An Empath: At What Cost?

Author: Tayma Ali ?????? ???

Not too long ago, I did something that felt both daring and reckless: I requested a full evaluation from the leadership at a firm I once worked for. In my overactive mind, it was less a request and more an offering—an invitation for them to tell me I wasn’t doing well, wrapped neatly and handed to them on a silver platter. It was classic me—walking headfirst into the lion’s den, unflinching, daring the roar.

I told myself I could take it. After all, my undergraduate studies in BBA Strategic Design & Management at Parsons School of Design—split between the cosmopolitan energy of New York and the artistic pulse of Paris—had already made me bulletproof to criticism. I had been torn apart, so many times during those formative years that critique had become a familiar language, a song whose sharp notes I had learned to harmonize with.

My time at Parsons was worlds apart from my earlier education at King’s Academy, a school known for its relentless academic rigor and intellectual dueling. But let’s not mistake my college experience for a walk in the park. There were no exams—only projects. Ironically, this setup paved my way to becoming a project manager. All those projects were scrutinized not by professors but by panels of CEOs, investors, and subject matter experts. Professors who adored me, found themselves powerless to defend me from the onslaught of feedback.

That crucible forged a persona I carried into every room: a hybrid of Middle Eastern resistance and New Yorker grit. I saw myself as a savvy, unflappable entrepreneur who’d survived one of the world’s most competitive design schools, conquered the chaos of the city that never sleeps, and emerged intact. I was convinced I was a teeth-cracking tough cookie.

Success... and Sobriety

My career took off well before graduation, and with it came success that felt almost surreal for someone my age. Yet, after graduation, the "real world" introduced me to a less forgiving reality. Suddenly, I was expected to be something I hadn’t yet fully become—an adult.

Fast-forward to the lion’s den. I passed the evaluation with flying colors, though one piece of feedback lodged itself in my mind. Paraphrasing: “You came in as an emotional softie, but on the job, you’ve toughened up. You’ve learned to thrive in ambiguity and adapt as the wild card—the project manager who puts out fires as they arise.” I took it with a grain of salt, perhaps a smirk ??

When I resigned from that role, I asked for parting advice. Once again, they said: “Don’t be soft. Don’t lead with emotion.”

Reflection and Resolve

After much introspection, I began to understand. Maybe my undergraduate years had softened me—or rather, sharpened a particular part of me. At the heart of my education was Design Thinking, a methodology rooted in solving human-centric problems. To master it, you must be an empath. If you can’t relate, if you can’t feel the pain points, how can you design solutions that truly matter?

This revelation hit me like a thunderbolt. It explained so much—why I often felt deeply affected by the world around me, why the atrocities unfolding in the Middle East weighed on me to the marrow of my being. There were moments when I’d freeze, paralyzed by the enormity of it all. But then, thankfully, my will and mind would kick in. I’m not built to stay still; I’m wired to solve, to act.

Empathy as Strength

In that moment of clarity, I made peace with myself. My empathy isn’t a weakness; it’s my edge. It fuels my ability to think creatively, to solve problems with a human touch. The world might urge me to toughen up, to lead with cold logic, but that’s not who I am—and that’s not who I’ll ever be.??

I’ve come to see my empathy not as a cost, but as a gift. It makes me a better design thinker, a better leader, and, most importantly, a better human. I choose to lead with a heart that feels and a mind that acts. And if that makes me a softie, so be it—I’ll wear that label with pride.