An Empath in this (Crazy!) World.

Dec 5

“Happiness if a fickle creature. A constant companion to some, hides herself completely from others. She’s been an elusive creature to me. But, here she is, finally, sitting among us, and I say welcome. I won’t mention how late her arrival is.”

Helena Bonham Carter as Princess Margaret in Season 3 of The Crown.

Navigating a content, fulfilling life in a sometimes (often) superficial, war torn, Hollywood, greedy, GMO filled, profit driven, social media obsessed, unpredictable world where lots of beautiful humans don’t even have their basic needs met can be VERY difficult for an empathetic human. Empathy has been an amazing gift and a curse for me. The curse was in the forefront for a while. It had me leaving movies (Blood Diamond) because I was crying so hard, walking the neighborhood saving as many earthworms as possible after a rainstorm & having a near panic attack in a Walmart imagining where all that bloodying packaging was going to end up!

The way my empathetic brain operated on autopilot was EXHAUSTING.

Relief. That is how I felt with the postpartum diagnosis. It finally gave me a legitimate reason to talk about what was going on in my head.

I had been struggling with low self esteem since grade 6 but I’d bet 1 of 10 of people in my inner circle would have known the mental abuse I inflicted on myself daily. I had an “inside” and an “outside” face. Knowing that made the internal struggle even more challenging because I was fully aware that no one knew the real me. And I was very aware that I was hiding her from others. The combination of extreme empathy for things I could not control, low self esteem, active imagination and loss of direction affected my life constantly and aggressively. I was exhausted constantly. It depleted my creative energy and literally kept me up at night so all I wanted to do was nap all day.

A defining memory:

When I was in my late twenties, (this causes me physical symptoms of anxiety just knowing I’m about to write about it for you to read) was when I was walking down Steven Avenue in Calgary close to the bachelor apartment I was renting. I had just moved from my born-and-raised town of Edmonton and was truly independent for the first time in my life. And that life was really fabulous. I had graduated from my 2nd college program that spring, I had a super cute, ideally located apartment, I had an awesome paying, a full-time job in advertising, everyone I loved was healthy & I had some fun, supportive friends.

That day, I knew I looked good. Not really one to invest too much time in primping, I remember that I invested a bit of extra time in my physical appearance. Unfortunately, looking good doesn’t equal feeling good.

And ironically, extra efforts in my appearance usually brought extra scrutiny. Putting on mascara made me feel more insecure than without.

I had a whole day of freedom in front of me to discover the treasures of my new Calgary neighborhood! It was a perfect fall day and even though I knew I was looking good (like I wish I’d run into the ex boyfriend that let me get away good), I felt exposed and vulnerable. Like a fake. Part of me wanted to stop at Macs for candy, walk back home, put on pjs and watch a movie. I knew I was fragile and vulnerable, however, I was going to do something with my day - mostly just so I could say that I had (to who, I’m not sure). I also knew very well the guilt I would put myself through if I wasted a beautiful day. Truth be told, it didn’t matter how I spent my time that day it would never be good enough.

I don’t remember having expectations (I worked hard on never having any) but I definitely did not expect the street to be as full of people as it was. I’ve never considered myself claustrophobic but I found I couldn’t take 3 steps without brushing up against someone else and I didn’t like it. With every (EVERY) person that passed, I passed a judgement on myself. It was fast and furious and I actually FELT the judgement. If you are someone who has never been in a situation like this, it might be hard to understand. But those of you that are picking up exactly what I am putting down - it’s a really scary place to be. It’s impossible to know now if I was making it all up, getting a sixth (sick more like it!) sense or picking up on non-verbal cues. It really doesn’t matter the roots of it but the reality I put myself in was abusive, unfair and super stressful. I was fully aware that I SHOULD be a carefree, young, independent, free woman but I simply, at that moment was a beautiful, pink, fluffy, sweet bundle of cotton candy caught in the rain. Completely disintegrating.

To add to my discomfort, anxiety and the weight of my self loathing, I was hyper aware and observant (credit to my brilliant, multi-tasking but yet to be understood ADHD brain, which I now call a superpower) of all of the put together, confident, laughing people walking past that I wished I could be. Every stranger, in my mind was living a better life than me. Happier than me. More worthy than me.

Each thought and observation was like a physical shot in the gut. I was mentally in a fist fight with myself and was getting brutally hit from all angles. A visual that comes to mind is the scene from the Disney cartoon, Alice in Wonderland when she was shrinking. Add to the scene thousands of persistent, unrelenting, tiny punches (or bee stings). With each stranger (without a clue if any of these people even possessed the type of characteristics that I admire so would even want to consider their opinion), I was absorbing negative judgement and I was shrinking into a tiny, weak, invisible, battered version of myself.

All of this was 100% completely self inflicted. Not sure where I’d be without my “outside” face! I don’t remember much after that but I did make it home and live to tell this (very non-Disney) tale. Fabulous Alice found a way out and eventually I did too. But it sure was (& still can be) a struggle.

Research estimates that we humans have about 40,000-70,000 thoughts every day; literally thousands in a blink of an eye. Mine were mainly negative and I was LISTENING to them and letting them run wild. I believed my thoughts and gave them WAY too much power.

Random therapists have described it as , “torture”, “abusive”, “non-stop”, “wow, you got a lot going on up there!”. Which, I have to say scared, alarmed but also relieved me every time I heard a word to define it. Each time I realized that someone actually UNDERSTOOD, it was like the deep, dark clouds had opened up to huge, billowy, cumulus (Thank you Dube for my cloud knowledge), and the glorious sun blazed through. The perceived sound of angels singing surround me so no other (probably negative) thought could penetrate it’s protective forcefield! Damn cool when that happens.

Empathy was a contributor to my abusive relationship with myself but I eventually defined the main culprit. Self esteem. For me, the lack of it.

It’s been over 25 years and at 47, I’ve discovered, researched and tried many clinical and unique ways to find, create, fill myself up with it. I have made it a major priority and now I’ve found enough self esteem to write a real, raw book about the good, bad, and ugly all in one place. And maybe make the journey a little easier for you or someone you love.

“Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!”