Empathy Starts Where Ego Ends: Intent vs. Impact

We’ve all been there.

Someone says something that hits wrong. Maybe it’s framed as a joke. Maybe it was “just to get a reaction.” Maybe they “didn’t mean it that way.” And yet—you still feel hurt, embarrassed, dismissed, confused, maybe even humiliated.

You replay the moment in your head, wondering if you’re "overreacting" or if it really was as messed up as it felt. You gather the courage to say something. You name it. You speak up—because it mattered enough to bother you.

And the response?

“It was a joke.”

“You’re so sensitive.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I was just trying to get a reaction.”

I've got news for ya: that doesn’t make it okay.

When someone’s words or actions hurt you—even if they didn’t mean to hurt you—they still hurt. The impact is real, regardless of the intent behind it. It’s not about accusing someone of being cruel on purpose. It’s about pointing out that their words had a real effect on you—and that effect deserves to be acknowledged, not dismissed.

Intent does not cancel out impact. Intent is not a "get-out-of-accountability-free" card.

When someone brings their intent to the center of the conversation, they shift the focus away from you and your experience and make it about them and....well, their ego.

And here’s what that sounds like:

“I’m a good person, so it’s impossible that I hurt you.”

“You’re misinterpreting this, so your feelings can't be valid.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, so I don’t have to take accountability for it.”

If your first instinct is to defend what you meant instead of pausing to understand how it landed, you’re not creating connection—you’re creating disconnection. You’re telling the other person: My comfort matters more than your pain. You’re saying: I’d rather be right than be accountable.

And when that becomes a pattern, it doesn’t just create distance—it grows resentment. It erodes trust. It teaches people that being honest about their emotions will only get them shut down.

If we want real relationships—ones built on empathy versus ego—we have to learn how to tolerate discomfort. We have to be able to sit with the fact that something we said or did might have landed poorly, even if it wasn’t our intention. That is not a weakness. That is emotional maturity.

Intent Might Explain It, But It Doesn’t Excuse It

We live in a culture where intent gets a lot of airtime. “That’s not what I meant” becomes the shield people hide behind when their words or actions cause harm. It’s the reflexive defense of the ego, the urge to correct rather than connect.

But in relationships—real, meaningful, connected relationships—intent isn’t the only thing that matters.

Acknowledging impact is where repair begins.

Here’s the truth: You can make a joke, and it can still hurt someone. You can say something playfully, and it can still be rude. You can be “just curious” about how someone will react, and guess what—that’s not harmless*. That’s manipulation dressed up as curiosity.

*Let’s call it what it is. If you do something to someone that provokes a negative emotional response on purpose—and then dodge accountability by saying you were “just trying to get a reaction”—you’re not building trust. You’re eroding it. You’re telling the other person that their feelings are a side effect you don’t feel responsible for. That they’re disposable. Expendable.

Taking this outside of relationships for a moment—into the real world. Accidents happen every day, and in every one of those situations, we understand something fundamental: even if you didn’t mean to, there are still consequences.

Just the other day, my daughter—she’s three—was playing in the bathtub with one of those reusable water balloons. She popped it, and water exploded everywhere. My lap was soaked. The floor was soaked. I gasped—not out of anger, just surprise. And immediately, she said, “Oops! An accident!”

And it was. She didn’t mean to soak me. She wasn’t being malicious. But guess what?

I still had to clean it up. I was still soaking wet. I had to go change my pants. Wipe up the floor. Deal with the aftermath. It was an accident…and it still had an impact.

She’s three and adorable and learning, so of course I was gentle. And I still had to address it. I still had to help her understand: “Babe, remember what we said about popping them toward the wall?”

Accident or not, impact matters. And in more serious scenarios? The impact is undeniable.

Take this tragic example: a group of teenagers throwing rocks off an overpass “for fun.” One of those rocks hit a man’s windshield—and killed him. When questioned, one of the teens said, direct quote, “We just weren’t thinking what the outcome could be of it, and just doing dumb stuff.”

They didn’t mean to kill anyone. But someone died.

The court didn’t ask whether they meant to hurt someone.

They asked and they judged: What was the impact?

Because that is what matters. The world operates on impact, not just intent. You can’t throw a word, or a joke, or a rock—and then act surprised that someone is hurt.

Here’s the deal: you can be a good person who caused harm. And the most meaningful thing you can do in that moment isn’t defend your character. It’s to take responsibility for your impact. Externalize it. It does not have to define you, but you still need to own it.

That’s the kind of person people trust.

That’s the kind of person who builds real connection.

That’s the kind of person who doesn’t leave others to clean up the mess alone.

“You Dropped the Pebble, But I’m Still Navigating the Ripples”

Someone recently totally ghosted me during what could have been a meaningful conversation. Immediately, I was annoyed. I described it later by saying, “she dropped the pebble in the pond, but I’m the one left navigating the ripples.”

That’s what it feels like when someone says or does something that hits a nerve—maybe carelessly, maybe impulsively—and then they exit the scene, emotionally or physically, as if nothing happened. They move on while you’re still standing in the wake of it, trying to process what just landed in your lap.

They dropped the pebble. You’re stuck with the waves.

The ripples don’t vanish. They show up in your thoughts hours later, in the way your shoulders tense when you see their name again, in the way you second-guess whether you’re “too much” for even bringing it up in the first place.

This is the emotional math that doesn’t add up: Someone creates a disruption. You feel it deeply. They act like the disruption never happened.

And when this happens enough, you begin to internalize a distorted message: Maybe I shouldn’t bring things up. Maybe I really am overreacting. Maybe my feelings are too complicated or inconvenient.

That’s the trap.

You’re allowed to feel what you feel. The aftermath is yours to name, and you don’t owe anyone a watered-down version of your emotional reality just because they didn’t intend for it to hit that hard.

If someone else can’t tolerate your honesty or shuts down when confronted with your experience, that’s not a sign that you’re unstable or dramatic. That’s a sign of their emotional under-responsiveness—their inability (or unwillingness) to stay in the room when things get real.

Write this one down, folks: relationships built on depth and respect don’t leave people alone in the aftermath. They make space for the ripples. They stay curious about them. They ask, “What just happened there?” instead of “Why are you still upset?”

Being emotionally available isn’t just about saying the right thing in the moment. It’s about sticking around long enough to help someone settle the waves you helped stir up.

And if someone can’t do that? You’re not too much. They’re just not showing up with enough.

Why It Matters

Considering impact over intent isn’t just some feel-good concept reserved for therapy sessions or conflict resolution workshops. It’s one of the most foundational steps in becoming a decent, kind, and emotionally responsible human being.

It’s how we become better partners, more thoughtful coworkers, more trustworthy friends. It’s how we stop hurting the people we care about without realizing it—and start caring about how we affect them, not just how we feel about ourselves in the process.

Because whether we like it or not, our words and actions leave a wake. They ripple out, sometimes softly, sometimes like a wave that takes someone under.

You don’t get to drop a pebble and then claim it didn’t cause waves.

You don’t get to make a joke, provoke a reaction, or say something careless and then disappear behind the shield of “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Intent might explain the behavior—but it doesn’t erase the impact.

If someone tells you that something you said or did hurt them, don’t lead with your intent. Don’t immediately explain, defend, or dismiss.

Lead with empathy.

Lead with curiosity.

Lead with something as simple as, “Thanks for telling me. I didn’t realize it landed that way.”

That’s how relationships repair. That’s how trust is built.

And if you’re the one sitting with the ripples of someone’s “joke” or careless comment—wondering if you’re overreacting or being too sensitive—this is your reminder:

You are not wrong for having a reaction.

Your feelings are data.

Your emotional experience is valid.

And you deserve relationships where people care more about how they affect you than how justified they feel in their own actions.

Being understood starts with being heard. And being heard starts with someone who chooses impact-awareness over ego-protection.