I am an empath. I fully believe that I was born hard-wired with the ability to read people’s emotions, curious about what makes them tick, their motivations and how they incorporate them into their daily lives. It’s what makes me good at my job as a therapist. It’s what has my family and friends feel understood and ‘grokked’. The origin of that word, by the way is one of my favorite sci-fi books called Stranger in a Strange Land, written by Robert Heinlein. (A caveat. Although I love many of the concepts that unfold within its pages, some of the language and the way that women were portrayed and referred to would absolutely be considered misogynistic.) It’s what helps me make new friends easily. That’s the upside.
Now, to the downside. Being an empath has turned me into a human sponge who absorbs the energy that swirls around me. There are some 7-8 client workdays that leave me either drained or filled to overflowing with emotional mish-mosh that I need to offload. Sometimes it looks like ‘sounding a barbaric yawp’ as encouraged by Walt Whitman, once I’m in the car before I drive home. I did it last night and, boy did it feel good. Sometimes it means burning sage once I get home and at other times, I do a full body shake, jumping up and down and sloughing the energy down my arms and out my extended hands.
In 2017, I had this experience. “I woke up in the wee hours this morning; 4:44 to be exact, with the words ‘absolutely empath’ whispered in my ear. When that happens, as it does more frequently, I take heed. I gave myself a few more hours for it to marinate and when I arose about an hour ago, the words came through channeled from the Source. Feeling butterflies in my stomach and question if they are related to my own emotions or being picked up on from someone else’s projection. There are times when I feel like I am swinging a butterfly net and collecting them and placing them in my body.” Then I penned these words, “From the time I was a child, I had a sense that there was something unusual about me. I was what I call a ‘quirky kid’ and an ‘alien baby left on my parents’ doorstep.’ Highly intuitive, I ‘knew stuff,’ having a sense that something was about to happen and then it did. I knew when people were about to die or when they had just crossed over. I didn’t always verbalize it since I didn’t want to freak anyone out. I could feel the emotions of others and sometimes even their physical pain. As an adult professional in the counseling field since 1979, it has served me well. As a family member, friend and partner, not always. Some of my co-dependent tendencies are linked to being an empath. I differentiate between being empathetic which indicates a deep caring for others and being an empath which sometimes feels like I am an oversaturated sponge that soaks up both joys and sorrows of others.”
Yesterday, a long time friend who knows me well, posted this query on her FB page, “Question. How are you empaths doing? How do you manage all the feelings right now?” I responded right away, since we had spoken on the phone either that day or the day before on that very subject, “As I’ve shared with you, I’m struggling. Taking in too much. As a therapist I need to be mindful about that anyway. With the added craziness in the world, even more so. Prayer, music, writing, time with kindred spirits help.” Others of her friends had their own experiences with none of them totally disengaging, but some version of self sustaining thoughts and behaviors.
What is happening in this country, and by extension, in the world, is by design. The intention of the architects of this administration (both in and out of the White House), is to keep us on our toes or cowering under the covers. Inundating us with a barrage of offenses and hell-influenced threats, is intended to exhaust us, sucking the wind out of us. Even the strongest, most resilient among us, feel depleted at times. I count myself in that number. It’s not grandiose to say that the people in my life count on me to be ‘on’, to be a haven (“Come in, she said, I’ll give you, shelter from the storm.”-thanks, Bob Dylan) and to bolster those who falter. I expect that of myself too.
Each morning, I ask for my ‘marching orders’ as I set intention to have life altering conversations with people that could lead to a better outcome for them and all life on the planet. In the Jewish tradition in which I was raised, it is called Tikkun Olam which translates to ‘repair of the world.’ I had an interaction at the gym last week, with someone who, in my infinite wisdom, I thought could benefit from a wake up call, “Just got off the bike with my heart rate higher than it would normally be following a conversation with a 70 something retired military dude who coached kids, who is a grandfather. The conversation started out cordially, and he was talking about visiting Minneapolis in his travels. He said it was a beautiful city until the Democrats ruined it . Gulp.
I spoke about family members who live there and know what is going on. The conversation devolved into why he supports the attack on Iran and how it is deserved. I reminded him that there are other people’s grandchildren there, too. He said he didn’t care about them. I asked about whether he thought DT was a good role model for his grandkids with the lying and self aggrandizing. Didn’t want to talk about it. Asked about the way he treats the media. He thinks it’s fake news and Dems ruin everything. He says Obama and Biden were horrible Presidents, but couldn’t say why.
I told him about my friend Steve Nolan‘s book American Carnage :An Officer’s Duty to Warn and he shrugged it off. I suggested that he read it and Project 2025. Nope. It went on and it became more clear how futile it feels at times attempting to speak with people who see him the way this man does. I asked if there was any line DT could cross that would have him turn away. He said he was done and wished me well. I said the same. Now, to the rowing machine to get my frustration out. Arrrggh.”
This absolute empath is now listening to her favorite radio station WXPN and favorite show called Sleepy Hollow. Orinoco Flow by Enya and now This Woman’s Work by Kate Bush. Both are my marching orders for the day. Oh, and the title of this article was a playful take off on the Philly band The Hooters, All You Zombies.
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