“It is what it is,” my cousin responded when asked how he was doing in light of a recent divorce.

What was he actually saying?

“There’s nothing I can do about it.”

To me, this phrase feels like a cop-out, not only because it says nothing, but also because it’s borrowed language.

Think about it…

When in Rome…
But have you ever been to Rome?

If the shoe fits…
Does it? What about both of them?

If roles were reversed…
The fact that you’re saying it probably means they’re not.

What about lived language?

It doesn’t have to be dramatic; it simply has to be owned.

“In my experience…” Sometimes that phrase is the beginning of a #humblebrag. Other times, it reflects experiences that genuinely inform our responses.

Those moments are gold.

Sometimes borrowed language is easier than admitting we don’t yet have the words.
People often speak in ways that avoid being truly known.

I’d rather speak from lived moments than from the thrift shop of recycle-ready phrases.

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Providing customer service is not for the faint of heart.

It’s been over a decade now, and the longer I serve in this capacity, the more it feels like a battlefield. Not customer vs. support, but tradition vs. progress. It’s the process, the “way it’s always been done” vs. automation and technology.

Regardless of what the process looks like centuries from now, one thing will always be crucial…

I received a voicemail last week from a sweet lady who referred to herself as having “just stepped off Noah’s Ark.” I couldn’t help but giggle. I’ve heard folks refer to themselves as dinosaurs or not tech-savvy.

But this one was new.

Of course, my curiosity was piqued.

I called her back, and she was just as kind in person. Each question I asked came with an answer, but first, a story.

In this moment, I had a choice: follow the script, collect the information, keep the line moving, or I could slow down, lean in, and listen to the human behind the problem.

I chose the latter.

“You just stepped off Noah’s Ark, and our company is flying a spaceship. I’m here to merge the two.”

She laughed heartily in response.

Nothing could erase that moment, the moment when we connected. Two strangers, separated by technology and probably a few decades, suddenly on the same team.

While she talked, I worked. And without either of us announcing it, we were getting somewhere.

What could have been a routine phone call ended with a solution. But most importantly, it ended with delight. She felt seen instead of processed. And that feeling was mutual.

For a while, it felt like Covid tried to evict connection altogether. Automation is starting that cycle over again.

We will never not need one another.

Lean in. Take the time. It’s those moments where unexpected delight can happen. Not because the system is perfect, but because we showed up for each other.

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My food was taking forever. Were they slaughtering, de-feathering, and cleaning the chicken before cooking and prepping it for my meal? It felt like it. In a moment of failed meal planning—or just plain lack thereof—there I sat in the drive-thru line at one of our family’s favorite take-out restaurants. The cost was $10+ per plate, so it’s slightly more high-end than just plain fast food. (At least, that’s what I tell myself to feel better.)

So there I was, stuck somewhere between growing impatience and a blood-sugar crash as the car idled. I could practically hear its grumbles. Like me, it enjoys being on the move, not sitting still or inching forward in anticipation of something potentially exciting.

When I finally reached the window, the attendant was waiting with a genuine smile and the kind of energy that makes you forget you were just debating whether to gnaw on your own steering wheel. She was excited to help with whatever I needed. (Between you and me, they have this seasonal Asian sauce my husband and I are borderline addicted to, so of course I had to ask for extra when prompted.) She was hospitable while welcoming me to the finish line. I didn’t feel like a bother. In that brief exchange, she not only lifted my spirits but made me feel like I was the only patron at the restaurant.

This is the type of customer support I aim to provide in my day job. So…what made her so successful?

Maybe it was because…

• She didn’t make the wait my fault.

• She focused on what she could control, not the fryer revolution behind her.

• She brought genuine warmth to an inconvenient moment.

• She saw a person, not just a car in a line.

I’m grateful for small interactions like hers, the ones that can turn a day teetering on the edge into something steady. And since we’re in the thick of Thanksgiving season, it reminded me that gratitude often shows up in these tiny moments the world rushes past, delivered by people who choose kindness in the middle of chaos.

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A customer called, simmering with frustration over a string of terrible experiences. They rattled off every awful encounter they’d had with professionals recommended by our organization. I listened with empathy, but somewhere between the third and fourth complaint, a thought began to nag at me.

If the experiences were that bad, why keep coming back for more recommendations?

I don’t have the answer.

But I know this: captivity gets comfortable.

One of the deadliest phrases in existence is, “That’s the way I’ve always done it.”

Doing something simply because it’s familiar isn’t reasoning—it’s resignation.

So I ask myself often: What change am I afraid to make, and if I made it, could it change everything for the better?

Most of us aren’t trapped by circumstance; we’re trapped by familiarity. The door’s been unlocked the whole time, but comfort convinced us to stay put.

The way you’ve always done it might not be wrong, but it could be the lock on your door—the one keeping you from what’s next.

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“My mom passed away last week.”

That was the beginning of a customer call last week. When something so raw is shared, there’s no script. Words suddenly feel too small. The weight of the moment is heavy.

What’s said next will either build a bridge or break trust.

That’s where the difference between empathy and sympathy starts to show itself. We know how to be polite and sound nice—but not necessarily how to connect.

Even when good news is shared, we reach for something safe or vaguely comforting, which may sound like:

“I love that for you!”

“Must be nice!”

“Bless your heart!”

Beautiful words…with such terrible implications. They sound harmless, but more often than not, they’re a cover—words we use to manage our own discomfort rather than meet someone in theirs.

What may sound like support is often the first layer of manipulation. In human interactions, there’s a fine line between empathy and sympathy, and all too often, the two are confused.

Empathy is feeling with someone, stepping into their shoes to understand their needs, frustrations, and desires without judgment. It’s honest, it’s clear, and it actually helps people make better choices.

Sympathy, on the other hand, is feeling for someone while subtly steering their feelings or decisions. It’s energy with bite: polite and approving on the surface, but loaded with expectation, influence, or quiet judgment.

Here’s where well-meaning companies and mere humans alike tend to stumble: the line between connecting with someone and nudging them toward what we want is thinner than we think.

One promotes your agenda; the other aligns with theirs.
One manipulates; the other connects.

In business, sympathy often masquerades as empathy because it’s easier, quicker, and makes us feel like we’re being helpful. But don’t be fooled. Customers can sense it. They pick up on the difference between someone who feels for them and someone who feels with them.

That’s where trust forms…or validation crumbles.

Before a few decades and hundreds of reps in my role, “old me” would’ve responded, “I’m so sorry for your loss!” with a side of stammers and guilt. The caller would be kind and congenial, but the conversation would eventually go stale. No true connection. No resolution.

But during that call, I knew better. I wasn’t responsible for bearing the weight of his loss or feeling for him; I needed to feel with him.

It sounded something like this:

“Wow, it must be hard having lost your mom so recently. You’ve been through a lot. I’m so sorry for all that’s taken place. What can I do to support you during this time?”

Sympathy makes us feel good.

Empathy makes others feel known.

Only one of those builds a bridge worth crossing.

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Recently, a teammate asked me, “How do you dissolve conflict?”

Good word choice. Dissolve.

Not resolve.

Not manage.

Not handle.

Dissolve, like dropping an Alka-Seltzer into water and watching the fizz disappear.

My reflex reply was, “Did I create it, or did I just stumble into it?” I said it as a joke, but honestly, it matters.

Here’s the thing: conflict isn’t really meant to be “resolved.”

The idea of tying it up with a neat little bow is laughable. No one actually walks away saying, “Wow, that disagreement was so tidy and symmetrical!”

What actually happens?

• Someone is uncomfortable.

• Someone wants it to stop.

• Someone attempts to lob the hot potato into someone else’s lap as fast as possible.

Why?

Conflict usually comes wrapped in the gift bag of anger, frustration, or over-caffeinated passion. Totally normal human emotions, but not exactly the ones you want hanging around the dinner table.

After a few decades in some version of Customer Service or Customer Success, here’s the most boring yet liberating answer I’ve found: empathy.

Before you roll your eyes, let me explain…

Empathy doesn’t mean you agree with the person’s version of reality. It means you recognize the emotion in the room.

You don’t have to nod along with their conspiracy theory about why the WiFi went down; you simply agree that they’re mad about it.

Earlier today, I used this technique on a customer who was absolutely livid. I responded with something simple, basically just naming the frustration and letting them know I would’ve felt the same way.

Their response? “Thanks for saying so!” Which roughly translates to: “You didn’t fix anything, but you made me feel like less of a crazy person.”

Notice what I didn’t do.

• I didn’t fact-check their complaints.

• I didn’t present exhibits A through Z.

• I didn’t even agree with their story. 🤯

I only agreed with the feeling. Because who among us hasn’t been annoyed, furious, or ready to snap over something that didn’t actually matter in the long run?

So yes. Empathy dissolves conflict. It shaves the sharp edges off the anger and leaves behind something softer, smoother.

Try it this week!

Then report back by dropping a comment, telling me how it went. 👇🏼

Bonus points if you manage to dissolve someone’s meltdown without losing your own sanity. 🤩

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