I’ve noticed how often myself and those around me convince ourselves that carrying burdens is worth the weight (and the wait).
It’s as if we’ve accepted that feeling weighed down by life is just a “part of the deal.” We’ll feel light and good when we get the promotion, when the kids are out of the house, when we retire—there is always another mile marker before we get to rest and enjoy.
Is it ever worth it? And what are we carrying anyway?
Most often, it’s the people, places, things, and parts of ourselves that we feel like we couldn’t possibly live without. And I say this quite literally. I’m talking about the things that, when even entertaining the thought of letting them go, we’re met with so much fear that we feel like we’re actually facing death.
These “things” are what we build our sense of safety around—most often our primary relationships (partners, spouses, parents, best friends), our homes, source of income, and material belongings. But sometimes they can be aspects of our identity that we believe are necessary to protect ourselves—strength, independence, likability, privacy, intelligence—anything we’ve deemed “good enough” to catch us when the proverbial sh*t hits the fan.
We hold onto these things for dear life because we don’t trust that we’ll be supported if we let go. We don’t trust life, and we don’t trust ourselves. Without this trust, our very livelihood feels threatened—basically all the time.
I, like all humans, have had my own flavor of vices and crutches to maintain a sense of control in this wild world. Some are a little more trivial, like how keeping a perfectly decorated apartment made my historically missing sense of “home” feel a little closer. But others have embedded into the web of my psyche much more complexly, particularly in the realm of relationships.
Over the past several months, I’ve been learning to see relationships through a new lens. I’m speaking up more, spending more time alone, and letting go of people who I realized weren’t unconditionally supportive of my growth, my well-being, or my loving requests for healthy boundaries. On one particular occasion, with my mouse hovering over the “send” key on a goodbye letter I cried my way through writing, I felt like my heart was breaking beyond revival or repair.
This very real reaction is so extreme because it is, in fact, a death. But the really messed up thing is that it isn’t ours—it’s our ego’s. When we face ourselves with courage and challenge ourselves to let go of everything we’re attached to—everything we’ve told ourselves we “need” to be safe and happy—our ego panics because it knows it cannot survive the sword of truth. The truth that we already are enough, are lovable, and have everything we need for a comfortable, happy life.
From the other side of countless experiences like these, I can tell you it’s always worth it to push through this temporary pain. The weight of living under the thumb of fear (of loss, of losing control, of being alone) is a burden we need not bear any longer. Because what lays on the other side is an incomparable freedom. An unspeakably beautiful lightness. To the mind, it makes no sense, but the rising peace in the heart needs not ask questions.
What’s right for us will always make us feel lighter. What’s right for us is always in support of our freedom and peace. Unconditionally. That’s why, even through the tears of grief, we feel an underlying sense of relief when we let go of something or someone out of alignment. And we are all deserving of this feeling.
If you’re reading this and the stir of anxiety is tousling in your tummy, or the quiet voice in the back your mind is nudging you about a certain someone, job, or whatever it may be—you know what it is, and I know that you can do it. You can let go.
Trust in your deepest inner-knowing so you can live a little lighter.
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We all chase good feelings—I think that’s a given.
In fact, I think it’s safe to say that, for a majority of humanity, this is what we make life all about. Even when we do things that are hard—things we find highly unpleasant—we do so with the self-assurance that some better feeling will be born of our efforts.
I love feeling good; I mean, who doesn’t? And I fancy myself as pretty “skilled” at it. I’m a relatively happy person, and when I feel joyful it’s a whole-body, sunshine-out-my-ears kind of joy. Even more, I love making other people feel good too and will expend a great deal of energy to support them in finding it.
No problem here; right?
Because eternal states of happiness are about as elusive and mythological as “The Last Unicorn,” despite there being exceptionally less skepticism about it. Frankly, I think more of us believe in the destination of “true happiness” than we do in Spirit or God.
The main problem with chasing happiness isn’t even the impossibility of it. Rather, it’s the effect it has on our emotions the rest of the time—when we’re not blissed out.
I call this problem “emotional whiplash” and it goes something like this:
We’re going about our day, doing all our normal things—drinking coffee, going to work, checking our Instagram, meeting up with friends in town—when something surprising and great happens. Maybe we ran into an old friend, or perhaps we got a positive report at work, or we watched an inspiring Ted Talk—whatever’s our own flavor of a joyful experience. And when it’s happening, we’re in it. We feel great. Totally in the moment and blissed out. I call this the “emotional high.”
What’s the natural response to this? We want the feeling to last as long as possible, of course! So we feed the good feels to keep ‘em going.
I’ve discovered a few go-to ways for extending my emotional highs—including calling a loved one to tell them all about the great things happening or listening to hyped-up music. I distinctly remember going out for a “joy ride” in my car listening to my “Good Vibes Only” playlist on many occasion, even when I had nowhere to go. Some people go out for drinks to celebrate. Others might go shopping. We all have ways to light the fire.
None of these things are bad, per-se, but it’s important to note when we’re intentionally revving ourselves up even more than an original, organic experience.
Sure, it’s natural to feel more expressive, energized, and open when we’re on an emotional high. But the thing is, no matter how beautiful, exciting, or rewarding life was in that moment, no good feeling lasts forever.
Enter: emotional whiplash.
Because, as the old adage says: “what goes up must come down.” In other words, we crash. And, often, we crash hard. It’s like simple physics really; the height of our emotional high is directly proportionate to the depth of our following emotional low.
When we go chasing all those blissful, good feelings, and then further fuel them with artificial energy sources, we’re actually setting up the conditions for the direct opposite feeling we’re trying to create. We ping-pong between intense joy and intense exhaustion, and we never know when the switch is going to flip.
Here are some traits to look for if we’re experiencing either end of the emotional teeter-totter:
>> High energy
>> Open-heartedness and connectivity
>> Bursts of creativity
>> Heightened awareness of the senses
>> Easy joy and love
While the bliss of an emotional high may seem worth it at the time, chasing good feelings puts us at the mercy of our emotions. It’s difficult to depend on ourselves to show up for ourselves on a day-by-day, hour-by-hour basis in this condition. We lose our sense of self-trust.
Luckily, not only is there another way, but there’s a clear path to take the reins back from our emotions without compromising our natural joy.
The goal is to move from emotional whiplash to emotional equanimity.
This doesn’t mean we flatten out our emotions altogether, there is a natural ebb and flow to our emotional selves as human beings. Rather, we learn to not chase the “good” ones while rejecting the “bad.” We do our best to notice and appreciate when pleasant experiences enter our lives, and offer just as much presence and love to ourselves in times of challenge or sadness.
In this way, we might be surprised to find that our natural happiness comes with a sense of deep appreciation and ease. We don’t have to try so hard to feel good. It’s just there.
This is something I am challenged with on a daily basis, but every day that my intention to honor my natural feelings is in place, I feel the pendulum swing lessen.
Let’s free ourselves from the instability of emotional whiplash and remember that just being ourselves, at level ground, is actually a really good place to be.
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We leave for so many reasons. Lovers’ quarrels. Moving cross-country. University graduations. Even the slow passage of time simply changing us. The chemistry loses its magic. Surely we never intend for relationships to deteriorate, but that thing life puts in our path becomes undeniable—so irresistible—that we part ways.
I don’t even fight it. I’ve been at the steering wheel of countless turns that changed the terms of my connections (I’m a bit of a vagabond in that way). And when it happens that I’m on the opposite side of the decision-making, it hurts like hell, but I understand. I understand why we have to listen to the stirrings of our soul and let go.
We can’t carry everyone with us forever.
That said, I typically lean on the romantic, optimistic end of the spectrum of humanity. So despite how history reinforces this fact (over and over again), I’m still caught off-guard when someone who resides in my heart is no longer present in my life.
It took me over a year to come to terms with my first boyfriend not wanting to stay in touch after we broke up. I know this may be naïve, but I really thought we could work it out. I still cared about him and it felt completely wrong that I couldn’t just reach out to say “hello,” ask how we was, and celebrate the many victories he was surely collecting in his new life.
Did I do something? Is he mad? Maybe I should just reach out again…
I took it, as we do, personally.
Yes, I was genuinely in acceptance of the partnership’s closure. It was sad to lose each other, but I was in full support of the directions we both had chosen to take. I wanted the best in life for him, even if it wasn’t with me. What I couldn’t come to terms with was the disconnect between the deep care in my heart and the blaring absence of any physical expression of it.
Perhaps that was my problem: I assumed that heart and life residency are essentially paired. I assumed that by releasing a relationship’s physical bond, I must also release the love I felt for the parting person. This is a painful misunderstanding.
Because the truth is, I still care, even if I’m not there.
I feel this way for past lovers, best friends, family members I’m no longer in touch with, teachers—anyone with whom I made a genuine connection. Their presence floats into my mind from time to time, and I remember fondly how we brought laughter, late night talks, and mutual, loving support into each other’s lives. I cared so much. I still care. How could I not?
I still care if they’re finally sleeping better.
I still care if the city discovered the artist I always knew them to be.
I still care if their warring minds made peace with each other.
I still care for them to know how gifted and beautiful they are.
I still care, and so hope, that they feel safe and loved. Always.
When I listen to my heart, all of this is true. But what I’m coming to know is that we can genuinely care, and also be at peace with knowing we are not there to know the answers to these wonderings. We do not have to shut these people out or shut off our hearts just because things changed.
We can learn to trust that life, and the many people in it, will be there to remind these people that they are cared for. It does not have to be us just because for a season (or even many seasons) it was.
We can hold all this care in our hearts without the aching need to act on it. Love is not dependent on a relationship to thrive. In other words, we can love without attachment or condition.
There is a beautiful Buddhist meditation called Metta, which is a practice of expressing the feeling of “loving-kindness.” I’ve found this to be an immensely helpful means of keeping our sense of care alive without suffering around the loss. There are countless guided meditations of this kind to explore, but for simplicity’s sake, it goes like this:
Loving-Kindness Meditation for Healing Past Connections:
Relax into a comfortable, seated posture.
Take a few deep, clearing breaths, filling up the chest and belly, and then expelling all the air completely.
Then, relax and bring awareness to the natural breath, rising and falling in the chest.
Start by bringing to mind a person who was easy to love.
Visualize their face before you, smiling.
Then, genuinely send the love and care you feel for them from your heart to theirs.
Visualize their heart receiving this care from you, without condition or further action.
Next, bring to mind someone you find difficult to be in relationship with—perhaps a connection that didn’t end on good terms.
Remember the love and care you felt for them prior to that difficulty, and then send that love from your heart to theirs.
Then, offer this genuine love and care to yourself in the same way, visualizing your own smiling face across from you. Send your love out and back into your own heart.
Lastly, visualize your heart, soft and open, offering this sense of care to all people. Offer love to the new figures in the lives of those you’ve let go. Offer gratitude for that care, knowing there is enough love and care in this world for all.
Return your awareness back to the breath, and your own heart, placing your hands over your chest to close.
Gently open your eyes.
This is one practice that has helped me let go of loved ones without numbing out or tuning out my own heart. We can love people unconditionally, even when they aren’t in our lives anymore. In fact, that is what this world needs most, I believe.
When we can learn to care for one another—everyone—with all our hearts, beyond the confines of a present relationship, we may someday know peace.
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I have a pretty clear image of the “classic empath” in my mind.
She’s shy and sensitive and loves nothing more than curling up with a good book, a cup of tea, and a pair of socks she probably knit herself. She’s a gentle soul, deeply in touch with her emotions and sensitive to the feelings and experiences of those around her. She cherishes her solitude and the lucky few she trusts enough to love.
It’s a pretty picture—but it’s not that simple for everyone.
For those unfamiliar with the term “empath,” it’s a character structure built upon empathy for other beings. There are many other terms to describe this experience—including HSP, intuitive, “giver,” and more. Many consider it a gift, but also a challenge to navigate in our high-pressure, high-stimuli world.
Empaths have a few identifying characteristics including:
Hypersensitivity to people’s emotions, noises, stress, and stimuli of all kinds.
Emotional absorbency—taking on others’ feelings as their own.
Strong intuition or “gut feelings” about people and situations.
Loving and needing alone time.
Through all the pieces I’ve read and personal conversations I’ve shared, these qualities seem relatively undisputed, but one in particular I just cannot resonate with—introversion.
As sensitive and spongy as I am, I’m also (and have always been) a die-hard extrovert.
I thrive in relationship with others and need a boost of human interaction to keep my energy up during the day. I can’t help but feel an unending love for people. The truth is, when I spend extended periods alone, I actually feel heavy and drained—the exact way most empaths express their experience after too much socializing.
This is the paradox of being an extroverted empath:
We need human connection to thrive, but still feel drained after spending time with people.
We can relate deeply and personally to many people at once.
We feel a great sense of purpose from understanding other people’s experiences.
We need our alone time, but don’t always want to take it.
This is a highly challenging place to be in, but it’s the truth I’ve been trying to balance my entire life. Frankly, not all the “empath survival guides” out there speak to this experience and the unique needs of the extroverted sector of this community.
I’d like to change that.
How do we take care of ourselves as outgoing, extroverted sensitives in this life?
Here are a few practices that have proven helpful to me:
Some sort of personal breathwork practice is imperative to staying in balance. As an empath—especially an extroverted one—we are exposed to the emotional dispositions of many. So familiarizing ourselves with the feeling of our own bodies, feelings, and energy allows us to recognize when we’re holding something that isn’t ours.
I have benefitted from basic Buddhist meditation, self-reiki, and chakra balancingpractices, but the options are limitless. Find one that works for you!
2. Ground and center.
Carrying other people’s emotional energy leads to feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and ungrounded. Once we recognize we’re feeling this way, re-centering our awareness back to ourselves and getting grounded expands our capacity to hold space for others without sacrificing our own well-being.
Grounding is as simple as sitting in meditation and bringing awareness to our tailbone being supported by the Earth, or the simple sensation of our feet on the floor. We can also get grounded by spending time in nature, noticing all the sights, sounds, and smells around us. In terms of centering, I like to just close my eyes and take a few deep breaths into my heart and belly—visualizing all my scattered thoughts and emotions drawing back to me.
3. Let go of what isn’t ours.
Extroverted empaths are drawn to engage with many kinds of people, and naturally absorb thoughts and feelings that aren’t ours. For example, that sudden feeling of anxiety was actually our mother’s, that grief was our colleague’s, or that flood of love was our best friend’s. Whether or not the feeling is pleasant isn’t important—only that it’s not ours.
When we choose to regularly engage socially, it’s even more important to check in with ourselves and make sure that what we’re feeling is actually our own. Pause frequently and take a big sigh out to release anything that isn’t yours to hold.
4. Seek out smaller groups.
I’ve found that smaller, simple interactions are enough to fill me up with the human connection I need to thrive. We don’t have to be the fluttering social butterfly at a 50-person party every weekend to feel connected—in fact, more intimate personal relationships often generate the fulfillment we’re looking for more effectively anyway.
Have dinner with a few close friends, or meet one-on-one with someone to share a creative project. When I do find myself in spaces with many people—like a concert, party, or bar—it helps to have an “anchor person” who I know and trust to check in with if things start to feel intense or overstimulating.
5. Take breaks.
We have to be willing to take breaks alone to recharge—even if it’s for an hour or two—to avoid emotional burn-out. This has been a lifesaving lesson for me. If I want to be social after work, I’ll go home to make dinner, lay down, listen to music, or read solo for a little while before reconnecting with people again.
Meditation, or even a five-minute walk, is an incredibly effective means to do this when we don’t have time to take a full break. Finding (or creating) small windows in the day to reconnect with ourselves ultimately allows us to keep up the energy to support our extroverted nature.
6. Be alone in the presence of others.
Many of my favorite “me-time” activities involve taking myself out to enjoy things I love in public spaces where I don’t know anyone. Extroverted empaths can’t help but engage on a deep, emotional level with people we know, and this takes energy, but complete solitude can be equally draining. Solo time in public is the “Middle Way.”
I love to take my laptop to a coffee shop and write, or take a book of poetry to a bistro and enjoy a nice glass of wine. Others may like to hang out at the beach, hit the rock climbing gym, or maybe peruse an art museum. Enjoy the company of the strangers without directly engaging with them.
These are just a few practices I have found allow me to fully express my social, people-loving nature while maintaining my sense of balance and energy as an empath in this world. Are there any other extroverted empaths out there? I’d love to hear how other tips for embracing the paradox that we are.
https://i2.wp.com/raw-soul.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/abo-ngalonkulu-68397-1.jpg?fit=800%2C800800800Daniellehttp://raw-soul.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/logo-1.pngDanielle2017-07-18 19:14:072017-07-18 19:14:07The Paradox of the Extroverted Empath
I have been lonely damn near all my life, but I never gave up on love.
As a little girl, it never occurred to me that I would have to think, say, or act a certain way to be loved. It never occurred to me that it wasn’t normal protocol to throw my arms around someone upon first meeting and say, “I love you.” I wore my quirky little heart on my sleeve, and learned quickly that being wide-open and heart-forward was over the line of what was acceptable.
Most often, I found myself in the presence of many, but still alone.
Like a recurring dream, the same tearful conversation with my mother would arise. Age six. Age nine. Fifteen. Twenty-three. “I cannot be the only one who feels like this. I love these humans so much, but I cannot be anyone but myself. Am I not enough? Maybe I’m not supposed to love everyone like this…”
As the many years passed, I solidified this tragic misconception—love is conditional.
In order to be loved, we must be easy, agreeable, and emotionally “together.”
In order to be loved, we must be constantly available to the needs of others.
In order to be loved, we must do everything we can to keep our broken bits to ourselves.
As hurtful as these statements were to believe, I accepted them as truth because solitude hurt more. I took them on as my own, and they became how I learned to “love” myself, and how I accepted “love” from others—my parents, friends, and romantic partners.
But this wasn’t love at all. Relationship, yes, but the sorry fact is that most relationships we engage in aren’t built on unconditional love.
We’re all walking around carrying our own set of conditions about what qualities in others are (and are not) acceptable to us. Every day we are alive, we are learning and changing these rules based on what triggers us, what our resources are (time, energy, or otherwise), and what kind of life we desire for ourselves.
As much as we might aspire to exist purely on unconditional love, so long as we are human, we have needs and desires and these are, in fact, conditional.
When we commit to a monogamous relationship, there is a condition that we will not go out and sleep with another person. As coparents, we have a condition that our partner will pick the kids up from daycare and keep them safe. Even in the platonic realm, we have conditions that time is made to talk, that we’re listened to, and that our friend offers kindness or value to our life in some way.
This is completely okay! It’s natural and good to know what our needs are.
But here’s what I’ve come to learn: While we may not be capable of unconditional relationships, we can choose to love beyond condition.
This means that even when someone makes a terrible, hurtful mistake, we can stay in our hearts. We can see the humanity in that person (who is clearly hurting in some way) and still love them.
This does not mean we sacrifice ourselves by continuing a relationship indefinitely. Oftentimes, the conditions of the relationship will no longer be met, or we will grow the need to redefine what our conditions are, but there is always space for love beyond those terms.
After about five years of emotional, psychological, and spiritual self-reflection and healing, I am learning how to let go of the conditions I put on myself to be lovable. I’ve unpacked and set free those terribly false ideas, and thus, have opened my heart to loving myself beyond condition.
In doing so, I have had the extraordinary opportunity to experience this kind of love through several connections in my life lately. To be honest, I have been left in awe on a near-daily basis.
More and more beautiful humans are entering my life who are doing the same. People who are doing their inner work and are mutually committed to healing and sourcing the courage to live heart-forward. People who genuinely love me for every shade of who I am and accept my shadowy, unglamorous aspects. It inspires me to do the same.
From this heart-space, I wrote a letter to let go of a hurtful parent relationship. I said goodbye to a partner who I loved so incredibly much, because I understood that this chapter of his journey required the freedom and focus of complete independence. I have felt profound love for a person I’ve never even met (someone far away from me) on the basis of empathy and shared experience.
In each of these situations, I have chosen to love beyond condition. I love my parent beyond his presence and assistance in my life. I love my ex beyond the circumstances of our breakup or his need to walk his path alone. I love my new friend beyond the confines of distance or time.
There isn’t the slightest doubt that each of these people are worthy of the purest love from me—love that is greater than the terms relationship requires. I want them to be truly, deeply happy, and I pray that they are supported with what they need to experience it.
Loving beyond condition is not easy, because it requires a constant flow of faith and courage to hold the sadness of inevitable loss in our hearts every step of the way.
It requires a genuine sense of wanting the absolute best for someone, even if it means we don’t get what we want. Even if it means we have to let them go. We must look our own insecurities in the face when our feelings get hurt and choose not to run away or throw that hurt back onto them.
Relationships may be conditional; but, love lays on the other side.
I believe with all of my being that this is our highest human potential.
We are here to love beyond condition. We are here to love and be free.