“You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.” ~JK Rowling
Sometimes the last thing we want to do is feel our feelings. Because feeling can hurt.
Feeling can make you cry in the laundromat.
Feeling can make your face unattractively red in the frozen food aisle.
Feeling can make you think this whole being human racket is not the best way to spend your time.
If you’ve been stuffing your feelings back into your rib cage whenever they try to break for the light, this is especially true. I know, because this is exactly what I did with my feelings for thirty-three long years.
Oh, those crafty feelings would make the occasional jail break, and then I’d vibrate with a nameless rage that ended in cell phone destruction when technology met brick wall. Or I’d start screaming and yanking at my clothes—yes, actual rending of garments—because the rush of pain was too intense to contain within my frame.
My mom is fond of saying that, for the first few years of my life, she thought she was raising a monster. As an empath in a house where emotion was treated like a ticking bomb, I was feeling emotions for the entire family, and all those feelings were processing through my eyeballs and via my vocal chords.