The Power of a Word

Labels define us; some find freedom in theirs, while others feel restricted. For me, having one opened up buried inner strength I had long forgotten I possessed. One word, six letters, revealed that I’m beautiful just the way I am. That word was: Empath.

As a writer, it comes in handy that research is one of my hobbies. I go down rabbit holes researching everything from history to social issues. During the pandemic, psychology articles reigned supreme, as I read them often, daily, devouring the information like a starving polar bear. The topic of highly sensitive people (HSP) took the forefront as I digested facts that served both me and some of my children. This topic branched out, and I found my tribe: empaths.

Empath. I caressed it gently on my tongue, spitting it out and owning it. Years of feeling different, and now I belonged. Knowing other people like me, becoming overwhelmed by the world, and needing alone time to recharge was a revelation. The more I read, the more I understood. Finally, I felt authentic. After joining this tribe, my husband noticed that I seemed happier and more confident in my person.

An empath is someone who deeply understands others’ feelings. Five years spent in a sales/retail environment proved that I embody this word. One morning, I warned the new employee I was training, the next customer was angry, and I would take over. Eyebrows lifted, he allowed me to greet the customer and bring him back to my station. As soon as the words, “How can I help you?” were out of my mouth, a tirade of anger spewed forth. The trainee’s eyes grew wide as he watched the customer throw curse bomb after curse bomb. After calming him down, solving his issue, and sending him on his way, the new employee told me he was impressed.

The worst part of being an empath is that it’s exhausting, constantly absorbing the emotions of those around you. Family events, parties, a day at work drains my energy. Fake people are atrocious to be around, and they don’t enjoy being around me, either. As science fiction, as it sounds, there is always that moment that passes between us, where that person realizes I know they are not who they are presenting to the world, and no one wants to see their flaws shining back. I consider myself a kind person, but I don’t pretend. If I don’t like you and think you’re a fake person, I will be polite, not friendly. Keep away; I don’t want your noise around me.

Being an empath has forged strong bonds between my four children and me. My empathy lets me know when my oldest, now a teen, needs me to push her to talk or let her process more first. They don’t fear coming to me for advice or admitting a school assignment stresses them. I’m not the kind of mom that says yes to every question asked, but my children know they will be listened to, and I won’t just say no; I’ll explain my reasoning.

My husband understands when I need alone time and trusts my intuition. He is my voice of reason when the house of emotion shuts out my brain. Our marriage is odd to outsiders, and words fail me as I try to think how to explain this inexplicable bond between us. If someone recorded our conversations, they would be confused, I don’t hold back, telling him the nitty-gritty, and I appreciate the honesty he gives back.

Friendships can be a challenge because I care deeply and want the best for them once I let someone into my world. A half-friend, I can not be. Sometimes, I let people in, and their true colors shine like a neon sign, something I missed, and it hurts me deeply to sever that cord. I’m the friend you know who will listen, offer a shoulder to cry on, and will provide any help I can. Luckily, my husband is supportive of the unique bonds I form with others.

I read recently, “You’re not for everybody,” and that resonated with me. It was like sipping a comforting cup of chamomile tea for me. I’m not for everybody. Eyebrows raised and uncomfortable expressions are not something I find unfamiliar. I’m brutal, over the top honest, and I ask questions most would never think to ask while looking someone in the eye. My sense of humor isn’t always well received, and I can drip sarcasm. But the truth is, I don’t want everybody to like me, only those who appreciate me for who I am.

The best part of being an empath is how easily I can see the perspective of others. Strangers often feel comfortable confiding in me, and when I worked with the public, this was often a valuable tool to help me help them. It takes a lot for me to judge someone, and when your mind is that open, you meet people and hear stories that you wouldn’t otherwise.

Being an empath it’s a blessing and a curse, but it’s a label I happily wear. It’s brought me my tribe and has made me a better writer. The real, authentic me shines brightly now that I have a name for who I am.