The Facade of Empathy: How Neurotypical Scripts Neglect Real Problems

There is a strange theatre that plays out whenever neurotypicals are confronted with someone else’s suffering. The curtain rises, the actors step into their roles, and a well-rehearsed scene unfolds: gasps of surprise, the furrowed brows, the murmured words of sympathy. Then, as quickly as it began, the play ends. The lights go down. The problem remains exactly where it was, untouched. The person who dared to reveal their struggle is left standing alone, staring into the empty stage. Meanwhile, the theatre player steps offstage, congratulating themselves for the empathy and helpfulness they believe they have shown, walking away smiling as though something had truly been done. And should the problem resurface later, it is swiftly dismissed—shoved aside as dramatic, exaggerated, or unreal by the neurotypical eye that no longer wishes to see it.

What looks, at first glance, like empathy, is not. It is ritual. It is script. It is a sugar-coated mask designed not to care for the other, but to give the performer a feeling of supremacy. The mask whispers: everything is fine now, you have done your duty. But nothing is fine. Nothing has been done. Only the problem has been buried under a thin layer of words and has been shoved away from the view of the bystanders.

The Scripted Show

The pattern is unmistakable:

1. The Spark - A revelation of trouble, pain, or difficulty. The audience shifts uncomfortably.
2. The Act - Surprise! Concern! The familiar lines are delivered: “Oh no,” “That must be so hard,” “I’m sorry.” Hollow phrases of pseudo-support follow, like “have you tried to, you know, just not be sad,” “oh this will be over soon,” “it will become better,” or “yeah, let’s do something to distract.”
3. The Exit - After a socially allotted pause, the show is over. The problem is dismissed, the stage cleared, the actors move on. The issue is forgotten by the actor.

The ritual is not for the one who suffers. It is a self-cleansing ceremony. It allows the performer to leave the scene convinced of their own goodness - while the other leaves unheard, unseen, and unaided. Any persistent problem is then seen as a character flaw or laziness of the person who was struggling. All problems are assumed to resolve themselves if ignored or if enough time passes. When they do not, the person suffering is declared to be at fault, the one in need of repair, rather than the problem itself being recognized. And through it all, no one ever arrives at the simple thought of actually helping with the problem.

Why the Facade Persists

These rituals survive because they serve the comfort of the majority. They create the illusion that something has been done, that care has been given, that society is still intact and helpful. They maintain the surface harmony and cohesion of the group while quietly sacrificing the individual who brought their reality into the open.

For the neurotypical, this is enough. They can go home believing they have cared and are the good ones. For the one left behind, it is abandonment wrapped in velvet.

The Neglect Behind the Smile

The cruelty of this facade lies in its consequences:

• No action follows. Words are offered, then the problem is dropped into silence.
• No depth exists. The reality of the sufferer is brushed aside once the curtain falls.
• No memory remains. Tomorrow, the entire matter will have vanished from their attention.

What remains is only the smile, the nod, the hollow phrase. A fragile theatre that benefits the actor but erases the person in need. Many neurotypicals then attempt to outsource any real problem-solving to so-called professionals or to some abstract “others,” as if responsibility could be delegated away. They never consider that the problem must be addressed at the level of their own behavior, or at the level of society itself. To truly engage would mean they might have to do something, to change something, to take responsibility - and that is the one thing they will not do. They will do anything else instead: they will shame the person, attack them, discuss the problem away as irrelevant, do massive damage, destroy something or even try to remove them from society or declare them psychologically damaged. But they will never, ever simply help. Not because they cannot, but because they do not want to.

The Illusion of Empathy

True empathy would mean entering into the other’s world, staying there long enough to feel its weight, actually understanding what happens and actually acting to help to resolve the given problem. It would mean remembering, following up, caring not just in performance but in substance.

But what the scripts of neurotypicals provide is something else entirely: a performance of empathy, without its heart. It is the automated hum of a social machine running on pre-written lines. It is the maintenance of appearances, not the meeting of needs. It is not care. It is neglect, dressed in the costume of compassion.

And for those who see through it, the theatre becomes unbearable. Once the illusion shatters, one cannot unsee the truth: that what passes as empathy in the world of neurotypicals is nothing more than a play. A mask. A silence covered in polite words.