Claiming Joy, Naming Privilege
Yesterday I watched Soul on Fire, and it left me gutted—in the best way. It’s the story of John O’Leary, a child who survived burns over nearly his entire body. But more than survival, it’s a story of grace, grit, and the power of showing up. I found myself crying not just for the pain he endured, but for the love that surrounded him. The handwritten notes from Jack Buck, legendary St. Louis Cardinal’s announcer. The unwavering presence of his family. The medical team that refused to give up. It made me think about my own life—about the moments when someone’s belief in me changed the outcome. About the quiet heroes who held space when I couldn’t hold it myself.
And then it made me think about what happens when that scaffolding isn’t there.
John’s story is extraordinary. But it’s also a reminder that extraordinary outcomes often rest on invisible foundations: emotional support, financial resources, spiritual grounding, and access to care. His family had those things. Many don’t.
So I started wondering: What if the same child had faced the same trauma… but from a home where the heat wasn’t just from the flames, but from unpaid bills and broken radiators? What if the encouragement came not from a sportscaster’s handwritten notes, but from a social worker juggling thirty cases?
We love stories of triumph. But we rarely ask what made triumph possible.
That reflection led me to a pair of images I’ve been sitting with. Two homes. One pristine, perched in privilege. The other, collapsing under the weight of generational poverty. And yet, some folks from the first home still insist: “We all had the same opportunities.”
We didn’t.
Opportunity isn’t just about what’s technically available. It’s about what’s realistically reachable. And when your porch is crumbling, your school underfunded, and your role models surviving instead of thriving—those opportunities feel more like mirages.
At this website Empathy on the Rocks, I am hoping not to just tell stories. I hope to stack them—like stones. So together let’s honor the burn and the balm. Let’s name the scaffolding, not to shame, but to shift. Because empathy isn’t just about feeling someone’s pain. It’s about understanding the architecture of their survival.