Or subtitled as “Why I can no longer watch MMA fights because that kick in the spleen hurts too much”…
I guess I was always this way, but never really noticed as much, because when you are the way you are, you know no different.
Then, life happened. Things changed. But I didn’t seem to notice…
Once in a while, the way a person in a coma will, I stirred. I had those moments of clarity. I felt like I was awake…but as it was, I was not. It was sometimes like a nightmare – where you think you’re awake, but NO ONE can hear you if you try to call out.
I remember after IT came back. I hadn’t had time to notice. I had recently given birth. For the second time. 100% natural, no drugs, no nothing. And yes, even as a pro natural childbirth advocate, I will admit…THAT hurt like HELL. But as quickly as it ravaged me, it was over. And I felt fine. I was alright.
Except for one thing…no one told me that this whole breastfeeding thing was going to hurt WORSE. Worse than the actual childbirth!
Oh, but it did.
And I was ready to throw in the proverbial towel.
So, I sat my sore, sad, nursing BUTT on the couch (no where else I could stand the pain of nursing, other than my bed) and watched TV. My surfer/MMA fighting hubby liked to watch things like Spike TV, and we watched one hapless dude after another get the crap kicked out of him, and with every kick, punch and wipe out, I cringed. And flinched. And literally shed tears of pain.
I could not figure out what the heck was happening…but then I remembered. I recalled that I’d had moments of clarity before, but quickly put them aside. I recalled that I had to be physically removed from the theater when “Jesus of Nazareth” was being shown – those spears being driven into His sides…it was more than I could handle.
I had once felt “things.” I never knew any different. And now, I was feeling them again.
…and that was just the beginning…or RE-beginning, as it was.
It’s kind of cool, really…if I can keep it in check, I can sit back and feel what is going on around me. But if I’m having an…shall-I-say, emotional moment , it overtakes me. I am reduced to a sobbing, wobbly mess. I WANT to express myself differently, but I just can’t.
I guess, the psychiatric community would have a hay-day with me…
So, after several years, many crazy life experiences involving much blood, sweat and tears, and a whole lot of research, I have learned how to handle the Empath side of things. I have also learned that my husband AND daughter (and a whole slew of friends and family) are also Empaths. (I know…the word sounds rather…Star Trek-ish. I get that.)
Blessings, Brothers & Sisters.
And now, you know. ❤