“And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~Anaïs Nin I used to think something was wrong with me.
I cried at the wrong moments. I before a phone call, only to find out the other person was deeply upset. I could walk into a room and instantly sense who was grieving, who was fighting—even if no one said a word.
People called me empathic. Intuitive. But mostly, I felt weird. Overwhelmed. Other. Too much. I tried everything to make it stop.
Therapy helped a little, but only on the surface. I learned the language of trauma, boundaries, and projection—but still, I felt like I was carrying more than just my own stuff.