It was always a lot; always consuming. Like when you tip a water bottle back just a tad too far, and water drips down the sides of your mouth. Did you want a sip? Yes. Did you want it to flood you? Not exactly.
The first time I remember the feeling, I think I was seven years old. I was watching a documentary at night with my mom. It was about orphanages in Romania. How inundated they were with children. How a lot of the children had severe needs and required their own individual aides, but unfortunately, the help was just not there. The conditions of these orphanages were unlike anything my naive self had seen. The kids were confined to beds that were far too small for them, in rooms with no color, posters, toys, or any kind of stimulation. They lacked interaction, a chance at improving their conditions, and worst of all, love.
I remember watching that documentary and feeling an immense amount of sadness that I had never felt before. It felt like it made a home out of my body and decided that the warmth it found in me was a place it wanted to stay. I didn't know any better, so I welcomed it in. Invited in these big feelings and learned to just live alongside them.
That was the first time I was aware of how deeply I could feel.
It's never stopped. I've never had complete relief from this bigness. I feel like a host, and what should be buried in the bones of other people has found its way into my marrow and decided that it belongs to me instead.
I felt it when my parents first filed for divorce in second grade. It wasn't just a little kid sadness. I felt their love ending.
I felt it when I learned about drugs and alcohol. It wasn't just a health lesson. I felt an addict's pain.
I felt it when I learned about suicide. It wasn't just a newspaper headline. I felt that person's loss of hope and purpose.
I felt it when a homeless student at college spoke about the struggles he faced with moving from shelter to shelter with six of his siblings. It wasn’t just an eye-opening moment. I felt the weight of wondering where he would sleep next.
I felt it when a friend was combating the effects of a severe psychosis. It wasn’t just bewilderment and confusion. I felt as if I were battling with the condition myself.
I have felt it more times than I can count and more than you want to sit and read. I always wondered if people absorbed what others were going through the way I did, but as I've aged, I've realized that they don't. It took me many years to find out that I am the textbook definition of an empath, and these big feelings are not mine— they are other people's that I have unknowingly absorbed and held onto.
Being an empath has been both the bane of my existence and one of my life's greatest gifts. Even though I have carried other people's energy with me for as long as I can remember, I would not change this part of me for anything. Thankfully, I have learned to manage the feelings that I've absorbed, but I wasn't always good at it. Especially when I was young. I had no idea what was happening. I had a seemingly great life, but I found myself feeling things that I wasn’t going through. It got so strong at one point, that I remember tasting cigarettes at completely random times when I had never had one and wasn't around anyone smoking them. It would just come to me, and I felt this strong sensation that I later realized was the addictive effects of nicotine. I could be lying in bed, ready to sleep, teeth brushed, and every once in a blue moon, my mouth would taste as if I were smoking a cigarette. I had recently learned that they were addictive.
These big feelings used to be enveloping. It was hard to know where mine ended and other people's started. They blurred the lines between who I was and who everyone else was, and there were times I was crippled with the feeling of "why am I carrying this?"
But let me also say:
I would not be who I am if I was not an empath. I would be an entirely different person if I didn't have the ability to absorb other people's thoughts, feelings, and situations. I have learned it is not my responsibility to carry the weight of other people's energy, but it is also the reason I am able to connect, understand, accept, and love on an extremely deep level. I have gotten a lot better at distancing myself from other people's pain, but I never want to completely cut that cord. I would feel empty without it.
I find myself chasing my own big feelings a lot. I feel that way with love and with purpose. I will never be satisfied with feelings that should be big but instead are small. If I can feel in extreme for other people, I need that same intensity for myself. I cannot know that love, happiness, vivacity, and soulfulness exist in abundance and then settle for littleness. I would rather feel nothing at all. That may sound dramatic, but if it's average, I do not want it.
If you happen to be an empath, know that there are resources and techniques that will help you cope with carrying other people’s baggage. It has been extremely helpful in my ability to detach from other people’s stories. It is an absolute necessity at times to step back from what other people carry and focus on yourself, but as an empath, it is also important to understand that you have a gift that allows you to understand humanity at its core— to step into anyone else’s shoes and feel their past, present, and future without knowing their entire story.
I want to leave off by saying that being an empath is quite literally one of the most beautiful things about being alive. I have this one life, in this one body, but having the ability to feel and understand from so many other people’s points of view, allows me to transcend my only walk of life and see, fully see, other people. None of us want to walk through life just being heard. We want to be seen. If you have the ability to see someone, speak their beauty— or at the very least, make them feel visible.
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