Privilege and empathy aren’t two words we often hear in the same sentence. There seems to be an unspoken belief that once you’ve built a comfortable life, you somehow forfeit the right to have feelings.
You see it all the time in the media. A celebrity shares that they’re struggling, and a very common reaction is: “Who cares? They’re rich. They have everything.” As if comfort cancels pain. As if having what others want means you no longer get to hurt.
But privilege doesn’t make you immune to emotional pain. Financial security and success can make life easier in many ways, but they don’t protect you from everything life throws at you.
What People Don’t See
I’m not a celebrity, and I’m not extremely wealthy. But I’ve built a comfortable life for myself – one that I’m deeply grateful for. Still, it hasn’t been easy.
I left home at 16. I didn’t come from money, and nothing I have today was handed to me. I worked hard for years, pushed through burnout more than once, and built stability from the ground up.
And yet, over time, I’ve noticed subtle shifts in how some people relate to me – even friends and family who love me. I don’t think it’s necessarily malicious or intentional. Maybe it’s tall poppy syndrome, something that’s deeply ingrained in Australian culture, or maybe it’s simply how we’ve been conditioned to think about success and privilege. When people see someone going on nice holidays, working for a respected company, or living what looks like a “good life,” they assume everything must be fine.
But those assumptions can be isolating. When someone’s life looks perfect, people often stop checking in. They assume support isn’t needed.
Privilege Doesn’t Erase Pain
As my life became more comfortable, I started to notice assumptions that things had always been easy for me. And I think that’s partly why I held onto my difficult beginnings for so long.
As I wrote in my Strength from Struggle post, I used to wear my past like a badge of honour, perhaps hoping people would understand that my life hadn’t always looked the way it does now, and that getting here hadn’t been easy.
But I’ve come to realise that I shouldn’t need to explain where I started to justify what I’ve been through. My struggles aren’t more real because I had a difficult start, and someone else’s aren’t less real because they’ve had an easier path.
Having privilege doesn’t mean you’re immune to feeling overwhelmed, lost or low. And it doesn’t mean you need empathy or understanding any less.
This isn’t about taking attention away from people who have fewer advantages in life. It’s about recognising that empathy shouldn’t depend on how difficult someone’s circumstances appear from the outside.
Assumptions Can Be Dangerous
We’ve all heard stories of seemingly “successful” people who have taken their own lives, and everyone around them says they had no idea. It’s heartbreaking.
Could part of that invisibility come from the assumptions people make – that success equals happiness, that someone who looks like they “have it all” couldn’t possibly be in pain?
The Avicii story is a perfect example. On paper, he had everything – talent, fame, wealth, admiration. But behind the scenes, he was struggling deeply. His death was a devastating reminder that outward success can hide immense internal pain.
And this isn’t just anecdotal. A population-based Danish study published in the BMJ found something striking: among people who had been hospitalised for a mental illness, those with higher incomes were actually more likely to die by suicide than those with lower incomes. Researchers suggested that wealthier individuals may experience greater shame, stigma, or isolation when they become unwell – and might even be less likely to seek or receive adequate care.
Privilege doesn’t protect you from pain. Sometimes, it can deepen it – especially when the world assumes you shouldn’t be struggling at all.
When someone’s life looks perfect, people often stop checking in. They assume support isn’t needed. But sometimes, the higher someone climbs, the lonelier it gets – especially when their struggles don’t fit the image others have of them.
The Everyday Example of Privilege and Empathy
Think about it in the context of family.
If you’re a parent and you have two children – one who’s struggling financially or going through a breakup, and another who’s stable, comfortable, and “all good” – would you only check in on the one who’s visibly struggling? Of course not. Love isn’t conditional on circumstance. You’d want to know that both are ok.
It’s the same with friendships. Care and empathy shouldn’t be given only to those who appear to need it most. The people who seem to have everything together often carry invisible weights – pressure, guilt, loneliness, or exhaustion that no one sees.
And on the flip side, we shouldn’t assume that those without privilege are automatically unhappy. Some of the most content, grounded people I’ve ever met live simply and value connection over possessions. Happiness and struggle aren’t determined by what we own – they’re shaped by what’s happening inside us.
And it’s also worth remembering that sometimes, the people who have worked hard to build material comfort have done so because of what they didn’t have growing up. Many are driven not by greed, but by fear, scarcity, or the memory of struggle. Their motivation often comes from wanting safety, not superiority.
And if someone did grow up with more – stability, opportunity, or comfort – why should they be penalised for that? They didn’t choose their starting point any more than someone else chose hardship. Everyone has their own story, and privilege doesn’t make someone undeserving of empathy. We all want to feel safe, seen, and understood.
Empathy Without Hierarchy
Ultimately, this is about empathy. Real empathy. The kind that doesn’t rank people’s feelings or decide who deserves care.
There’s a kind of loneliness that comes from being told – directly or indirectly – that you have no right to struggle. When you’ve worked hard to build stability, it can feel like you’ve lost permission to be human. You start hiding your pain because you don’t want to seem ungrateful or dramatic.
I want people in that position to feel seen, understood, and cared for. Because no matter what your life looks like on the outside, your feelings are valid. Your pain still matters.
Empathy shouldn’t be rationed according to who seems to “deserve” it – it should be given freely, because we all need it.
Final Thoughts
We never truly know what someone is carrying. The friend with the beautiful house might be battling burnout. The colleague who seems calm and capable might be barely holding it together. The person with fewer possessions might be genuinely content.
The point is simple: Don’t assume. Don’t rank people’s pain. Don’t decide who’s allowed to feel.
The love, the check-ins, the care – everyone deserves those.
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