I’ve always known myself to be quite the sensitive creature. I get in my feelings and in my head–usually thinking about my feelings–a lot. I enjoy introspection to some extent, as it provides wisdom and clarity when I forget myself. I found myself forgetting who I was; what I was worth; what I was capable of; and who I could be an awful lot during the last year.
And then I spent two months reminding myself that I deserve love. I wrote myself forty love letters during some of the toughest times I’ve had since college. I might share those letters some day, if if ever feel so inclined. I’ll eventually open them up when I need them most. Who knows when that’ll be?
In the course of reminding myself how I deserve(d) love, I got in touch with my feelings again. As an admittedly reactive person, losing touch with my feelings is synonymous with losing touch with myself. That’s never any good for anyone, especially as my feelings are my way of connecting with the world. I wear my heart upon my sleeve, but I can’t do so when it’s obscured by fear and doubt.
Disconnecting from feeling means disconnecting from people, specifically my intuition. Think of a scholar without books; an orator without audience; a dancer without music; a writer without pen. My emotionality (i.e., empathy, intuition) is inherent to my being.I’d rather lose my mind or my sight before I lost the ability to feel.
I’ve lived in periods of numbness and isolation. I’ve even walled myself off from my heart when I was afraid of feeling too much.
Why would I do that, considering how integral I’ve made my emotions? Walling off my heart occurred in moments when the darkness and demons crowded in. They put the world in grayscale. They take my appetite. The air hangs, dead and empty. Sounds merely distract from the buzzing numbness within.
I’m doing what I can to not let this raw power of emotionality burn through me. As I’ve said before, empathy is my cross to bear. I carry it, stumbling uphill towards the ultimate sacrifice–laying down one’s life for a friend. Giving too much is my saving grace and what kills me, too. I’v learned to not let as much get to me. I’ve had many strong, wise friends teach me how to dampen the outside noise to survive.
The hardest part is embracing this major part of me, with all its good and bad parts. But I have the strength of heart (i.e. courage) to brave the demons which feast on my open heart. I have the strength to soldier on. I have the wisdom and humility to ask for help when I need it.
I know this: I’m figuring it out, just as much as the next person. I will stumble, and fall, and get back up. I’m a lot to handle, and I have a whole lot of love to give. Look out world, here I come.