Compassion Fatigue

By. Lauren Jahn

If I could talk to

Seventeen-year-old me

I wouldn’t.

Instead,

I’d sit crisscross applesauce

Empathizing

I’d pull her to rest on my shoulder

give her permission to release

the weight of her emptiness

the certainty of herself-doubt

the sincerity of her shame

the direction of her aimlessness

I wouldn’t tilt her away from her current path

Like a knee guiding a steering wheel into another lane

I’d park parallel and silently love her

Consistently remain

as a present tense

state-of-being verb

Letting her learn

I am.

I was.

I will be.

Loved. Without compassion fatigue