Monthly Archives: August 2015

Feeling It

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I’m a recovering feeling stuffer. 

It was always safer to hide my truth, stay silent and push through. And that worked to some extent, for a long time. 

Until it didn’t. 

Some of this was for survival. People with depression use this as a coping technique. Numbed pain is far better than acute pain. The problem is, the mind and heart don’t know how to selectively dim emotions, so everything gets dampened.  

Relationships suffer in that kind of silence. Things go unsaid. Wounds fester. There’s a kind of numbness, like all the colors are washed out and gray-cast. 

It wasn’t working. 

(Aside: I’m a big fan of the question “How’s that working for you?”  Because, if it’s not…Well, then. Stop. Right?)

And over the past ten years or so, I’ve discovered that feeling things deeply, that’s my superpower. I am blessed with the ability to empathize. I can connect with most people. It’s Universe-given, and I don’t take credit. It’s my job to tend to it, help it grow. 

It’s a gift, though it’s not always a fun one. Feeling the feelings? Ouch, sometimes. Like, I’d rather peel my skin off, ouch. 

Yet, this ability has given me the opportunity to know, even if just in movements, really know, some Amazing individuals. 

If someone is vulnerable enough to show you their naked soul, you say thank you. You just do. And you respond with respect and reverence. 

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a Glimpse

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One left, and twenty were damaged, while I was watching. 

The water system cracked and flooded. 

The wall got moldy. 

Termites behind the wall. 

And behind the other wall. 

And in books. 

And I worry. Too much. All the time. About what I could have done differently and how it’s my fault. If only I’d paid attention. 

And she doesn’t feel well. 

And he might not be safe. 

And now another thing is broken. 

And I worry. Too much. All the time. About what I could have done differently and how it’s my fault. If only I’d paid attention. 

And I forget to breathe.  And feel stupid about that. 

And my list of things grows exponentially.  

And everything spills and falls and shatters. 

And I can’t find the lesson on repeat. 

And I worry. Too much. All the time. About what I could have done differently and how it’s my fault. If only I’d paid attention. 

If only I’d paid attention.