Never underestimate the power of a small act of compassion to have a massive impact
Does anyone still talk about doing one good deed every day? It feel like an age since I’ve heard the phrase.
Without exception, the women I support excel at doing good deeds. They feel committed to making a positive impact in the world, even if sometimes that means they focus all their energy into supporting others at the expense of their own wellbeing. That’s why such a significant element of my work is about supporting my clients to practice towards themselves the compassion that they are so good at showing to others.
So, the idea of writing about doing good deeds might seem a little counterintuitive. Surely, if we want to centre our own selfcare, the last thing we should be thinking about is what we do for others.
But an act doesn’t need to be immense or complex to change the world even in the smallest of ways. Sometimes it takes just one moment of kindness to transform someone’s day.
To demonstrate the power of a small act of compassion, I want to share a story.
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As some of you may already know, before my career change to the arts I had over a decade in the corporate sector as a Legal PA. I worked for some of the largest law firms in the world. The kind of firms that have heavily subsidised in-house canteens, concierge services, onsite gyms, even swimming pools.
Amazing benefits, I know. But basically, everything was designed to keep you in the building and keep you working as much as possible – fitter, happier, more productive…
PAs could be supporting anything upwards of three to five lawyers at a time. Constant diary management, travel arranging, emails and documents. Although it’s the kind of job you could easily forget about as soon as you walked out of the door, during working hours you were totally at the mercy of someone else’s agenda. There could be 7- or 8-figure deals resting on getting the right information to the right people, so if meeting a deadline meant working overtime, you worked overtime.
This particular occasion must have happened sometime in the early 2000s.
A super busy day, a pressing deadline. I’d probably eaten lunch at my desk without really pausing to take a break. The kind of day where you barely notice what’s going on around you.
At some point in that day, my colleague – a lovely, warm, kind woman called Val Barnett – put her hand on my shoulder and invited me to go for a walk.
The law firm was based near the old Museum of London site, between Moorgate and St Pauls. So, we headed to Postman’s Park, just a few minutes’ walk away from the office.
Postman’s Park is one of those tiny, magical green spaces you find hidden in the City of London. Barely half an acre of land between buildings, you could walk through it in minutes. But there’s something wonderful in Postman’s Park that made it one of my favourite places for a lunchtime walk.
Under a covered area there is a memorial to heroic self-sacrifice, set up in 1898 by a man named George Frederic Watts. Across dozens of painted ceramic tiles embedded in the wall, the memorial tells the stories of people who made a sacrifice to save others – running into burning buildings, diving into flooded rivers, and so on. It’s a beautiful, poignant tribute to humanity and compassion, and definitely worth a visit if you’re ever in the area.
Val and I read some of those moving stories and talked about nothing in particular. She pointed out some of the plants in the park and named them for me: Japanese Maples, Lenten Roses, Camelias.
We must have only been out of the office for 15 minutes or so, but I went back to my desk feeling revived, refreshed, and ready to continue my day. It was just what I needed.
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When Val had seen me sitting at that desk with smoke coming out of my ears, she’d spotted something that I could not.
She sensed that I was so caught up in the stress and pressure that I was incapable of recognising what I needed. That I was incapable of giving myself permission to take a break.
In that moment, Val was like a guardian angel sent to rescue me.
She provided the perspective that I could not provide for myself, and helped me find the space to reflect on what I needed to get me through the rest of the day.
Such a seemingly insignificant act in the scheme of things. I wonder if she even remembers that day, if she remembers me at all.
But that small act of compassion had a massive impact on me. To the extent that, to this day – perhaps 20 years on – I still think back to that lunchtime walk with fondness and gratitude, and I still think of Val every time I see a Lenten Rose.
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This is one of a series of (regular-ish) articles and blog posts about coaching, compassion and culture. Head to annettecorbett.com/links to read more about my work and sign up to my mailing list
Helping women in the creative industries reveal their inner awesome, so they can practice more compassion in their life, leadership and wellbeing without cracking up, giving up, or compromising their core beliefs