Learning Compersion: Teaching Empathic Joy to Kindergartners

Blog written by Ari Wassmann

As I look at the class of kindergarteners sitting on the rainbow carpet in front of me, I can already feel the collective tantrum that’s coming. 

“Today’s line leader will be…” I pause for dramatic effect, the kiddos’ eyes wide with hope and anticipation. “Annie!”

Immediately there is chaos. 

“That’s not fair!” Leo whines, his hands flying to his face in distress. (Never mind that he’s already been line leader several times…)

“But I’ve never even been line leader!” Elliot protests. “Not even once!” This is an objectively false statement, but good luck arguing that point with a 5-year-old.

“NOOO!” Maxwell wails, immediately curling into a ball as his eyes fill with tears. His voice is the loudest in the room. “I want to be the line leader!” 

“But it’s my turn…” Annie says, her voice trailing off as she stands. Her initial bright smile of glee has vanished, replaced by a look of uncertainty. She hesitantly stands there, unsure if she should go start the line amidst the growing indignation from her classmates. She starts to nervously chew a strand of her hair. 

“Go ahead and line up,” I reassure her, not yelling but firmly raising my voice so the rest of the rioting kinders will hear me. “You were so mindful today during attendance. You did a great job!”

Annie flashes that gap-toothed smile again - a trademark of elementary school joy - and skips to the door to start the line for yardtime.

It was this recurring situation - an excited child wanting to celebrate an accomplishment and yet feeling conflicted about it when faced with the angry cries of their jealous peers - that made me decide to start teaching my kiddos about compersion.

***

I decide to check in with my co-teacher about a lesson plan I’d like to design around compersion. They are… confused.

At first, they’re confused because they’ve never heard of the word before. Then they’re confused because a quick google search informs them that compersion is a term linked with polyamory. 

“You want to teach them about… polyamory?” they ask with suspicion. “You don’t think the parents will find that a little odd?”

“No, no, no,” I clarify. (Though for the record, I have always answered my kiddos’ questions about my relationships honestly. My previous cohort was fully aware that I had a boyfriend and a girlfriend at the same time.) “I want to teach them about compersion. It’s a feeling. It’s kind of like the opposite of jealousy. When you see someone that’s happy or has something you want and it makes you upset, that’s jealousy. When you see someone that’s happy or has something you want and it brings you joy, that’s compersion.”

My co-teacher quickly scans google again. “But isn’t it something you feel towards a lover?”

“It can be,” I explain. “But there’s no reason you couldn’t feel compersion for a friend or a classmate instead. Or anybody, for that matter.”

They seem dubious, but they yield. “If you want to plan it, we can do a lesson on it.”

I accept wholeheartedly. 

But now the question becomes: how do you teach young kiddos about compersion? 

Since it’s a feeling, there’s no reason we can’t do an art project, I remind myself. Just like we do for learning about our other emotions. For example, we’ve collected items from the garden - leaves and sticks and rocks and such - to sculpt what our anger looks like. Or we’ve decorated courage hearts with scenarios where we did something hard, even though it scared us - that’s what bravery is all about! We’ve crumpled our frustrations and painted our sadness. There’s no reason we can’t talk about jealousy, which is such a big component of kids’ feelings. There’s no reason we can’t draw our joy, which is such a big component of compersion.

When it’s time for the lesson, I have all our kinders sit on the rug again. I ask them if they know what ‘jealousy’ means or if they can give me examples. 

“When my sister gets a new toy.”

“When another class gets cupcakes because it’s someone’s birthday.”

“When someone else scores a goal in soccer.”

“When someone else wins at Bingo.” (If there’s any group that loves Bingo more than senior citizens, it’s 5-year-olds.) 

And, of course…

“When someone else gets picked for line leader.”

I then excitedly tell the kiddos that we’re going to learn a new word today - a big word but an important one: compersion. They look  up at me with (understandably) confused expressions, but my excitement holds their interest. As I typically do with new words, I ask the kiddos to repeat it back to me. 

“Compersion,” they echo, experimenting with the word for the first time. 

I unfold a piece of paper in my hands. On one half of the paper is Cartoon Me, complete with a bright yellow dress, exaggerated angry eyebrows, and a disdainful scowl as she glares at two other cartoon kiddos playing with a bouncy ball together. On the other half of the paper is Cartoon Me watching the same two cartoon kiddos play with a bouncy ball, only this time she is smiling softly and coloring a picture of a rainbow at her desk, little heart bubbles floating around her head. 

I hold up my artwork for the kiddos to see. “On this side, I’m feeling jealousy,” I explain. “Because my friend is playing ball with a new friend, instead of playing with me. How can you tell how I’m feeling in the drawing?”

The kiddos eagerly raise their hands.

“Your eyebrows are mad!”

“You have a frowny face!”

“Your arms are crossed!”

I nod affirmingly. “And on this side, I’m feeling compersion because my friend has made a new friend to play with and they’re having fun and I’m happy for her. How can you tell how I’m feeling in the drawing?”

“You’re smiling!”

“You have hearts!”

“You’re drawing something happy!”

I explain to the kiddos that it’s normal to feel jealousy and that we can also work to shift those feelings towards compersion, that we can learn to be happy for our friends and our classmates when they make new friends or score a goal or (dare I say it?) get picked for line leader. 

The kiddos are dismissed to their desks, where I instruct then to fold their papers in half and draw the same scenario on each side. One half should show them experiencing jealousy and the other half should show them experiencing compersion. Given that 5-year-olds love to draw, it’s an easy place to start.

***

A year later, I sit in a circle with the same kiddos - now first graders - on another rainbow rug, ubiquitous in this profession.

We pass around a small coin purse. The kiddos have to feel the coins through the soft fabric and guess how much total change it holds. It’s our daily way of practicing addition, estimation, and coin recognition. If a kiddo guesses the exact amount correctly, they get to keep the coins. 

I record each kiddos’ guess on my phone before my co-teacher opens it and starts naming the coins with the kiddos. They add up the total as we identify the quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. 

“Fifty-two cents!” the kiddos roar as the last coin is counted. 

I check my phone, scanning the list of guesses for the magic number.

“Oh my gosh,” I say with excitement. “We have our first winner!” (Despite doing this activity for over a month, no one has won yet. Telling the difference between a penny and a dime through fabric is tricky….) 

An immediate hush falls over the kiddos and they gaze at me intently, waiting for me to reveal the winner’s name.

“It’s Finley!” I cry with joy. Finley is beaming and gleefully clapping her hands together. “Finley guessed fifty-two cents!”

My co-teacher congratulates her and hands her the collection of coins. 

“No!” wails Maxwell, still the loudest voice in the room. “I was so close!” His eyes start to well with tears.

“And maybe you’ll get it next time,” I offer soothingly. “But right now we’re celebrating Finley. Do you remember how we try to practice compersion?” 

Maxwell nods.

Cimorene, a friend of Finley’s, bursts into exuberant applause and the rest of the class joins in. We ask her what she’ll spend her winnings on.

She grins. “I’m saving up for some new rain boots!”

The kiddos all nod approvingly and applaud once more as Finley skips to her backpack to safely stash her prize. 

“I still wish I had guessed it,” Maxwell says quietly.

“That’s okay, love,” I say gently. “You’ll get another chance to guess again tomorrow.”

He huffs and crosses his arms.

Maxwell serves as my eternal reminder that learning about compersion and practicing compersion are two separate things, and nobody said the latter would be easy. But I can’t help but wonder if compersion would feel more secondhand to me as an adult if I’d had the headstart that he’s getting as a child. As with the normalization of any concept, only time will tell. 

For now, I’ll just be grateful that I can finally pick a line leader without inciting a riot. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ari (she/her) is a scientist-turned-teacher who has been working with little kiddos for the past 6 years. She uses art to teach science, social justice, and social-emotional wellness. Outside of the classroom, she loves to read, craft, travel, and spend time in nature and with her loved ones.