Over the past few years, I’ve stumbled upon the same question in conversation after conversation with coworkers, supporters, and friends. It goes something like this: How do you handle the pain of what you see in your line of work? This earnest inquiry is typically then followed by a variety of follow-up questions: Isn’t it discouraging? Don’t you find yourself depressed? Aren’t you just so angry about it all? Then, almost invariably, the person wraps up with…I just don’t think I could do it.

In light of this, the following is my attempt to say:

This is how I handle it. Yes it can be discouraging. No, i’m not often depressed, {but am frequently saddened}. Yes, I  get angry, {but I am not angry}. And, yes, yes you could do it.

You see, the heart of the question at hand is how do we stand before pain?  Whether it is the pain of a neglected animal who looks at me with only fear, and no semblance of hope as I reach for them;  or the pain of the homeless client explaining to me that she just took in the dog I’m examining because he belonged to her best friend who overdosed and died last week; or the pain of knowing that I am simply not going to be able to help and save them all.

What should we do when find ourselves on the doorstep of that darkness? It’s our nature to want to turn away, to avoid it, to do anything other than to look at it. Because….ouch. It really hurts.

But if I could be so bold as to humbly offer up my two cents of advice after 20-plus years in this arena, this is what I would say:

Don’t turn away. Don’t do it.

Plant yourself firmly in front of it, although your knees might be knocking. 

Stare deeply into it, even if your eyes are watering. 

Call it by name, no matter if your lips are trembling. 

And, then? Then, run.

Run right into it. Run, even if you aren’t sure your feet will carry you and your heart might be racing. Face it. Feel it. Surround yourself with it. But be sure to carefully guard the bright spark in your heart which led you there in the first place.

For the pain diminishes when you accompany it; the solutions to dismantling it only visible from the inside. And it is only when truly seen that it will break your heart wide open, releasing that spark, allowing it to be fanned into into the beautiful flame of compassion. And once that flame arrives, the darkness, by definition, can no longer exist – having been extinguished by the light.

And if you do turn away? Like any cowardly shadow, pain only looms larger when you have your back to it, emboldening and galvanizing itself with every passerby who ignores it. It has a sweet tooth for apathy and an utter intolerance for concern.

Turning away is not an option if you want to make a difference. 

So, how do I deal with the pain? I run right into it. Every single time. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, put my head down and go for it. I feel it. I get sad. I get mad. Utterly discouraged. And then? My heart breaks and that scrappy, relentless spark within it spills forward into the darkness, illuminating  a horizon of hope I had previously been unable to see.

And, as soon as I can, I step right back out of it. But before I do, I reach in and take that spark back from the flame and gently replace it  in my chest. I nurture it with happy puppies playing in my backyard without a care in the world, by helping people and their animals and delighting in my being able to do so, and by keeping stories of light winning out over darkness always at my fingertips.  I fortify that spark with laughter, rest, family and friendship. I let it be a slow burning ember, rather than demanding it be an all consuming flame.

And, here is the truth. If I can do it, so can you. I mean, I’m just about the biggest bleeding heart this side of the Mississippi, and there is not a bone in my body that makes me more well suited than anyone else to step into the trenches of pain and suffering and label myself battle-ready. I’m just determined, that’s all. And just plain unwilling to look the other way.

All of this to say, honor that spark inside of you, that bright ember in your chest that is ready to bring the light. Keep it safe. Treat it well. And, then, when pain’s intimidating darkness stands threateningly before you…run. Straight ahead. Refuse to look the other way. You’ve got this. Your light will win.