She says to him, "I can't stand the way you do that," and he replies, "well, I do it, and I just have to accept that you don't like it, but I can't change who I am, and I'm not asking you to change either, even if I struggle with the way you're still angry with those who've complicated your life."

"But you can see what they've done to me, so why can't you understand?"

"I do understand, but just because I don't like it, it doesn't mean that I don't understand. I don't like the way an earthquake kills thousands of humans, but I still understand it."

"Aaaargh! You and your friggin' metaphors or similes or whatever you call them."

"Look, it's like this; it kills me to know that you've been abused. I hate it when I think of the way your uncle treated you, and all those times that it's been repeated in your life. But I can't go there, I can't let myself feel your anger, because it's yours, not mine. And it doesn't mean that I'm denying your feelings or that I don't have any myself. Neither does it mean that I have no compassion, but I can't have empathy, because empathy requires that I've had the same experience as you, and I haven't - I'd be lying if I told you that I know what you are going through. Sometimes I wish I had so I could get down there inside your bones and know exactly what it is like, but I haven't, so I can't, and all I can do is wish that one day it will pass, and I'll always try to be here for you, but I won't be here if I get caught up in your anger; I need to be strong for you; I need to be there for you. If I become lost, then there will be no "me" to give to you, and that would just mess things up a whole lot more."

There's a long pause, and then a look.

"Thanks."

"No problems. I love you. Got any ideas on dinner?"