new loud. The World Economic Forum now lists empathy, active listening, and emotional regulation as the top leadership skills of the next decade. Charisma no longer defines influence. Care does.

So maybe hopelessness isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s a reminder. A divine reset to help us lead more gently, more truthfully, more humanly.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

For years, I believed leadership meant staying hopeful so others could draw strength from you. But that night in the car taught me something different.

The opposite of leadership isn’t despair.

The opposite of leadership is indifference.

Because despair still feels. Indifference doesn’t.

Even tears serve a purpose. Science shows that emotional tears release natural painkillers and stress hormones, the body’s way of washing out what the soul cannot hold. Pain leaves through water. Healing begins through honesty.

And maybe mercy itself, the willingness to feel another’s pain, is what kept humanity alive. Anthropologists found that early humans who showed empathy survived longer because they shared food, helped the weak, and protected the tribe. Mercy wasn’t weakness; it was evolution’s advantage.

So if you ever find yourself sitting in the dark, engine on, wasting petrol and wondering why you’ve become someone you swore not to be, don’t rush past it.

That waste might be your classroom.

That stillness might be your redemption.

Sometimes, God lets us waste what we once valued to rediscover what truly matters.