As I learned to walk, my hero picked me up when I fell. He wrapped me up in his arms when I cried. I met the fairies and the gnomes, sprites and trolls as I played on the sun porch waiting for his return. Experience had taught me to be quiet and play with my friends until he arrived. I met pixies, fairies and elves, tree spirits and ghosts, kings and queens of other realms, and angels of all kinds. Breezes sang to me; clouds giggled my soul as the air and I communed in spirit. Love was in the air as well as tucked away in the teardrop within my heart. I felt at home with Mother Nature, yet alone among the humans. During the next few years, I was allowed to escape to school where I continued to obey and follow the rules and even met some human friends my age. We frolicked and played and enjoyed each other’s company until it was time to go back home and into my safe “supposedly imaginary” world. Homework, as well as my spirit friends and my books, was always a welcome distraction from the insanity of my human family. Life was better. Then at age 10 we moved: the human friends turned into unwelcome tormentors as I was the now the “outsider”, and my hero brother was too old to bother with me. I snuggled back into my inner world for survival until I met the celestial bodies!
At age 13, I sat in awe as I listened to a woman speak of the stars and the zodiac. My spirit immediately jumped out into the slides she shared, as I felt myself flying among the constellations. I was free. After a lifetime of patience, the word “Pisces” rang into my ears; the twelfth astrological sign in the zodiac. Individuals born under this sign are reported to be perceptive, emotional and receptive leading to high sensitivity. They tend to be dreamy, mystical and artistic living in the unseen realm often and many times are considered psychic. My questions had been answered: I felt different than those I had met because I am not only a Pisces, but a double Pisces. My soul soared as I continued to live in unseen realms while simultaneously getting good grades, behaving to the best of a 13 year old girl’s ability and writing the poetry at night that swam in my veins and was now regurgitating itself from fingertips to pen to paper. Author’s such as Madeleine L’Engle and her book “A Wrinkle in Time” would be contemplated again and again as I stared out of my window into the mystery of the stars and heavens. Where did we come from? Who else is out there? Where was the real Pillsbury Dough Boy who could hug away all my unseen tears into the softness of his puffy belly? Who and what was God? I sent out to the Universe all my unseen tears due to others not seeing what I saw; others not understanding how I felt; others not sensing my internal pain for the world.
So can you relate at all? Empaths are a species of their own.
The smells, the sounds, the different arms swept through my aura confusing my sense of self. Did I belong? Or did I not? And to whom did I belong? Bundled in a blanket once again, I recall the breeze becoming to me as the new set of arms carried me away. I smiled and they “cooed”. I must be doing something right, but my heart was broken and I wanted to go home; this was not home. So I waited.
The waiting brought new sensations and feelings. Hesitancy in the voices always rang out despite my on-going smiles and gurgles. But these arms seemed to enjoy the sparkle in my eyes and I was content. That night I felt the captured teardrop could be felt crying within my heart resounding through my soul as the darkness closed in; my own eyes cried. Days turned into weeks. I smiled, they smiled back. Then one day, I felt their pain behind the smiles and found myself in a stranger’s arms. Three months old and already I had been rejected twice despite being loved; I was lost.
So are you an empath? What is your story?
Well it has been an intriguing year so far and I have neglected my writing and my followers. I apologize and yet at the same time, sometimes we need breaks from certain areas of our lives. I am still unsure as to how often I will be here, but to change any habit, you have to change your action steps …. and so here I am .
My first new activity this year was to open a 2nd Etsy shop and then to begin to re-create my first one which is still in the process. This morning I read a blog post by Wayne Dyer about Follow Your Bliss. It really is the truth that we all need to follow our bliss for this world to be enchanting. My new Etsy shop; ValleeRoseDesigns has many inspirational items all created from my original paintings and one of them of course is entitled:
FOLLOW YOUR BLISS
And if you want to see more of my new shop, click here: ValleeRoseDesigns Or if you want to see my Liquidation Sale items and new chakra bracelets in my EnchantedRoseShop, click here: EnchantedRoseShop
But the real reason I am writing today is because something has been gnawing at my brain lately: Being an empath! People have been purchasing tarot readings from me for several years now through my Etsy shop and they continue to come back whenever they are in need of some support, clarification and/or guidance. So many of my clients/customers are highly sensitive and budding empaths themselves. It is easy to find shielding practices and definitions of being an empath on line these days but every person has their unique story that others relate to and suddenly have that a-ha moment in their lives. I am here to help as many highly sensitive people (HSP) / empaths find their a-ha moment through my stories. We feel, we sense, we remember….
Lights blared, voices hushed….. Then the words “It’s a girl”.
I never imagined during the nine months of security the complexities of the world to come. My mother had been nervous often and I felt much grief but all had been overpowered by her sense of love, the cute little sounds I heard her chatter and the loving songs she sang throughout the day. My mother was an angel in my eyes.
Now time to go “home” from the hospital.
“Home” created a confusing reality. The sterility of the hospital sensing the love of my mother became the lost security as a lone teardrop fell into my heart from my mother’s eyes as she held back the sobs of grief. This time not to be followed by her love and sweet sounds. I had been put up for adoption at 5 days old.