The identical
nature of my pain and the feelings I get from others' negative
thoughts and expressions explains, potentially at least, where it
comes from. I was told that the pain I hold in my body isn't mine. I
understand it now. I was helpless to avoid the damage. Simply
fragile, even delicate, I'm loathe to admit (I'll get over it). But
I know that it was not a moral failing or cowardice that limited me.
It's been a limiting world, and I'm by far not the only one. It's
that understanding that will allow me to help others. Insisting that
I not see myself as one thus vulnerable to life's harshness not only
defied logic, it robbed me of the ability to find common ground with
many people over the course of this lonely journey.
Also delayed was the discovery of my work in life, which asks me to draw near others. Part of my inability to find my place has been that an aversion to working with others long ago assumed priority among my motivations. And this aversion was a direct result of my exaggerated reaction to the everyday social shocks of life (to say nothing of the un-exaggerated, bona fide jacked up stuff). It wasn't that I was choosing to be sensitive or dramatic, though, to be sure, I could have used some information about how to manage the avalanche of negative emotional stuff that hit me and my siblings as children. We all could. I know all of us are very sensitive, and we all have different ways of dealing with the memories. I realize now that I am the well. I take people's emotions into my body. It makes it easier for them. That's part of my function. A significant part.

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