I cried. (And not in the previously mentioned emotional meltdown versions of crying.)

I mentioned previously (not that I expect you to remember) having built a wall to prevent myself from feeling in times of intense emotion. 

And no, I didn’t omit a word.

I don’t mean feeling badly, or feeling scared, or feeling nervous. I mean feeling. I’ve learned to walk through difficulty without doing it.  If that sounds unhealthy to you, it is. I don’t recommend it as a general coping strategy. Anyway…

I’m an empathic person by nature, and if you are too, then you understand the magnitude of that statement.  The feel of a room affects me with great intensity. Tension, excitement, stress, apprehension, distaste… I can feel them all. They are palpable.  I can almost smell and taste them when I walk in.

When that’s who you were created to be but you find yourself in a place of frequent emotional intensity, something has to give. 

So, I built a wall.

I couldn’t be me and do the things I had to do if I allowed that part of myself to reign.  Sure, I still used it.

I can read a situation (or person) emotionally with a decent amount of accuracy, and even if I get it wrong I can usually ask the right questions to get things figured out.  That’s a pretty useful skill set.

But it comes with that constant sponging of what’s going on around you. I’m sure there are others who’ve learned to manage it in healthy ways. I just haven’t met any of them yet.

So, slowly, and without truly realizing the implications of what I was doing, I added bricks a few at a time until I had a wall just porous enough to let things in with out letting anything out. 

I basically shut off my emotional response to everything. It really helped in times of conflict or when I had to do something that was unpleasant or difficult.

It really sucked for my kids. And my husband.  And me.

It was a quick and isolating slide into solitude, no matter how many people were present.  I could (and can) interact on a superficial level all day long. Smiles, jokes, even words of encouragement can be shared without offering of yourself. 

I could take in what others were sending out, and let it rattle around inside the walls I’d built in my own heart and head. But nothing of ME was going to make its way out.  Nothing.

And so, I was alone. Not because no one loves me or no one reached out to me, but because I just didn’t know how else to be. I just… was. Just existing.

There’s definitely no joy in that.

And then, one day, I cried.  Like actual tears of sympathy. And over a TV show of all things.  That’s what makes it so incredible to me.

I was able to actually feel about something that wasn’t even real.  It may not seem like a big deal to you, but it was like the earth shifted for me. I had this moment of clarity where I realized the I had relegated myself to barren land, and I didn’t have to live there.

Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?

So, I can feel things again.  And that’s great. I’m re-experiencing happiness for the first time in a very, very long time.

But now, along with all the tiny rays of goodness making their way through, I have all these doubts, and regrets, and fears. 

And a list of about 600 things I’d like to do over again, differently.

So many times I was unkind, uncompassionate, harsh, or just wrong. Feeling those things doesn’t feel so good. They make me ashamed and uncomfortable, and they make me want to shore that wall right back up.

But I won’t. I won’t do it.  I won’t let that part of me win.  Because it would be selfish and unfair to the people I really love.  And because that’s not who God created me to be. I want a life richer than that, and I want my children’s memories filled with the moments of honesty and joy we shared.

I’m not gonna rebuild the wall, but I don’t think I’m ready for a wrecking ball just yet, either.