Tag: Healing Empaths

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Healing

Brave Face

I walk the streets listening to music that makes me cry.

I suppose I will do this until I have made peace with my past and become all that I am in this moment forever onwards, but for now, this is me: and me feels achingly beautiful. Like snow.

To walk the streets in this way, releasing newly risen anger and pain, is the gasp for breath I’ve needed to take for so long. Was I holding my breath, all those years? What did I do with anger and sadness before I learned to tie them in a ribbon of apricot sun?

I am no different to the one who reads this. Each of us travel through childhood gathering scars we will carry for the rest of our lives, or at least until we face them. I am facing mine, now.

I am feeling the anger and the pain.

I am also feeling a greater love than I’ve ever known.

For the sweet little girl I was, and still am in many ways.

For the beautiful people who loved me. How they nurtured my softness, how they pained to see it tarnished by the hardness of the world.

This is the gentle home of me.

Please, come in, just the way you are.

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Categories
Life

Brave

I’m feeling such a tender ache within me, this morning. The aching quiet, I call it, this softness. This knowing of connection between humans and life, between humans and other humans.

Tenderness — more specifically, sitting within the depths of this beautiful, intense feeling with others — is something I’ve accidentally avoided in the past. I had no idea I’d been avoiding it until…oh, about ten minutes ago when I realised how beautiful it feels, and how much I’ve been craving it. And avoiding it.

I thought I wore my heart on my sleeve. I do wear my heart on my sleeve, so it’s easy to see how I’ve fooled myself. But when I really think of the years gone by, I think of that bright, bubbly sunshine I used to be…and I see that her sunshine was a wall. Of protection. A wall to keep the depth of intensity in. Or out.

I still get a little scared. I still want to run. But every time I run, I lose a beautiful, beautiful moment of human connection that could have changed two human lives for the better. Every serious moment I cover with humour, I suppose, is way of rejecting myself and the truth of what is asking to be.

Perhaps I’m over thinking it. But to me this is more of a feel, a feel that is running very deeply through me on this cloudy morning.

This tenderness is so lovely, far too lovely to live without.

From now on, I choose to be brave.

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Categories
Life

The Memory (trigger warning: some mildly graphic content)

The memory was of a young girl me, walking home from school with my Mum. We’d taken a detour to the supermarket. The familiar supermarket— that was very much like my second home—felt odd. There was a heaviness in the air. A darkness. And that’s when we noticed the white chalk outline on the pavement out the front. A human body had laid there only an hour or two earlier, and it hadn’t been alive.

I won’t go into details about the conversation that was had between me and my Mum because, honestly, I can’t remember. All I know is that when the memory came up for me the other day: I was there in that street again. Little girl me, feeling the violence of the scene within my body. At the time, as I stood observing the chalk outline (in an otherwise ordinary, empty street) it had felt as though I was within the violent scene, watching it all unfold. It felt like hatred. It felt like fear. It felt like confusion. It felt like murder— and that’s where I’ll stop with the details.

It’s the way I experienced it all as a feeling that has me fairly well flabbergasted, and tends to explain why it feels like my sensitivities have been ‘muted’ for a great deal of my life. Because to feel to the degree that my body was clearly capable…little girl me obviously had quite the time digesting the harsh realities of the world. No wonder my protective mechanisms chose to shut it all down, to a degree.

That day, I felt the heavy ache in the air. I felt the violence that took place out the front of the supermarket, I even ‘saw’ it on the blank screen of my mind, even though the violence was long over with by the time we had arrived on the scene. How could my Mother have possibly made all that big stuff feel better for me when she had no idea what was going on inside of her little girl. All she knew was that the questions started firing (and let me tell you, they fired. For hours after, they fired.)

There is no point to this post. Only to say that I think I’ve found another healing breadcrumb which has opened up an even more miraculous can of worms for me to work my way through.

I also want to take this opportunity to encourage you all to be gentle with your own yucky memories as they arise. And to tell you I’m here, guys. And I see you. And I really do think they’re all better out than in.

So much mushy (we’ve totally got this) love. xx Brooke

girl standing on grass field facing trees
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Categories
Life

What It’s Like To Feel The Wind

I had a big cry yesterday and it was all the lovely things. It felt like the rain releasing the pain of the sky— except it wasn’t the sky’s pain that was calling. It was mine.

What a gift they were to me, those tears. How they unlocked me, moved the energy of life up and down my back, swirling around my heart and into a place unknown. Healing for the girl I know and miss so much.

My beautiful soft girl.

She sometimes gets lost, and when she does I miss her so, so much. I want to always sit with her by the river and feel her wind as it rushes through me. I want to feel the greatest love of all—hers—as I sit among the trees and listen to the rustling quiet of it all.

What is it like to feel the wind of your own spirit? Have you felt it? If not, let me try to explain the feeling. I promise: when your spirit chooses its moment to tunnel through your bones—you will know. And with all of your heart, you will smile.

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It feels like a release of every worry that ever existed in your world, turning it into every worry that never really existed at all.

It feels like sensuality. Like freedom.

Like the deepest,

most profound

love.

It feels pure: like crisp, clear water.

It feels like a bliss that no external love could ever provide, and yet the spirit lives for love— to love, and to be loved in return. It lives to know every avenue of life. Every avenue of humanity.

It doesn’t ask questions, this wind, it just finds the softness of the body and whooshes, unclogging all the muddy pipes within, and planting the most beautiful flowers along the way.

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And so it is that I know the wind on my skin is the spirit of the Earth.

And so it is

that I know we all have that very same wind

inside of us, too.

woman wears gold colored blue gemstone pendant necklace
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