The people I read always give me permission to read them. Most of the time, they are not sure what to expect. Almost all of them end up crying. I often end up crying. Sadness is such a powerful emotion, and many people go out of their way to not feel their sadness. They bury it under something. I say something because the best analogy I can give is it feels like dirt or rocks. It really depends on how much they are trying to cover it. Despite their best efforts to bury this emotion, I always feel it. It’s slippery and strong, and it seeps through the cracks and presents itself to me quickly. I am not always sure why they are sad, but I can feel if it is old, deep, past or present.
Sadness is generally caused by stuff that transpired when people were children. Much of it was infiltrated by their mothers or fathers. Often it is another child or a system. I can’t feel which is which, but the person usually reveals the cause of the sadness for me. I can feel a connection to another person, and if that connection feels good, I know they probably didn’t cause the hurt. If the connection feels bad, I usually guess they are responsible.
The feelings and the messages I get feel as if they are traveling through water. Some things are clear. Others are murkey.
The other day I was doing a reading for a middle-aged woman who had clearly been through a lot in her life. She wore he struggles like badges of honor and I deeply respected her for that. When I told her that everything she does centers around her father, she quickly answered, “He’s dead.”
“Yeah, that’s okay,” I responded. “He just definitely affects everything you do.”
“No,” she said angrily. I was taken back and wanted to respond that her sudden denial of this possibility may ironically show I was on to something, but I shifted it.
“Someone can be a negative influence in our lives and still significantly influence the positive things we do. Your work ethic, your,” she interrupted me.
“My mom was my only influence for why I work,” she said. I have experienced this type of denial enough times to know exactly what this was. “My father abandoned us when I was young.”
And I believed her. But I felt him. He was wrapped around her like a blanket. His energy, his influence, her looks, attitude. It all was about him. But I also understood that she would need to forgive him if she ever hoped to heal.
“Yes, but your unresolved feelings about your dad are keeping you from having healthy relationships,” I responded. “If you forgive him,” again she cut me off.
“I am never forgiving that man,” she said.
“I could help you process all of this sadness if you,” again she cut me off.
“My father has not impacted my life in any way. If this is all you have to tell me, I am not sure what I am doing here.”
Unfortunately, it really was. Her dad’s (who I could feel the whole time and who very much loved his daughter but felt he was better not being in her life) inability to be a good father tainted every aspect, and she tried to recreate her relationship with him in every single male relationship she had. She had three sons, and she also tried to help a young man who was addicted to drugs and succumbed to the disease months ago. She had four different children with four different men. She had just recently broken up with boyfriend. I didn’t know anything of this until after reading her, and I was so surprised she could not see the connection.
I told her I was sorry and refunded her the money. It was only fair, but the reality remains the same. Denial is a powerful thing, and it really did cause me to reflect on my own denial and the things I chose not to see in my own life. It was such a beautiful and powerful lesson, but it still haunts me that I was unable to help her.
Love and Light, All!
The Wandering Empath 