As an empath, I feel all the things. It can be overwhelming. I don’t know how not to feel things, even if they start to consume me. Making things helps. Being creative helps. Writing helps. This poem is one of the outpourings of the healing process.

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When there are sleepless nights

And your life seems to diminish

Find the place that quiets the noise.

Seek a holy hill, a sacred circle, a thin place

Where you can sit and look your grief in the eyes

And give her your own name.

Sit with her until you can love her without fear

Until she leans her head against you and whispers

“You are strong.”