According to 2025 neuroscience, empathy is the ability to recognise and share the emotions of others, driven by a complex interplay of brain systems.
The word ‘recognise’ in this context means being able to perceive and understand what someone else is feeling by reading facial expressions, tone of voice, body language, and context.
The word ‘share’ is about the emotional feeling that we get when we know that someone is sad or happy. This comes from mirror neurons.
Emotional empathy activates the anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) and insula, mirroring others’ pain as if it were our own.
Cognitive empathy, on the other hand, involves mentalising networks that help us infer what others are thinking or feeling.
Empathy forms through emotional learning. When we feel rewarded by someone else’s happiness, our brain begins to treat them like a favourite. This emotional association builds empathy, even in the absence of direct rewards.
Empathy shapes our behaviour, decisions, and relationships. It drives prosocial actions, deepens connection, and even influences how we respond to distress.
When we witness someone in pain, the same neural pathways light up as if we were experiencing it ourselves. This “affect sharing” is essential for social bonding and survival.
The challenge is that empathy can shut down. Stress, burnout, and emotional overload can hijack our empathic circuits.
Neuroscience shows that empathy and compassion activate different brain networks. Empathy can lead to distress and fatigue, while compassion engages reward and motivation centres.
Without compassion, empathy can overwhelm us. What gets in the way - emotional exhaustion, disconnection from others, competitive environments, digital overload, and reduced face-to-face interaction.
Now we can see why empathy drifts into the background in our very busy world.
Empathy is not just a trait; it’s a skill. And like any skill, it can be trained, strengthened, and protected.
Let’s talk!
We Need To Cry As much As We Laugh!
As we recover from the emotional toll of lockdowns and disrupted routines, many of us are still carrying the weight of unexpressed emotions.
Frustration often bubbles up as anger, but beneath that lies sadness, vulnerability, and longing for connection.
During those uncertain times, we learned to suppress our emotions. Many of us said nothing, or, on the contrary, we lashed out.
Our brains, wired for survival, adapted by shielding us from emotional exposure. But in doing so, we lost touch with our natural selves.
Crying is not a weakness; it’s neuroscience. Emotional tears activate the limbic system, especially the amygdala and hypothalamus, which regulate our emotional responses.
Crying triggers the parasympathetic nervous system, helping us shift from fight-or-flight into rest and repair. Tears release cortisol, prolactin, and endorphins, reducing stress and bringing emotional relief.
Crying is also evolutionary.
It’s a call for help, a display of vulnerability, and a way to strengthen bonds. Evolutionary biologists suggest that tears blur our vision to lower defences, signalling submission and a need for connection.
And we are wired to laugh.
Laughter, like crying, is deeply rooted in our biology. It evolved from play signals in early mammals and became a tool for survival, helping us form alliances, reduce tension, and signal safety.
Laughter activates brain regions tied to joy and social bonding. It’s contagious, healing, and profoundly human.
I’ve found myself crying more in recent years. Not just in moments of personal highs and lows, but also when someone says something deeply emotional, when I’m triggered by a past experience, or when I feel the hurt of someone else.
It’s not uncommon for me to well up. And I’ve come to see this not as a weakness, but as a strength, a sign that I’m connected, present, and human.
So what if we allowed ourselves to be more natural? To cry when we’re hurting, to laugh when we’re joyful, to express emotions in ways that are respectful, authentic, and human.
There is great dignity in crying, there is great power in laughter, and there is a deep connection in both.
Don’t be afraid to show your true feelings.
Let’s talk!
Why Am I So Afraid Of The Dark?
Why am I afraid of the dark?
I travel a lot for work. Hotels, motels, apartments; each one different yet familiar.
Recently, I stayed in a beautiful two-story apartment-style motel.
But as night fell, I found myself closing the bedroom door tightly. Not for privacy, not for safety, not that the space felt too big.
It felt, well, frightening.
I messaged my daughter and asked if she could book me places with just one room from now on. Her reply - “You can be brave 💪.”
You see, I’ve been afraid of the dark for as long as I can remember. As a child, I saw visions in the doorway, people sneaking into our home.
I’d lie frozen in bed, heart pounding, waiting for morning light to make it all go away. Pulling the bed sheets over my head to hide and listening for pending footsteps that never came.
As I grew older, I told myself it was irrational. That night is just the absence of light. That nothing changes between day and night, except that we can see better in the daytime.
Then I joined the police at the age of 35 and spent a third of my 22 years working in the dark. Patrolling streets. Entering homes. Facing danger. And still, the fear of the dark never left me.
Why do we fear the dark? Is it because most crimes happen at night? Is it because we dream more vividly, and sometimes wake up in fright? Is it because darkness hides what we can’t control?
Maybe it’s all of that. Or maybe it’s something deeper, something primal, a reminder that even the strongest among us carry shadows from childhood.
Bravery isn’t the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it. So yes, I still ask for one-room places to stay.
And yes, I will still close the door when I go back there next week.
But I also open up about it because vulnerability is a kind of courage, too.
If you’ve ever felt afraid of something others don’t understand, you’re not alone.
Let’s talk!
What To Do When Things Don't Go As Planned!
How do you feel when things go wrong?
Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, things fall apart - and it doesn’t feel great. It can feel even more uncomfortable when someone else spots our slip-up.
So, what can we do in those moments?
We can remind ourselves that not everything goes as planned, that every person makes mistakes. And that, truthfully, no one is watching as closely as we think.
The funny thing is, when things actually go right, we hardly take a second to notice.
A fleeting moment, and then it’s gone. We move on, chasing the next goal, the next fix, the next win.
We are our own worst critics. We are harder on ourselves than anyone else ever could be.
There’s nothing wrong with you for feeling that way - your brain is just doing its job.
Neuroscience tells us our brain is designed to focus on the negative as a survival mechanism, scanning for threats to keep us safe.
But in today’s world, that wiring most often works against us.
Focusing on the positive takes effort; it’s not natural. Yet, it’s necessary.
It’s how we build resilience, confidence, and connection.
So the next time something goes wrong - pause, reflect, acknowledge, then move forward.
And when something goes right - pause for longer, reflect for longer, acknowledge for longer, then move forward.
Celebrate your wins, forgive the stumbles, and remember – you are doing much better than you think you are.
Let’s talk!
Trauma Visits Us At Any Time.
Trauma doesn’t always visit us during the day. Sometimes, it waits until we sleep.
Some nights, we wake with a jolt. A dream, vivid and painful, has pulled us back into a moment we thought we’d left behind.
It might not seem like it, but our brain is trying to help. Neuroscience shows that dreaming plays an active role in emotional memory processing.
When we dream, especially after emotionally charged experiences, our brain prioritises those memories to help us transform them.
Our mind is saying, “Let me hold this for you, but let me soften the edges.”
Studies reveal that dreaming about trauma can reduce its emotional sting, helping us integrate it into our story and support us in healing our past.
In Japan, they see this differently - dreams are spiritual messages.
Shinto tradition teaches us that dreams are communications from kami, divine spirits offering guidance and transformation.
Even traumatic dreams are seen as opportunities for growth.
In ancient Japan, people would sleep at sacred shrines to receive meaningful dreams. They believed that even the darkest visions could carry light, a message, a lesson, a path forward.
So the next time trauma visits you in your sleep, pause before pushing it away.
Maybe it’s your brain, or maybe it is something deeper, something spiritual, saying - “You are ready to face this, and you are not alone.”
If you have a bad dream about your trauma, reflect on it when you wake. Do you see your dream through the lens of neuroscience, as your brain trying to help? Or do you view it as spiritual, a message from something greater?
Either way, it’s a sign you’re healing.
Let’s talk!