The Exhaustion of an Empath

NOTE: I wrote most of this back in December and couldn't figure out what the point was, or how to end it.  When we get there, I'll explain why I'm trying it up now.

Some of the things I remember starkly about my childhood are... they're not what I would consider objectively memorable moments.

For instance, one time I remember my grandparents were visiting us when we lived in Fort Smith (which means I was younger than 12, and probably much younger). My dad was making bread, and my grandpa, who was headed through the kitchen to go outside, asked, "What's that you're making? Chocolate chip cookies?" Dad explained that he was making bread, and that was it.

But in my brain, my grandpa wanted chocolate chip cookies, and this was a grave disappointment. Obviously, I know now that homemade bread is a great deal more exciting than cookies, but as a kid... I was projecting. I felt his disappointment, and I felt terrible, and I genuinely wanted to make chocolate chip cookies so he'd be happy.

As I've matured, my tendency toward empathy has sharpened and I've gotten better at it, but I probably still misfire often enough. And more than just empathy, I've begun to realize that I often internalize what I think other people's feelings are, and they become a responsibility to me. I know that some people intentionally push off their negative feelings on someone else (the whole "shite rolls downhill" thing), but much of my life has been my empathetically picking up on someone's negative feelings, and then taking it upon myself to mitigate them.

My first husband was definitely mad at me for eating a piece of Christmas candy once after saying that I wasn't hungry, and my brain turned that into that he was mad at me for eating period, and that he thought I was too fat, and... it turned out I was right. I hounded him about it until he admitted it, then when I was devastated, he accused, "I wouldn't have SAID anything if you hadn't BUGGED me so much!" As though it were hidden. As though it were my fault for being in tune with his energy and just wanting confirmation of my suspicions.

I know now that other people's feelings are not my responsibility. Obviously, I owe it to my fellow man to live in a way that isn't harmful toward them, and when I mess up, it's my responsibility to fix it. But feeling responsible to MAKE someone's bad feelings go away is not healthy.

For instance, I homeschool. I support everyone's right to choose how their kids are schooled (with the kids' input), and know that needs are different, so validate everyone's choices. Some people who think "I could never homeschool!" might then feel bad that they feel that way and I don't. That's one of those things that I have no control over, and I have no responsibility to fix. It has taken me years to recognize my propensity to want to do this, and longer to stop.

When I was younger, I lied a lot. I assumed until recently that it was to stay out of trouble, but realize now that I think it was mostly to keep people from feeling disappointed in me, and in turn to keep me from having to bear those feelings of disappointment into perpetuity. That might sound like semantics, but it wasn't the punishment that I feared; it was the cycle of feelings. (Case in point: I lied to cops about a vehicle accident because I was less concerned about the repercussions of that than of the disappointment I knew my dad would have that I'd been in yet another likely at-fault collision.)

What's still tiring, though, is that I can feel when the energy in a room changes, and sometimes I'm the only one. It can be an asset... The other day, a few of us were at the HEB Center with our kids riding bikes and playing, and while I was speaking with one mom, I noticed another mom quietly talking to her little boy, who was whining. 

"Does he want to play hide-and-seek with them?" I asked.

"Yes, he's just shy."

I told Mal, "He's playing now, so be sure to look for him, as well." 

The other mom said, "I'm glad you picked up on that!"

I pick up on everything. EVERYTHING. And even when it's productive, like keeping a little kid from feeling left out, just being in touch with everyone's feelings all of the time can be draining.

Last night, I was playing with Mal when Rudy started trying to dig the cat chaser toy out of the closet. I got it out, and Carol became interested... until James started getting up from the dining room table and clearing his dinner dishes. Carol was standing right beside me, but she wouldn't pay attention to the toy; she was focused on James. The cats get very impatient about their breakfast and dinner soft food feeding times, but we'd already done that. Then I noticed that Aish, too, was laser focused on James.

"Are they almost out of dry food?" I called. "They're acting weird."

They were totally out of dry food, which James refilled, and all of the cats went in to get a snack.

When I was little, I could not watch the scene in "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" where Charlie pretends to have found a golden ticket, but really didn't. The disappointment of his grandfather was too much for me. When the movie was on, I'd go to the bathroom or run to my room when that scene approached. I didn't have the emotional bandwidth to process it.

We recently watched the film (James and I; Mal was disinterested), and that scene isn't nearly as fraught as I remembered it being. So maybe I am maturing and learning not to internalize so much. I still can't watch real-live situations where someone is pranked or humiliated or put in an uncomfortable situation. Knowing it's real, knowing that it's not just a set-up and they get the golden ticket in the end and everything turns out okay, I do not like the discomfort and awkwardness that becomes mine in witnessing it.

Since we've been home so much, I've thought about this a lot. And I've had to learn some discipline. Actually, quite recently, I sent a letter to my former neighbors in Sherman. They built their house about two years after we'd moved there, and my dog was used to roaming a bit if I accidentally left the back gate open. I knew that the man did not like my dog, and maybe dogs in general, so I'd call her home again if she'd gotten out and I could hear him shooing her. But now I realize: WHY didn't I just make darn sure the gate was closed? What if she pooped in their yard? What was I thinking? So I sent them a note apologizing for not being a more thoughtful neighbor. I had to. I felt bad, and I needed to acknowledge my mistake.

But I am tempted to reach out in this way for situations that are totally inappropriate. There is someone with whom I was friends in Sherman who genuinely deserves an apology for certain things I did, even though I know I cannot make contact because this person is also not a safe person and dredging up old events would not lead to anything productive. Again, there are some people who have hurt me and at times, I desperately want to say, "What was going on here? I genuinely don't get how this turned out." It doesn't matter; I'm happy, they're happy, and we're not in each other's lives anymore. I just think that carrying feelings into perpetuity, even though they diminish over time, is part of how my emotional life works.

There's an interesting article here about being empathetic without "absorbing" emotions. One of the things it mentioned is not being able to watch violence in movies. When I was in college, a high school friend and I had gone to the movie theater to watch "Silence of the Lambs." I had to walk out and pace the lobby during some of it, repeating to myself, "This is just a movie. It's not real. This isn't really happening." I was so disturbed by the serial killer. I couldn't stay in the room. Then later, I was watching "Casino" with a friend and had to stop it during the scene where Joe Pesci's character is getting brutalized with pool sticks and whatever. It went on SO LONG. I remember sobbing, "We get it! He's getting beat up. Next scene!" Then another time when watching a movie and there's a scene that is played for laughs where this guy is being come onto by a very beautiful older woman, and when he realizes that her husband is watching them, he asks her to stop. She doesn't, and, again, it's supposed to be this really funny scene where he's yelling at her to stop, and finally runs away. She and her husband get a lot of mileage out of it, but I just started bawling. The person I was watching with then assumed that I had been sexually assaulted, which I haven't. But I could not wrap my mind around how someone begging for someone else to stop whatever it is that they're doing is anything other than horrific.

There have also been times that I've written about in this blog when I've just blown up. And they make so much more sense in this context. One of them happened when we were on vacation at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. My mom really wanted a picture of everyone who was there in front of Hogwarts Castle, but it seemed like every time we were in the area, a few of us had gone off on solo adventures. My first mistake was that I took my mom's unfulfilled desire and absorbed the stress of every time it didn't happen, until I couldn't handle the emotions and just yelled at her when she gave me a look of distrust after she'd said she wanted to get a picture down a street in the park that I told her wasn't open yet. I freaking lost it. That was another bad choice, and it caused us to all break up for a few hours because my yelling at her upset my niece, which upset my sister, who then yelled at me about yelling at mom... etc. And the whole thing could have been avoided if I'd understood then that I didn't have to take on someone else's emotion. No one asked me to. It's just natural for me, if I don't pay attention.

I've gotten better at this, though enforcing boundaries for myself comes off as rude, I'm afraid. At Mal's 2nd birthday party, D was very visibly stressed at first (the second half of the party was much better). This was before any anxiety diagnoses, or any real therapy, and this was just how D coped. It wasn't my favorite, but it's what was working for D at the time. My mom hadn't seen D in panic mode, though, was was upset by it. I was trying to focus on Mal's party. When Mom came up to me with tears in her eyes, as though she wanted some kind of explanation or reassurance or something, I just put my hand up and said, "Nope. That's not what we're doing right now." And I desperately don't want to be rude or dismissive of someone else's feelings... it's just that I knew I had a lot going on with party stuff, and didn't have time to process someone else's stuff. It's protective to me and to the people around me, so I don't end up overwhelmed and having a meltdown. 

However, the other day my sister said something that made sense in light of the fact that I was in the middle of thinking about this and writing the blog: I don't know much sign language at all, and can't converse at the depth I'd like to with my brother-in-law and nephew. But I can typically understand what they're saying, even if I can only respond with "Sorry" or "Same" or something like that. She mentioned taking me somewhere when she was in college, and voicing when her Deaf friends would talk in front of me.. They told her, "You don't have to interpret. She understands what I'm saying." And I usually do. I think it's probably a combination of knowing some basic signs, and then the fact that the signer is usually putting so many cues out there that it feels intuitive to me, what they're communicating. It's probably a lot like lip-reading, but backward. (If I ever need to interact with a Deaf or Hard-of-Hearing person in any official capacity, though, I will definitely hire an interpreter, because "mostly understanding" isn't full and clear communication.)

OKAY, BACK TO APRIL 1! And, no, this isn't an April Fool's joke. It just happens not to be December anymore.

Rudy needs dental surgery. He has pretty advanced periodontal disease. Apparently most cats over the age of 3 have at least some, and his is bad. He's almost 12. He might have to have some teeth extracted (one fell out, which is how this came to our attention), as well as a good cleaning of whatever remains, and some x-rays.

D expressed frustration that I don't take Rudy to the vet regularly so this might have been caught before. Honestly, I didn't realize cats needed to get their teeth cleaned. This probably sounds extremely ignorant, and that's literally what it is. However, I've realized that the reason I only take the cats to the doctor when they're sick is less that I'm a medical minimalist (which I am) and more that we all know THE CATS HATE IT. And, guess what? I internalize their anxiety, too, so I'm kind of a wreck. I've been on high-stress mode since Rudy's tooth fell out Sunday. I actually wasn't super worried because Rudy is just so go-with-the-flow and good-natured, but he freaked out in the car. The fact that they set the appointment for the surgery more than six weeks away did not bode well for my coping mechanisms, so I was fortunate to find a different practice that will be able to get him in next week. The exchange is that he has to go in for an office visit first, so they're not planning a surgery blind.

Anyway, this is what happened with Mal's teeth, too. We went in when we HAD to. Maybe we could have avoided it, but I don't think Mal ever would have let a dentist clean his teeth. Ever. I took D to the dentist every six months, because D loved it and it was easy.

I felt no anxiety taking D to get the Covid vaccine, because D wanted it and isn't bothered by needles. Last month when I took Mal to get his immunizations, it was a whole thing, and I had to hold his arms down while he freaked out. I get that that's just being a parent sometimes, but it takes a lot out of me.

(Mal's doctor told me in the past that if I'd bring him in for well checkups more often, he'd get more comfortable with going to the doctor. If getting his hair trimmed, flying in an airplane, or trying new foods are any indication, that is patently not true... he tends to get MORE panicked the more often he does or is exposed to something he doesn't want.)

This would make me feel pretty weak and silly and maybe not responsible enough to take care of children or animals except for one thing: As I've mentioned, my empathetic tendencies are inborn. But for thirteen years, I lived with someone who tapped into that and used it as a way to control me. My life was about not upsetting him, so I could maintain my balance. In that regard, it makes sense that I'd want to avoid feelings of discomfort on behalf of others in order to protect myself. 

Now that I see this about myself, I am going to work on it. I told James that as soon as Rudy's stuff is done next week and we get him healed up, I'll schedule annual check-ups for the other cats. They've both been to the doctor with issues in the past couple of years, and so if they had teeth or any other areas of concern, we would have been told. It's baby steps, but it's a start, right?