When Tragedy Feels Close—but Isn't Ours to Carry

The tragedy at Camp Mystic in Texas this past weekend has weighed heavily on my heart. The sudden floods and the loss of innocent lives feel almost impossible to comprehend.

Like many people, I grew up attending an overnight camp. For those of us who did, camp wasn't just a place—it was and still is a powerful thread woven into our personal story. The distinctive smells of camp, the warm glow of a campfire and songs sung around it, the laughter echoing off the lake, the sounds of cicadas at dusk, the magical dance of lightning bugs, and flashlights bouncing in the darkness remain indelibly inked into our fabric.

As campers, we saw our counselors as heroes who seemed older and wiser than anyone else in the world. They were our guides through homesickness, our cheerleaders during challenging activities, and our protectors when storms rolled in—both literal and metaphorical.

But as we grow up, and especially as we become parents ourselves, we realize those counselors were often just young adults barely out of high school or college. They carried enormous responsibility on their shoulders, even as they were still figuring out their own lives. They showed up every summer, ready to lead, guide, provide comfort, and offer support. They inspired us to be courageous, learn new skills, take care of one another, and embrace all that camp had to offer. They were surrogate parents, and way cooler than any adults we knew.

The lessons learned at camp run deep. There have been essays, dissertations, and entire books written about the various ways attending camp shapes confidence, leadership, and resilience. Without a doubt, camp has helped me and countless others navigate life as parents, professionals, partners, community members, and so much more.

When Empathy Becomes Entanglement

The shared experience of going away to camp is why hearing about what happened at Camp Mystic feels so personal to so many of us. I, like you, can easily imagine the fear and chaos, as well as the courage of counselors doing everything in their power to protect campers. I feel sorrow for the families who lost loved ones and admiration for the bravery shown in those terrifying moments by those trying to escape to safety and those helping victims find safety.

But that's where my connection stops.

I can feel empathy and heartbreak without placing myself at the center of someone else's loss; without making their tragedy my own. I can hold space for their pain without needing to fill it with my narrative.

But I've noticed that not everyone can do that. Sometimes people go beyond the boundary of differentiating between themselves and the victims. They share news of a tragedy and immediately shift the conversation to their own experiences. They need to tell anyone who will listen about how something similar almost happened to them, or how they or their kids could have been there—even if that's a logistical impossibility—or how their neighbor's cousin's UPS carrier knew someone who knew someone who knew someone involved—anything to bring them one degree closer to the tragedy themselves.

In the work I do, I know people exhibiting this type of behavior don't mean to insert themselves into the drama. Because of their wounds and trauma, they become triggered in ways they cannot control, nor feel comfortable keeping to themselves. Their nervous system activates, their boundaries blur, and suddenly they're not just witnessing someone else's pain—they're trying to claim it as their own.

But it's one thing to feel connected. It's another to turn someone else's tragedy into our stage.

The Spiritual Cost of Grief Hijacking

In yoga, we talk about the concept of asteya, one of the Yamas, which translates to non-stealing. While we often think of it as not taking physical things, it also means not stealing time, attention, or emotional space that belongs to someone else. When we insert ourselves into someone else's story, we unintentionally take away from what should be theirs to experience and share as they choose.

This doesn't mean someone doing this is a bad person. Many of us have done something similar at one time or another—it's part of being human. However, when there are imbalances within us, we are more likely to co-opt someone else's drama, a phenomenon known as "grief hijacking."

From an energetic perspective, I have learned how and why this happens:

Root Chakra (Muladhara): Connected to feeling safe and belonging. If we feel insecure or ungrounded, we might insert ourselves into stories to feel included or significant.

Solar Plexus Chakra (Manipura): Linked to self-esteem and identity. When out of balance, we might seek validation or importance by connecting ourselves to dramatic events, as if proximity to tragedy somehow makes us more interesting or worthy of attention.

Heart Chakra (Anahata): The center of compassion. When boundaries blur, empathy can morph into over-identification or even emotional overstepping. We confuse feeling for someone with feeling as them.

Throat Chakra (Vishuddha): Governs communication. When unbalanced, we might speak impulsively or overshare, turning focus toward ourselves when it should remain on those who are suffering.

The Lifeguard Analogy

Think of it like being a lifeguard. A lifeguard's job is to stay alert at the edge of the pool, ready to jump in only when someone is truly in trouble. If they jump in every time a wave splashes—every terrible story on the news—they could exhaust themselves. So when a true emergency occurs, they are so depleted they also need rescuing. They become part of the problem rather than the solution.

In the same way, those prone to grief hijacking become so consumed by the tragedies and plight of others they end up needing support and attention for themselves. They repeatedly reach out to friends and family, seeking validation for their emotions and cures for the anxiety rooted in their own unhealed wounds. They exhaust themselves and drain those around them.

Staying Grounded in Crisis

So when crisis and tragedy occur, and we each feel the weight of others' sorrow and pain, their fear and desperation, and we want to do something to help or want to talk about how the events make us feel, it's essential we first check in with what is triggering us and throwing us off balance so we don't become part of the problem.

This means asking ourselves:

• Am I responding from a place of genuine service, or am I seeking something for myself?

• Is my sharing adding value to those who are suffering, or am I redirecting attention to my own experience?

• Can I hold space for their pain without needing to fill it with my own story?

  
  

Honoring Others' Grief

Honoring other people's grief means allowing them to experience theirs without needing to fill it with our narrative. It means offering quiet support, compassion, and presence, not performance. It means knowing when to speak and when to witness. It means understanding that sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is nothing at all except hold sacred space for someone else's experience.

My heart aches for the families and the community affected by the flooding, especially the families at Camp Mystic. And while camp memories connect me emotionally to what happened, I remind myself: this isn't my story to claim as my own or make it about myself.

We can care deeply without making every story our own. We can be present without taking over. We can honor the pain of others—and allow it to remain theirs.

An Invitation to Self-Reflection

If you recognize these patterns within yourself or have been criticized for exhibiting them from time to time, I'm here to help you explore how to stay grounded in your energy and identify where you're out of balance within yourself.

We all want to help others. We all feel for others. But we are all meant to remain sovereign within ourselves, so we don't lose ourselves in others' stories. Genuine compassion doesn't require us to take on someone else's pain—it asks us to witness it with love and hold space for their healing without making it about our own.

In a world that often rewards the loudest voices and the most dramatic responses, perhaps the most radical act is learning to care quietly, to love without needing credit, and to serve without needing the spotlight.

If you're guided to contribute to efforts helping those affected by the recent flooding, I grabbed this link from a news conference, but please vet your own links and choose what aligns for people and animals in need: https://www.communityfoundation.net/

Namaste and thank you for reading,

xo

Lauri

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