One of the most valuable concepts I learned in undergraduate psychology was the ingroup-outgroup bias – the way our perceptions of people are skewed by whether we identify with them or not. We tend to be kinder and more generous in our perception of people we feel socially aligned with, and more critical of those we do not.

This bias can affect our judgement in profound and insidious ways, and treatment settings are far from immune.

A person with autism doesn’t understand a neurotypical person because they are autistic. A neurotypical person doesn’t understand a person with autism because they are autistic.

I can’t work with this woman because she’s too emotional. This woman can’t work with me because she’s too emotional.

This client is wrong because he lacks insight (or is in denial). He thinks we’re wrong because he lacks insight (or is in denial).

Any disagreement or misunderstanding between these two people can be attributed to a deficit in one person. The other gets the invisible elephant stamp of “well it couldn’t possibly be me, I see the world normally”.

Yet rarely is it so simple or so one-sided. The more factual version is that these two people see things differently. But when one is ostracised by the system to the outgroup, they are more likely to feel invalidated and not taken seriously. Which runs the risk that they respond in ways that may just be interpreted as confirming the initial bias.

We need to cultivate a mindset of deep curiosity and be on alert to the way we fill in the blanks with our own assumptions and world views. If we see the person as an equal partner, it becomes easier to also see them as a potential teacher. And when we honour a person’s autonomy, our perception becomes less important because it’s about them, not us.

There will be days when you want to pack up your bags and get the heck out of a helping profession role. Perhaps you’re tired, overwhelmed or in need of new adventures. It might feel like topping up others’ wells has slowed topping up your own to a trickle. In giving so much in this one area of your life, you may have lost the sense of abundance in other areas.

And maybe that’s exactly what you need to do. For a while or for forever, you just need to take your energy somewhere else. Compassionate, curious people are needed everywhere, not just in community services.

Whether we stay or go, the urge to run is a message we don’t want to suppress or ignore. It’s telling us something isn’t working, something needs attention, and that something might need to change. Maybe it’s us. Maybe it’s the way we’re approaching the work. Maybe it’s the way the work is structured. Maybe we just need a good old fashioned holiday.

We can make friends with the urge. Get to know its patterns, its rhythms, what sets it off and what settles it down. Perhaps it becomes a prompt to slow down and seek more support. Be more gentle with ourselves, nourish our body, ask for more help. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I might need to go have a chat with a rabbit.

As helping professionals we are taught to diagnose what is wrong and find solutions so the suffering goes away or is more bearable. Our training sets up the problem as a challenge to fix rather than something to get curious about in its own right.

Take depression. If you or someone you love has experienced it, it’s safe to say it sucks. It’s natural to want to help ourselves or the other person to feel less depressed. We’ve learned there might be a chemical imbalance in the brain. Or gut. Or both. We might uncover unhelpful core beliefs or patterns of reactions tracing back to childhood. And we might try a prescription of sitting with discomfort, challenging thoughts, scheduling activities, changing diet or getting physically active. All useful things.

But sometimes we miss the basic poignant truth that people experience depression because, on some level, their life is depressing. It’s a normal, healthy reaction, and a message worth paying attention to.

Taken from this perspective, the person experiencing depression might be seen more as a canary in the mine, someone who is acutely sensitive to broader, societal pressures that affect us all. It’s not that they are aren’t resilient enough, it’s that they’re having a reaction they can’t ignore to something that isn’t healthy for any of us. Maybe they just need a smaller dose to feel it. Or maybe they have had a larger than normal dose through life events.

When we take the lens out further, we inevitably discover broader themes that transcend individual difficulties. Disadvantage, disconnection, discrimination. Unrealistic standards, expectations, stereotypes. Economic or political models that ignore the real-world stresses they generate or even rely on to meet their objectives.

When we just focus on the individual, the canary can’t sing out to the whole mine. When we just look to alleviate individual pain, we’re more likely to miss a systemic cause. But when we get curious about what the person’s inner wisdom is telling them, we have a chance to listen to the whole message.

We don’t talk enough about grace. Maybe it sounds too religious. Or old fashioned. Or vague. When you go down the rabbit hole there’s a wide range of definitions, from elegance of movement to the deeply spiritual, covering a great deal of ground between.

The version that most intrigues me isn’t grand or choir-worthy. We talk of receiving feedback or an apology with grace. It’s a humble act that allows acceptance for what arises in the moment, neither grasping or rejecting, a gentle space to receive another with consideration.

There’s a quality of being genuinely present with a wide open awareness, rather than laser-focused inquisition, neither interrogating nor ignoring. There’s room for human messiness, where faux pas, pettiness and missteps can be held within a broader connection, without whiplash reactivity, neither condoning nor condemning.

There’s a feeling of slowing down time just a bit, making a little more room, bringing a touch of ease that might soften an otherwise heightened moment. It’s like loosening the belt of the conversation by a notch after a big meal. There’s a sense of relief. There still may be a lot to digest and actions may need to be taken. But right now both people can breathe.