A scrapbook-style collage: two paper hearts, a hand mirror reflecting a blurred silhouette, a folded cloth napkin, an unlit candle, an outstretched open hand, a hand-drawn rippling wave, a photo of two people seen from behind sitting together on a bench, and a blank sealed letter.

Certificate of Empathy

to be completed in your own hand

Processing time: 8 min Items: 32

No sign-up. Issued the same day.

This certificate is issued based on a 32-item test and certifies how strongly other people’s feelings register in you. The bearer receives a classification, a supporting record, and remarks. Processing time: 8 minutes. The basis is the bearer’s own account of themselves, and the certificate is only as exact as that account.

While a close friend talks through a rough day, what becomes of your own mood? I'm still humming the song from the drive over. Their heaviness leaks into my sighs, but my own mood holds. Quiet comes over me too, though my own day still shows underneath. By the end I'm sighing their sighs, and my plans are forgotten. Their bad day is mine now, and my head hangs.

Situation: a distressed friend needs comforting on an evening you had set aside for rest. Your course of action? A kind text from the couch is what they get. The show stays paused while I take their call. Bath canceled, I sit with them until ten. I drive across town and cancel my trip. I call in sick and sit up with them until dawn.

The room is tense with things nobody says. How composed does your body stay? My shoulders climb toward my ears and my stomach drops. My hands stay loose, though my neck stiffens as the silence drags. I sit easy, though one foot starts tapping under the desk. Body relaxed, palms open on my lap, the tension passing me by. I lean back, breathe slowly, and feel no strain anywhere in me.

A stranger on the train is quietly counting coins for a ticket. What do you feel toward them? Their fare is their business; I have a meeting to reach. I murmur "poor soul" under my breath, meaning it. Warmth rises in my chest for someone I don't know. They stay with me past my stop, and I hope they're okay. The whole carriage turns tender, and I can't stop looking.

You share a car ride with someone who is anxious or sad. What happens to your own state? They fidget and sigh beside me, and I feel perfectly calm. My stomach jumps, and I reach for a snack. My stomach knots up, and the knot is mine. The radio fades out; my thoughts race the way theirs do. By the time we park, I'm shaking and near tears.

A friend has told you how they want their room arranged, and you are helping. Whose plan wins? Their sketch is the plan, and I just carry the couch. I wince at their rug choice but move it where they said. A better layout is in my head, yet I build theirs. I bend their sketch until it looks like the room I'd choose. Everything goes where I think it belongs, and their sketch stays folded.

Walking into a room of cheerful, energetic people, what happens to your own energy? The party roars around me, and I'm still yawning. The music starts, and my foot begins to tap. Then the laughter gets to me, and I'm smiling, shoulders up. I'm bouncing on my toes, and the day's tiredness has vanished. Suddenly I'm right up there with them, loud, buzzing, ready to dance.

At the next counter, a clerk is cheating a stranger. What rises in you? Their deal, their problem, I figure. I mutter "that's not fair" to nobody in particular. My face gets hot, and I keep glancing back at them. Everything in me wants to stand in front of that stranger. My own errands stop mattering; protecting them is all I think about.

Across the table, someone tells a sad story. What does your face do? My face looks the same as when I walked in. A sad tilt shows in my eyebrows, just barely. Brows pull inward, echoing theirs; a frown is forming. Mouth, brows, and eyes all follow theirs closely. Their sorrow sits on my face exactly as it sits on theirs.

A friend is reunited at the airport with a sibling after years apart. How much of an onlooker are you? Arms open, I'm in the middle of it before they meet. I hang back a step, eyes on them. I smile from the side, watching like it's a good film. It's theirs alone, so I wait on my bench like a stranger. I scroll through my phone while the scene passes me by.

Talking with someone who leans on the counter and crosses their arms, what does your body do? They lean on the counter, and I stand straight, hands in pockets. A free hand of mine lands on the counter near theirs. I'm leaning on the counter now, same as they are. Arms crossed, weight on one hip, a close copy of them. Every tilt of their shoulders comes back from mine, like a shadow.

A friend arrives upset after a phone call. What happens to your voice and bearing as you greet them? "Hi, come in," I say in my ordinary voice. Hello leaves my mouth softer than I meant. Down goes my voice, and I turn to face them fully. I'm whispering, head tilted their way, one hand already reaching. Voice, arms, shoulders all bend toward them before I've chosen anything.

A stranger is shouting angrily at the ticket window beside you. How calm do you stay? Heat climbs my neck, and I'm ready to snap at someone myself. Thin calm, and each new shout scrapes at it. Calm on the surface, with a prickle under my collar. I keep my place in line, and my temper stays put. The shouting is background noise, and I'm fully at ease.

A coworker at the next desk is clearly struggling. What shows on your face before you speak? I keep typing, and my face stays on the spreadsheet. Something twitches in my brow; they don't notice. A worried frown settles in, and I hold it. My forehead creases and my eyes go wide with worry. Worry fills my face so fully they see it across the room.

At a bus stop, you catch sight of someone crying. What happens to your eyes and voice? I look at the stranger crying, and my eyes are dry. I swallow hard and pretend to check my phone. The bus stop blurs, and I couldn't say a steady word. Tears spill down before I can wipe them away. I'm sobbing out loud, right there beside them.

Someone is being bullied in front of you, and it is not your dispute. How far do you go? I watch the bullying and feel no need to get involved. I open my mouth an inch, and no words come. I'm perched on the edge of my chair, ready to stand. "That's enough," I say, loud enough for the bully to hear. I walk over, stand beside them, and take on the bully myself.

Looking back on a long talk with someone close, how much of your mood came from them? My mood when I got home was the one I left with. The drive home carries a shade of their mood in mine. Their worry rides home with me, folded into my own evening. My own worries sit small under the heaviness I got from them. At the door I realize I've been wearing their mood all along.

Looking back on comforting a friend last month, how much did your own plans shape what you gave? My schedule didn't cross my mind; they got what they needed. I felt my evening tugging at me and gave it up. I stayed until my train was due. I kept it short and kind, and left in time for class. My schedule set the length, and they got what fit around it.

You step into an elevator where two people have just stopped talking. What happens to your attention? I count the floor numbers as they light up. I look up from my phone. I stop what I'm thinking and go still, ready for anything. I'm wound tight, and I can't switch it off. I'm fully on guard from the second the doors close.

A stranger is struggling up a staircase with heavy bags. How strong is your pull to help? The stranger strains with the bags, and I walk past untouched. I feel a nudge to offer, and my feet keep moving. Slowing down, I weigh whether to take a bag. It's hard to walk on; my hand keeps reaching out. I've got a bag in each hand and I'm climbing beside them.

A friend explains their sadness, and you follow every reason. How far is what you feel behind what you understand? I feel it in my own chest as they talk. My understanding and my ache arrive almost together. I've grasped the whole story before any feeling shows up. I nod and take mental notes; inside, there's only a thin echo. To me it's a fact to file away; I feel none.

A friend asks your advice on a haircut, and your taste differs from theirs. What shapes your answer? I tell them the cut I like and leave it at that. I push my favorite while glancing at what they seem to like. I go for the cut that flatters their face. I set my taste aside and ask what feels good to them. My taste isn't in it; I picture what will make them glow.

Everyone at the meeting is flat and subdued. How steady does your own energy stay? I sink into my chair, gray like everyone else. I try to stay bright, but my shoulders drop anyway. My mood holds up, apart from one dip as the gloom settles. I keep my pace, and the mood barely dents it. I'm as lively as when I walked in; the gloom drifts past.

Later that evening, after seeing a stranger treated unfairly, how present is your concern for them? By the time I'm home, I've stopped thinking about that stranger. A faint worry tugs while I wash the dishes. Brushing my teeth, I catch myself hoping they're okay. Their face keeps coming back, and I replay what I should've said. At midnight I'm still pacing the kitchen, furious for them.

Your face has changed to match someone's expression. When do you become aware of it? My face changes when I decide to change it, not before. Their frown appears on my mouth; I catch it right there. A step later, I see my frown in a shop window. It's already done when I catch it, mid-frown or mid-smile. Someone points it out, and I can't say why it changed.

A friend describes finally getting the news they had waited years for. What happens in your body? I say congratulations and feel nothing in my throat or eyes. I blink and smile wider to cover it. My throat tightens, and I swallow around it. My eyes brim, and I blink hard, laughing. Tears run down my face, and I can't stop them.

In a conversation, your hands begin to move like the other person's. When do you notice? My hands copy someone only when I tell them to. Caught in the act: my hand is copying theirs. Halfway through the talk, I spot the same wave of the hand. We're both stirring tea before I see it, near the end. A friend tells me afterward; I had no idea I'd been copying.

A colleague in the break room is visibly upset. How strong is your pull to move closer? I stay where I am; nothing pulls me toward them. A nudge moves my chair an inch toward theirs. I want to move closer, and I choose to hold back. My feet start toward them across the room. I'm already beside them with a hand on their shoulder.

Tracing back a sour mood of your own, how much of it comes from someone else's anger? My sour mood is mine; nobody's anger had a hand in it. A trace: someone snapped at the office, and it left a mark. That shouting from this morning is clearly woven into it. The neighbor's yelling explains far more of my mood than my day. My tension is entirely the argument I overheard, and nothing of mine.

A neighbor in the hallway looks worn down and hasn't asked for anything. What rises in you? I nod to my neighbor and go straight to my door. I feel a soft spot for them, keys in hand. Care rises, and I wonder how they're holding up. I'm already planning what to bring over. They fill my mind all evening; nothing else gets in.

Through a cafe window, you see a stranger in tears, cause unknown. How sad do you feel? The stranger is crying, but my mood doesn't dip. Something dims in me as I look, and I can't say why. A real sadness comes, and I don't even know the reason. A heavy sadness settles in and follows me down the street. My chest caves in with grief for someone I don't know.

You witness a dispute in which someone is treated badly. How much is it none of your business? This concerns me too, and I'm already turning toward them. I hesitate, telling myself it's not mine, and step in anyway. It belongs to the people in it, so I watch from afar. Not my fight, so I turn away and keep out. Other people's fights are none of my concern; I check my watch.

Name as it should appear on the certificate (optional)

The certificate will be issued in this name. Leave it blank to issue it to the bearer.

About This Certificate

The degree to which other people's emotions stir matching feelings in a person and turn into warmth and a wish to help.

Test author Editorial Staff

Rate This Certificate

5.0/5

Attachments

Attachment 1. Methodology

The test takes its approach from research that treats empathy as several parts instead of one block. Two parts are scored and combined on a single scale: how strongly someone else's mood stirs a matching mood in you, and how strongly that becomes tenderness and an urge to help. For the vocabulary, a short reference entry on the term is a fair starting point.

Scores add up to one of five levels, and the cut-offs are set by what the answers mean, which gives the typical level a small window of its own. Behind the total sit 32 questions written in pairs, two views of each of 16 everyday situations. Each question gets five answers written for it alone, deepening step by step, and a number of them are phrased from the calm, detached side so that warm-sounding answers do not win by default.

The result is a level on this scale and nothing beyond it. It sorts nobody into an "empath" type, and it says nothing about how well you interpret others. Answers come from your own view of yourself, and people tend to rate flattering traits generously, so treat the level as an estimate. A high result is no gift: this overview of affective and cognitive empathy describes costs alongside benefits. One more pattern, being swamped by your own reaction, is left unmeasured on purpose and appears just in the two highest results. This is not a diagnostic instrument.

Attachment 2. Frequently Asked Questions

Are empaths real, scientifically speaking?

Parts of it are. Being stirred by someone else's distress and caring how they fare are both well documented in people. What has no support is a special kind of person who has these and others do not: the trait varies in amount. Your result here is one such amount.

Can anyone diagnose you as an empath?

What you receive is a summary of what you told us about yourself, and nothing more is claimed for it. "Empath" is a popular word, not a clinical term, so there would be nothing to diagnose anyway.

Empath vs. highly sensitive person: what is the difference?

High sensitivity is about your own surroundings: loud rooms, harsh light, a packed schedule. The empath label is about other people's moods. Popular writing mixes them up because the two often turn up together in one person, though neither requires the other. The questions here ask only about the second.

Can an empath feel someone else's physical pain?

A small number of people report a physical echo when they watch someone get hurt, and that is a narrower, separate matter. For nearly everyone, what travels between people is mood: seeing someone in pain stirs distress in you, not their injury. The questions here touch neither.

What are the signs you're an empath?

A checklist cannot show that a person is a type, however many boxes get ticked. The popular ones are being the friend people call in a crisis, feeling flattened by crowds, sensing a mood before words are spoken, and taking on others' feelings. Only the last two overlap with what the questions cover.

Attachment 3. References

Davis, M. H. (1983). Measuring individual differences in empathy: Evidence for a multidimensional approach. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 44(1), 113–126. doi:10.1037/0022-3514.44.1.113
Batson, C. D., Fultz, J., & Schoenrade, P. A. (1987). Distress and empathy: Two qualitatively distinct vicarious emotions with different motivational consequences. Journal of Personality, 55(1), 19–39. doi:10.1111/j.1467-6494.1987.tb00426.x
Klimecki, O. M., Leiberg, S., Ricard, M., & Singer, T. (2014). Differential pattern of functional brain plasticity after compassion and empathy training. Social Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience, 9(6), 873–879.
Hatfield, E., Cacioppo, J. T., & Rapson, R. L. (1993). Emotional Contagion. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 2(3), 96–100.

Certificate of Empathy

Much Lower Empathy

Somewhat Lower Empathy

Ordinary Empathy

Clearly Higher Empathy

Much Higher Empathy

About This Certificate

Attachments

Are empaths real, scientifically speaking?

Can anyone diagnose you as an empath?

Empath vs. highly sensitive person: what is the difference?

Can an empath feel someone else's physical pain?

What are the signs you're an empath?

Applicant Statistics

Referral

Certificate of Empathy

Much Lower Empathy

Somewhat Lower Empathy

Ordinary Empathy

Clearly Higher Empathy

Much Higher Empathy

About This Certificate

Attachments

Are empaths real, scientifically speaking?

Can anyone diagnose you as an empath?

Empath vs. highly sensitive person: what is the difference?

Can an empath feel someone else's physical pain?

What are the signs you're an empath?

Related Certificates on File

Applicant Statistics

Referral