The end of empathy in UX writing

When I worked as a medical receptionist, I checked in patients all day. It was routine. But one day, a new patient managed to shock me.

We said hello, she sat down, and handed me her insurance cards. Just like usual.

“Is the supplementary insurance through your employer?” I asked, trying to hurry along my data entry.

“No, it’s from my husband’s employer. But he’s dead.”

I paused and looked up from my work. She caught my eye, waiting for my reaction, letting her statement hang in the air between us. I thought I had detected a note of glee in her voice, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

How to respond? I decided to stay as neutral as possible. I said simply, “Oh…”

She leaned in, conspiratorially. “You know, most people say ‘I’m so sorry’ when I tell them that. But I’m not.”

My eyes went wide, I tried not to let my mouth hang open in surprise. This woman was not just smiling, she was bubbling over with joy at her late husband’s demise.

As I sloooooowly processed her paperwork, the story came tumbling out of her (it was too good for her not to share). Her husband of 30+ years had been abusive. A monster. He wouldn’t let her go to the grocery store by herself, let alone have friends, hobbies, money, or any life of her own.

When he died, she was finally free. So she took his money and bought a motorcycle. She joined a women’s motorcycle club and took long, wild road trips across the country. She even posed for a sexy senior-ladies-with-motorcycles calendar. Her zest for life, and everything she had been denied for so long, was infectious.

By the time I had her checked in, we were grinning and giggling together over her horrible dead husband.

“I’m so happy for you,” I told her. I had never meant it more.

How this applies to UX

So. Fun story. But what the heck is the lesson?

Even when you think you know how a user is feeling, you don’t.

No data point—not even a death—will ever tell us a person’s complete emotional story. As designers and writers, it is simply not our place to assume that our users are feeling a particular emotion. Ever. We’ve got to get comfortable with this fact.

Don’t get me wrong. Empathy is important to every design process. Empathy can help us avoid grievous errors and oversights. It helps us imagine emotional possibilities, and check to see if our designs are appropriate in every context.

But when you sit down to write words for an interface, check your empathetic impulses. Don’t make assumptions, or wallow in sentiment. Now’s the time to be compassionate, not empathetic.

Digital products can't know how your users feel—a prerequisite to empathy. But they can offer kind, compassionate responses when it's appropriate.

Back in the clinic I was able to read my patient's emotions, and respond accordingly. If I had aimed for empathy based on one dead-husband data point, I would have fallen short. We might never have built that weird connection, that makes me smile to this day.

Next time you're tempted to inject more empathy into a design, focus on providing the best experience possible. It's often the most empathetic thing an interface can do.