The weight we quietly carry

What happens when you feel everything

What Happens When You Feel Everything

That feeling you get walking into a room.
That knowing, before anyone says a word.

I’ve lived in both of those worlds—clinical and emotional.
And I’ve carried that knowing in every one of them.

You think it’s a good thing.
That it makes you a good clinician, a good friend, a good human.
And maybe it does.

But eventually, it turns into something else.
Something heavier.
Everything starts to stick.

Every interaction leaves debris like emotional lint.
And you don’t know how to clean yourself off.
You don’t even realize you need a cleaning.
The weight becomes normal, and you let it build.

You carry that dissonance home in your body.
You accumulate it in the in-between moments.
And over time, it stays.

I became a vacuum cleaner with no off switch—picking up emotional debris from every room I walked into, every conversation I held space for, every patient, every friend.

Eventually, it got too heavy.
And I crumbled under the weight.

The world dulled.
I wanted to be alone—away from even the people who brought me joy.
My throat tightened before I spoke, just to keep from breaking down.
I was a shell of myself.

I tried the standard routes first.
They helped… but only partway.

Then someone mentioned the energy body.
And I signed up for a Reiki class before I could talk myself out of it.

That practice gave me something I didn’t know I’d lost:
Space.
Stillness.
A way to empty the dust bucket.
To clear what wasn’t mine to carry.

_______________________________

If you are someone who holds space -
for patients, clients, your people -
You know this weight, too.

You support them because you love them.
But somehow, their fear, their sadness, their stuckness… ends up in your body.

And then one day you don’t feel like yourself.

They tell you to take care of yourself.
To lean into self-care.
To fill your own cup.

Like you haven’t said those same words to hundreds of others.

But still—you think:
That applies to them, not me.
Too many people need me.
I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.

But you are.
Quietly.
Slowly.

Who holds the space for you?

You were never meant to carry more than your body could hold.
There is nothing wrong with feeling the weight of the world—and recognizing that it is too much.

You don’t need another productivity hack.
You need a place to shed the excess.

More soon.
~ A