“Life is better when you open your heart
You don't always have to act so hard
Just be as you are.”
–Mike Posner, Be As You Are
*name has been changed
“I had a terrible dream last night,” I told my 10-year-old daughter Avery on a recent Saturday morning. “I dreamed Annie* passed away.”
Annie is a seventy-nine-year-old old woman we met at a retirement home last spring when Avery played her guitar in a music therapy session. Upon learning Annie had not had a visitor in years, Avery asked if we could “adopt” her. We’d been visiting Annie for several months now.
The news of my terrible dream caused Avery to abruptly cease her morning waffle-savoring process. She knew “bad dream” for me meant vivid images, tearing-from-your-bed panic, real tears, and racing heartrate. Avery knew my nightly dreams were more intense than my everyday reality.
“Well,” Avery said, her face softening. “We better go see her, Mama.”
It did not surprise me Avery knew exactly what I needed her to hear.
On the way to the nursing home, we contemplated what Annie’s disposition would be. Normally bright and cheery, there had been that one troubling time when Annie was hostile, agitated, and barely recognizable. Last time that happened, I’d almost suggested we come back later. Before I could, Avery kneeled down in front of Annie’s wheelchair and said, “Do you want us to take you outside?”
Instead of giving us another angry “what do you want!?!” Annie whispered, “Okay.”
I hoped Annie would be cheerful and awake this time. But if she wasn’t, I would follow Avery’s lead. She seemed to know what was needed in such situations.
When my daughter and I stepped off the elevator onto Annie’s floor, we were met by the typical mid-afternoon scene at the nursing home. Lined up in wheelchairs along the hall were fragile residents slumped over like well-loved dolls. As we walked towards Annie’s room, shaky hands reached out to us. “Stop and talk to me,” their faces pleaded. We greeted each resident who was awake. Avery smiled brightly despite incoherent sentences and long-winded responses to the question: “How are you today?”
At the end of Wheelchair Row was Annie. Dressed in her favorite color, Annie slept peacefully in pink.
“I think we should wake her,” Avery said. Noticing my apprehension, she added, “She would not want to miss our visit.”
“Annie,” I said softly. “It’s your friends, Rachel and Avery.”
Annie woke up with a smile. “Why, hello!” It was as if she had been expecting us. Maybe she’d dreamed of us too. I thought oddly.
“It’s a beautiful day outside. Would you like us to take you out?” I asked.
“Oh boy, would I ever!” Annie said excitedly.
Avery and I worked as a team punching security codes, balancing doors, and steering small, uncooperative wheels until we were safely outside.
As usual, I asked Annie her favorite questions relating to Bingo, Elvis Presley, her mama’s cooking, and her love of arts and crafts. Annie answered each question happily. Periodically, a butterfly flittered past as if adding to the conversation.
“Look, Annie!” I said pointing to the colorful insect.
Like a child she giggled. “It’s marvelous! It’s just marvelous!”
“How’s your arm, Annie?” I asked knowing it often caused her pain. She immediately grabbed it and winced. The first time we met her, she told us she’d fallen from an airplane. Although the nurses were skeptical about that story, it never changed.
“It hurts … it always hurts,” Annie said as she rubbed it. She told us again about falling from a plane, this time adding a never-heard-before detail. “I was in the hospital for a long time,” she said. “I was under surveillance,” she said secretively. Avery looked at me surprised. Like me, she wasn’t expecting that word to come from this precious elderly woman’s lips.
Annie leaned forward as if to tell us something in confidence. “They kept a camera on me all the time. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t go outside.” Her eyebrows burrowed as if remembering something painful. “I had an urge to leave,” she said, “but they wouldn’t let me.”
“Oh, that must have been terrible,” Avery sympathized as I struggled with what to say.
Annie looked up, surprised almost – and relieved – by Avery’s response. Perhaps her pain and her story had been dismissed again and again and today she was finally heard.
We pulled out the watercolor paints knowing it was one of Annie’s favorite activities. I made a flower for Annie to paint inside. But after a few strokes, Annie handed the brush to me. I added her favorite colors to the picture.
“What do you think?” I asked Annie.
“It’s absolutely wonderful! Just wonderful!” Annie rejoiced, but she was not looking at the paper; she was looking at the blue sky above her head.
Avery set down her own paintbrush and said, “Would you like me to sing one of your favorite songs?”
Annie nodded and began to sing along as Avery sang, “You Are My Sunshine.” About mid-way through the song, a tear came down Annie’s cheek. As she wiped it away, Avery kept singing.
In a matter of forty-five minutes, this precious woman had experienced a gamut of emotions: child-like joy, intense fear, pain, relief, and sadness. I was intrigued by the way my daughter stayed steady through them all. Annie’s swings of emotion and bouts of pain did not spring Avery into action, nor did they upset her or make her uncomfortable. They were just emotions, and Avery was willing to take them alongside her friend.
I reached up and felt the exquisite gold charm that hung from my neck. It was given to me at a recent speaking event in California. It was a handmade piece by a talented and grateful mother of a child with autism. The medallion read: “I feel it all.” When Dana gave it to me, she said she knew I’d understand.
She was right. Not only did I understand, I felt understood. “I feel it all” are words I know well – sometimes too well. I’ve always been highly sensitive, and for decades I tried to tone my feelings down, reign them in, toughen them up. But over the past few years, Avery has altered my perception of being a deep feeler. Her acceptance has helped me see my sensitivity as a gift and part of who I am. When I am moved to tears at animal shelters, churches, swim meets, and guitar recitals … when I am moved to tears by speeches of hope, stories of pain, well-written songs, horrible dreams, and beautiful sunsets … when I am moved to tears at inopportune times and inappropriate places, one daughter tries to fix or subdue before anyone notices while the other daughter says, “It’s okay. Cry if you need to. That’s just who you are, Mama.”
It did not surprise me that Avery was leery when I told her a reader of my blog thought they might be related to Annie and would be sending a friend to visit her.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said skeptically. “They won’t know how to talk to her. They won’t understand her.”
“What do you mean?” I asked curiously.
“To just let her talk, even if it doesn’t make sense. Don’t try to correct her if she says she fell out of an airplane or dated Elvis. Don’t try to stop her tears if she cries or try to distract her from her sadness,” said Annie’s advocate with conviction. “Just let her feel what she feels.”
Just let her feel what she feels
And as I do several times as day, I thanked God for this child who teaches me so much about loving others well.
Sometimes other people’s emotions, struggles, memories, and grief are too much for us. Perhaps they make us feel uncomfortable or we feel helpless to “fix it” or we don’t know what to say so we distance ourselves. But what people most need in their feeling moment is for us to get close, stay steady, and let them feel what they feel.
And with that, I want to offer a bit of validation to you, dear ones:
First, to the feelers of the world:
We need you, those who feel it all. Your visible emotion reminds us what it means to be human. Please don’t wipe those tears; wear them proudly as your badge of honor. Your ability to feel it all is what enables you to create words, art, music, organizations, and conversations that connect, unify, and strengthen us.
Next, to the pain companions of the world:
We need you, those who sit with the deep feelers. To see, hear, and accept strong emotions without trying to fix them or push them away is a critical role. You are healers, encouragers, and light protectors who literally save a life each time you sit with someone else’s pain.
And finally, to those who are a bit numb, a bit out of touch with their emotions today:
If you suspect the feeling part of your soul has been suppressed, shamed, numbed, or dismissed far too long, today is a good day to rouse it awake and bring it into the sunshine …
Look at the changing colors of the leaves on the tree; let gratitude for what has been and what is to come fill your heart to the point of tears.
Watch your loved ones, young or old, doing what they do best; let your love for them spill out onto your cheeks.
Look at your hands; recognize that they’ve nurtured, sacrificed, worked, and worried. Let peace drip into those hands as you relish your quiet accomplishments.
Notice your thoughts. How do you really feel today? Reflect on your memories. What is your happiest memory? What is your most painful one? Close your eyes and dream. What is your greatest hope for this day, for this one precious life?
Feel it all right now, dear ones. Don’t wait another day to let your feelings show.
And if you fear you’re alone in your tears, please know you are not. There is a young girl and an elderly woman singing a familiar song about life’s joys and heartaches. Take a look. Along with a wondrous sight, you'll see this beautiful truth: When tears of pain unite with a steady companion, hope is born.
Let’s feel it all together, dear ones, and love each other well.
***********************************************************************
Friends of The Hands Free Revolution, meeting you face-to-face is one of my greatest joys. Here are my upcoming speaking events:
- Mandan, ND – Spirit of Life Women’s Retreat, Saturday, November 12th. This is a free event. Click here to register. (I will also be available to sign copies of Hands Free Mama and Hands Free Life. Feel free to bring your personal copy or purchase one at the event.)
- Jupiter, FL – Think Better, Live Better Conference. Click here to be the first to know when tickets go on sale.
- Des Moines, IA – Every Woman Counts Event to benefit Count the Kicks. Tickets go on sale in February.
* Thank you for being part of our community here on the blog, on Facebook, & Instagram. I feel like every comment is a gift and a guide to loving each other well.
“I feel it all.” Yes. And I feel it to my soul. May I please know if I can get in touch with the one who gave you that charm?
Hi Dawn, last night I searched and searched to see if Dana had a website with her gorgeous jewelry and could not find one. All I have is her Instagram page, but I am reaching out to her this morning to see if I can get more contact info. Here is her Instagram page: https://www.instagram.com/danabdesigns/. So glad you love it too!
Hi dear one, Dana said you can contact at dbraidman@comcast.net! Love, RMS
Rachel, I wish I had the words to say how much this post has touched me. I have spent my life trying to feel less because I feel *everything,* which often makes me feel like the odd man out. Sometimes, I feel that the world wants us to be assertive and demanding, to lean in, but it’s just not me. I see a person limping or somebody sitting alone or an elderly person trying to reach for something in the grocery store, and my heart goes out to them. I am constantly rescuing bugs that fell into our pool, worms that have gotten washed out of the ground from too much rain, and many other creatures (or people) who look like they could use a hand. Most of my life, I have been embarrassed by this quality. At 44, I am starting to embrace it. Thank you for this post. And oh my goodness, how amazing is Avery! And Annie. And you!
Oh Amy, how I love you. Please, please, please do not change! Do not harden. Do not stop being a Noticer of the world’s pain and suffering, even down to the smallest of beings. I have to tell you, I feel so validated as I read your comment. Only my family knows this about me, but I don’t kill spiders that get into our house. My girls have learned that “mom will save it” so do not kill it! Mind you, I don’t like spiders and I am kind of scared of them, but my desire to rescue them helps me be brave!
You are amazing! I am so glad you are in this world!
My son is a deep feeler. I sit with him all the time while he is feeling things deeper then most. I tell him I am sorry he is feeling sad or anxious. Never do I tell him to get over it already or to stop crying. He is the most caring loving person I know. I would never want to change that.
I have always been a ‘super feeler’. I cry when I see animals hit on the side of the highway or when I read a sad story on the internet. I come across as much harder edged than I am. My childhood and life in general led me to develop a tough persona that hides many of my super sensitivities.
Life can be funny. I now have a daughter who is a ‘super feeler’. She feels everything so intensely and at 6 y.o., has a hard time regulating her emotions. Instead of understanding her I get so frustrated with her. I feel like I can see where life is going to be hard for her. I want to change her; to fix her. The kids at school already shy away from her because of her intense reactions to things.
Being tough helped me survive. But she has a very different childhood than I had. She doesn’t need to be concerned with surviving. I wish I could accept her sensitive nature. I guess I need to accept my own first.
Melissa: I can really relate to this; both the way you’ve described your growing up years, and having a “feel it all ” daughter. My daughter is also 6 yo and also has very intense emotions. I’ve also struggled with feeling like I need to “fix” her. I feel like this society we live in tells us we need to fit in a nice little cutesy box, and that we need to prepare our children for the same confined existence. I’ve been practicing telling my daughter several times a day, “God made you special , just as you are, and mommy and daddy love you just as you are.” It’s funny, because I know this is already true whether I verbalize it or not, and it’s so simple that I wonder if it will even help… but I’ve found that repeating that simple truth to her can actually bring her to tears. It is precious. Reading Rachel’s “hands free mama ” book has helped me learn to offer grace to myself and my children; and I know she’s written blog posts on loving our fireflies as they are; is there a specific blog post of yours you’d recommend here, Rachel?
Wow, thank you for sharing. It hurts being a feeler. This is such a blessed reminder to live shame free the way God created me.
Beautiful, as always. I’m so impressed by Avery’s ability to handle the often depressing scene at the nursing home. One of my grandmothers had early-onset Alzheimers, and at Avery’s age I hated visiting her – the sounds, smells…it was all too much (I’m one of those sensitive types!). I learned to handle it a lot better when my other grandmother finally entered a nursing home (at age 99!).
What really impresses me, and what I try to take away from your posts, is how you really SEE your daughter. I know it was a journey to get there, and I’m on that journey, too. Thanks to your posts, I take more time to notice the little things about my (little) kids more often, too.
This. All of this! ? Thank you for sharing your heart with the world. You are a light. I have a daughter who accepts people right where they are. It’s truly beautiful. I love hearing about your daughter and her kind and compassionate spirit. As a fellow “feeler”, I love your necklace! ❤️
Rachel,
I was just speaking with someone the other day about how I react to things. The words “I feel everything” were the exact ones I used. I told her that I wished, sometimes to be able to possess just a bit of denial so that I didn’t feel everything ALL. THE. TIME. She told me that it was a good thing, a gift. She told me that being able to feel everything also means being able to face it, deal with it, accept it. It means not holding onto things while they eat you alive.
I suppose you and she are right. While being this way is exhausting and difficult and painful sometimes, it can also be freeing, and helpful, and amazing! Thank you for this post. Thank you for helping me to feel, once again, understood and connected to another soul just like mine. Thank you for always sharing so much of yourself and baring your soul so that others don’t feel alone on this journey. Thank you for putting all of yourself into all you do, feeling it all, and raising such an amazing little girl who now understands the feelers of the world so much better…all because of you!!!! <3
Thank you for posting the song. Avery has a lovely voice. It brought tears to my eyes. I (a very sensitive person) used to sing that song to my (very sensitive) son when he was a colicky baby and beyond.
Oh my goodness…Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am also one who feels it all and often those feelings drip down my face. “It’s okay. Cry if you need to. That’s just who you are, Mama.” What a wonderful statement. That is just who I am too. Thank you. I feel like you have given me permission to be me, and it is ok.
I feel you! I am so tired of feeling things intensely. I feel like I should have scars running the length of my face from hot tears. It’s a painful way to live and I envy the people who can live life without feeling every little thing. It’s exhausting and I fail to see the advantage. In our society, tears are equated with weakness. I hate seeing that perception in people’s faces when tears overwhelm me. I have tried to harden my oversized heart. Indeed, I often feel my survival depends on my ability to do that. I’m trying to cultivate that ability.
I have a “feel it all” daughter, and I share the same trait. Some days I do try to suppress it, and some days I want to help “fix” her to take away her pain, but the pain goes hand in hand with the joy and the wonder, and I would never want to take away those gifts. That girl of yours is tremendous. What a wise sweet soul.
I love this post. I am absolutely a feeler and have worked hard to hide my big emotions in public so others aren’t embarrassed or find myself apologizing for my tears. It’s exhausting and I don’t want to do it anymore. I also love the charm and want one, but I can’t figure out how to find Dana except via Twitter (which I don’t have). I can imagine she’ll be inundated with requests, but could you please post (or let me know) how to contact her? It looks like she makes charms, but I don’t see her on ETSY…
Thank you for your words, the ones today and many more.
Hi Joanna, thank you for such beautiful honesty & vulnerability. I hope that today begins a journey of showing your tears as a badge of honor. I have been in touch with Dana to let her know so many people are interested in purchasing a beautiful charm like the one she made me. I will definitely keep you posted on what she says.
Hi dear one, Dana said you can contact at dbraidman@comcast.net! Love, RMS
LOVED this. Brought to tears, as usual, by your wonderful words. I’ve always had a soft place in my heart for the elderly, even as a young child. Thank you for sharing.
Wow, wow, wow. I have always been a deep feeler as well. Your post touched me so much…the kindness and love of it brought me to tears. It’s counter cultural at times to feel so deeply, and sometimes I think it would be easier to not be…but I wouldn’t trade it. Thank you for sharing.
This was so beautiful. I can’t help but think what a lucky girl your daughter is. You teach and encourage kindness, which is something we need in this world. She’ll always be a ray of sunshine to others, thanks to you.
Thank you, dear Laurie. I treasure that affirmation with all my heart.
Feeling it all as I read your precious words, my friend, and feeling like I’ve found a kindred soul! Thank you for this invitation to “come as you are,” as you’ve so lovingly said before. I’m grateful for the understanding you offer here, and the permission to be who we are meant to be:) hugs, friend.
That Avery! She is a gem! Love this, I am a feeler too. Thank you.
Thank you for this. Your words always arrive just at the right time for me…as if on cue. Bless your sweet daughter too. I have worked in nursing homes and with the elderly for years. Not many children feel comfortable in that environment. Thank heavens your beautiful girl does…she’s a gift.
Incredible story of love! Thank you!
How can I purchase one of those necklaces?! I feel like I need to buy one and wear it…to remind myself. My daughter feels it all and shows all her emotions continually. At times I get frustrated with her but thanks to you I take a deep breath and say yes and take the time to listen. Not brush her off or rush her like I used to. Thank you!
Hi dear one, Dana said you can contact at dbraidman@comcast.net! Love, RMS
Dear Rachel,
One of my best friends was killed today. I turned to the one who I know can comfort me, my loving God. As I sat in the chapel of my church, I read your blog which came through my email today and as always, your words have a way of touching me: “And if you fear you’re alone in your tears, please know that you are not…when tears of pain unite with a steady companion, hope is born.” Thank you for your words. I, in turn, will share these with the wife he leaves behind.
I believe that my God speaks to me if I only listen well enough. Today, he spoke to me through your blog which I saw before going in to church. I saved it to read in the peacefulness of the chapel, and the message above came forth. Thank you, Rachel, for being His instrument. From one who also “feels it all.”
Oh my precious friend, I literally stopped breathing when I read your message. My heart aches for you, dear one. I am so sad for the tremendous loss you are experiencing. I thank God that He used me as a messenger in your time of darkness and aloneness. I hope you feel my hand in yours tonight. I know it will be a hard night ahead. Each time you wake, know that I am praying for you and your friend’s family. With love, hope, and blessings, Rachel
This is so me I just never realized it like that…I have always called myself a crybaby…not anymore…thanks for some great information….
A-maze-ing!
Dear Rachel,
What a beautiful piece. I am definitely a feeler. Just this past weekend , I sat in the Wegman’s parking lot and cried hard for what seemed like everything. For the election, for the hurting souls, for a life lost so young, and another lost so dear, for a busy weekend at work, for traumatic events at work, for the joys at work, for loved ones lack of understanding my view, for the pockets of hate and misunderstanding in the world, for my daughters so…
And nobody gets my pain. Except you. And not only am I a feeler, but a healer. Recently, I watched tears well up in a cancer survivor eyes as she shared a story with me. I stood and listened with love in my eyes. I resisted the urge to embrace her so as to not stop her story’s flow. I was so honored that this beautiful woman would share such a tender moment. She is a needed woman, making this world bright and beautiful one veteran at a time.
Anyway, after my big parking lot cry I turned off my FB account to protect myself from the pains and the distraction so that I might press back into my family and hopefully recharge. Thank you RMS.
I adore you, Lee Ann. I adore every single feeling, loving, listening, noticing, hurting, rejoicing, understanding fiber in your body. I am grateful you are part of our world & my journey. We’ll walk hand and hand together because together, there is hope.
I’m one of those who feel it all too. I’ve always been this way. When I was younger there were people who told me I had to toughen up. I believed them but it didn’t change me. I thought I was flawed. It took a long time to realize that feeling it all is a good thing even though it hurts.
I notice when a cashier for instance seems down and want to be the one to leave them better than when I arrived. Or when an older person needs help with something. When a lonely person may need a smile and kind word. When someone seems out of sorts. I have learned that I can’t fix it all but a little bit of kindness can help others.
You are beautiful, Lea. I am so glad you are part of our world. I am thankful you did not change. You are perfect. You are just what is needed.
Your daughter is a precious precious soul. Thank you for sharing her with us.
I feel it all too–and I’d love one of those necklaces!!
Hi dear ones, Dana said you can contact her at dbraidman@comcast.net if you would like a necklace or charm like the one she made me! Thank you for all the beautiful comments and affirmations on this thread. I love you all dearly. Love, RMS
I am a music therapist. I’ve worked in a variety of geriatric settings and completely got everything you said- from the pleading eyes of come talk to me to the unknowing-ness of whether it would be a good day or bad day.
Your girl knows. That isn’t innate in everyone. Some have to learn it- to listen, to let them feel, to let them talk. Just wanted to say that 🙂
Thank you so much for this lovely & enlightening comment. Thank you also for the important work you do in the world. You are a blessing.
Avery’s voice and spirit are beautiful. Thanks for sharing this heartwarming story.
Thank you, Ellen! I appreciate that so much.
I am absolutely in awe of your daughter!
Dear Rachael,
The Lord works in mysterious ways! After waking from one of those terrifying nightmares that leaves you feeling hopeless and helpless I stumbled upon this posting. If ever there was a time I needed your words now is it, Thank you. The similarities of our amazing daughters brought tears to my eyes. They are a blessing. So often when I feel no one understands my flurry of emotions here come my little red headed dream to unknowingly save the day. She has a way of stating my obvious need for emotions in a way that makes them acceptable. If there is such a thing as an “old soul” she is it. I often wonder if all she’s been through watching me endure cancer treatments and MS therapies has put her in touch with a deeper compassion than most. When I was in the hospital for months on end this tiny girl would stand at my bedside like a little soldier stroking my hair or holding my hand. I would tell her that things were going to be fine and she would just say, “It’s okay, mama.”
You know what….It is okay, Mama!
Thank you again for you postings, Jill
You have blessed me, Jill, by sharing a glimpse of your life. What a beautiful child you have … what a strong mama you are. I pray you are both blessed forevermore. Thank you for shining your light here.
Thank you for these words today! I am a feeler too and am sitting here teary eyed after watching the video. What a blessing you are to your daughter and to Annie! I have a daughter who is also a feeler and gets me the way most people do not. You inspire me to let us both express what we are feeling and not try to hide it.
Rachel,
I am highly sensitive and only in the past few years have begun to understand that there isn’t something wrong with me. There was a time I would go from doctor to doctor thinking trying to find the solution for why I could be so affected by sadness at times. I was convinced I had some sort of depression.
I ended up reading Quiet by Susan Cain and it opened up a new understanding in me. I hadn’t even realized that I feel both the good AND the bad deeply! Just as you described.. live music, reading a touching story, seeing the evening light on my garden, it elated me in the extreme just as something sad would do the opposite.
Then, I became pregnant. My new understanding and acceptance of myself suddenly turned into fear. I was terrified I would pass on this burden and my child would have to also navigate his sensitive emotions in a gregarious world of extroverts.
My son is 2.5 now, so I’m sure I have yet to see if he too will be highly sensitive. But you’ve given me a new hope that 1. We could both be sensitive and a special bond through understanding those feelings or, 2. He might be different from me and not only accept me, but advocate for me.
Wow. It makes so much sense. Thank you so much for sharing your stories and helping your readers see the sunny side. I am going forward with a new perspective.
This is so honest and wonderful, Jennifer. You have blessed me with this reflection. I am glad you are in this world!