The Secret Life of Mirror Neurons

On empathy as the essential practice of the writer.

Where shall the story begin? 

It’s a question with which every writer must rumble. 

This Sunday, we enter the season of Advent, and in the Christian liturgical tradition, Advent is where the story of the sacred year begins. 

As storytelling people, this might interest us.

There are a million ways to tell a story, and just as many ways to start one. What scene, what moment, what emotion or idea will take the lead? And what will be the most effective way to engage your reader at the outset? What will meet your reader where they are, and draw them in? 

It’s the time of year when everything gets a glow-up: the candles come out, the twinkly lights go up, we deck our ordinary lives with tinsel and sparkle and evergreen. I love it all. And yet, the first language of Advent’s expectant season is not bell carols, but groaning—the audial ache of a world in crisis. 

As storytelling people, this might interest us. 

I think of Advent this way. Human pain is the call—every nerve ending crying out. The Incarnation is the response—every mirror neuron of God firing, volcanic in awakening. God hears the crash and cries of our great fall and comes running. Emmanuel rushes through time and space to be not just near our hurt, but human with us in it. 

This is the story of Love and the beloved, and in between, every mirror neuron in the world. 

Only formally discovered by scientists in the ’90s, mirror neurons are the cell network responsible for so much of what makes us human, which is the basic ability to read and respond to the emotional needs of others. It has been described by scientists as the most basic social brain system, and it is the neural basis of empathy. Mirror neurons are essential for human connection and their activity has been detected in babies as early as 72 hours old, as these regions of the brain activate in response to facial expressions. 

Advent tells the story of the great rushing of divine empathy toward human hurt. Advent is where the story of the sacred year begins. Perhaps it’s where our reader engagement might begin, too. 

I often describe writing for your reader as holding up a mirror to their experiences, and often, meeting them where they are means meeting them in the midst of their hurt. 

And I am convinced that behind every underlined sentence is this very mirror effect at work: writing moves us when we feel seen, heard, witnessed.

Much like Advent, writing can be a profound practice of call and response. 

Mirroring, in writing as in relationships writ large, is honoring the emotions and experiences of others by reflecting them back to them. It is an act of empathy. As writers, we practice mirroring first by listening to the human experience, rather than podium-ing and prescribing as the first act (is there anything more annoying, more invalidating, than being on the receiving end of this?).

Then, we can hold up a mirror to our readers’ experiences by offering precise language and honest emotion, perhaps giving them permission to see and understand their own situation with greater empathy and greater understanding.

In the spirit of Advent, a writer might express: 

I see you. 

I hear you. 

Tell me—where does it hurt? 

After all, the story of the sacred year does not begin in twinkly-lit triumph. It begins in darkness, a crash and cry in the night, and every mirror neuron of God flaring electric-awake. 

Until next time,

Take heart. Write on. You got this.

A Personal P.S. //

I’m hitting send on this letter from sick bay today, as a fever has been moving through our household (You, too? Solidarity!!) This time of year is madness. Thank you for spending your time with these word offerings here, which means the world to me.

If something spoke to you here, would you consider sharing it or passing it on? This letter is this editor's off-hours labor of love. Your word of recommendation is how our little community grows.