I’ve been taken to my knees a few times this past year. Sandy Hook left me weeping.
Uncontrollably at times.
I am a highly sensitive individual. I’m also a former first grade teacher. That tragedy cracked me open on so many levels.
I couldn’t write. I had great difficulty planning my programs and curating recipes for my clients. I had to hire someone to post to my Chocolate for Breakfast fan page because I couldn’t fathom posting chocolate ‘humor’ while mothers were grieving the death of their cherubs.
OUR cherubs.
And now here we are in the wake of yet another senseless act of violence. Yes, I know we live a sheltered life here in the United States. I know people all over the world live with this kind of trauma, daily. Still, I feel the anguish in my heart.
I feel rattled. I feel helpless. I can’t wrap my brain around these senseless acts of violence. I can’t understand why bad things happen to good people. I’m older. I’m supposedly wiser yet I’m still overcome by sorrow.
Why? Because whenever I encounter a tragedy—yours, mine, or the tragedy of someone I don’t even know—at a cellular level I am stirred. I viscerally feel the fear, the panic, the sadness, sometimes even the pain of others.
I know that may sound a little odd to some of you. I also know others share this gift.
We just don’t talk about it very much.
For me, growing up with this trait was somehow wrong. “You’re too sensitive,” my mother would say when tears splashed and body trembled. Today, I can’t even watch a suspense film with my husband. I pop off the couch and pace the family room while he says, “It’s just a movie.” He learned early on in our marriage that “feel good” flicks were the only movies he could safely rent. Oh, and foreign films. I love foreign films. As long as they’re not thrillers.
So why am I telling you all this? Because I want you to
honor those feelings
and feel your grief
and give yourself permission
to take a day off from work if you feel the need to regroup or to reach out to someone in your own community who needs your help. Do this in the name of all those you cannot help. Action absorbs anxiety.
Eat chocolate.
Or simply take a nap.
We are part of a much larger collective, you and I. We hurt. We grieve. We feel guilty because we are safe and warm and snug, listening to the rain splash against the window pane, while families we’ve never met suffer atrocities and grieve the loss of their loved ones.
It’s okay.
Be well my friends and take good care of yourselves in times of sorrow. You have a right to feel your feelings. You have a right to grieve.
There is no such thing as “too sensitive.”
photo: Angel of Grief, Metairie Cemetery, New Orleans (copy)
original stone, carved by William Wetmore Story, is located the Non-Catholic Cemetery, Rome, Italy
Please feel free to share your thoughts and take a moment to read this beautiful poem.
~a prayer for Boston by Scott Poole
To run
is to rise above the weak spirit
is to take on pain
is to push pain in the chest
with both palms
stumbling over garbage,
gravel, fragments of life,
is to say I will take you
on in the street.
Every breath of mine
is a battering ram,
shoving, crushing,
swinging a hammer of air.
I am a body of fast moving blood
inhaling you
taking you in like a tank.
I will consume your hate.
I will run straight into you
as if you were a finish line of joy,
picking up the fallen along the way
and you will never stop me,
you will never
stop me.
30 thoughts on “Bad Things, Good People”
Thank you for the beautiful essay and poem. I’m glad you’ve given yourself time to grieve and heal. I’ve been told many, many times I’m “too sensitive” myself. My heart breaks daily over the abused, the strays, the unloved, and unwanted. I understand. I think the world needs more like us. People with thin skins who sense and feel and don’t have the heart to intentionally inflict any type of pain. If we would all just pull down our walls and be vulnerable, if we could spend a second considering how someone else thinks and feels, it could make a world of difference.
Thank you, Denise. I remember listening to a talk by Leo Buscaglia, author of Living, Loving and Learning, a very long time ago. He was discussing the importance of literature in teaching our children about empathy. He talked about our children growing up in a world of privilege, sheltered, unlike many of our own parents who grew up during the Great Depression. I loved the connection he made to ‘cultivating’ empathy. I think about those words often as I reflect on the cultural trend toward hiding our feelings and being “strong” in the face of grief or sadness. I agree, the world needs MORE sensitive individuals.
I’m a sensitive too. Note that I don’t say “sensitive” but rather “a sensitive”. It’s part of who I am. A friend who has many gifts including being a sensitive taught me this. For years I thought that it was a weakness, but it isn’t. Thank you for sharing.
I like the way you phrase that, Betsy. Claiming it in a very powerful way. I’m going to remember that. Thank you for taking the time to leave a comment.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts Sue Ann and again revealing part of who you are. I too have always been criticized for being “too sensitive”. I have always cried at the drop if a hat. My aunt called me Niagra Falls. Till one day a very spiritual woman told I have the “Gift of Tears”. Somehow, that description turned my flaw into a blessing. Thank you for awakening that memory for me!
I love that reframe, Haidee, the “Gift of Tears.” Think of all the people who are missing that gift and the full range of emotions that come with it. Thank YOU for being so supportive of my work and showing up fully for yourself and others.
Thanks for the poem, Sue Ann. Today I listened to an NPR “on Being” podcast about nonviolence, mostly as related to the historic civil rights era. Listening to humanitarian Congressman John Lewis talk about the powerful forces of love, kindness, peace, faith, compassion and nonviolence was inspiring to me today after the events of the past week. And on Here Women Talk/Creative Intentions website, Kay Van Hoesen posted quotes from Anne Frank. Here is one I find nurturing: “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.”
Thank YOU, Keddy Ann, for pointing me in the direction of that photo. It touched me deeply and helped me find the words to communicate the myriad emotions I was experiencing yesterday. I’m going to look for that podcast and let those words wash over me as well.
ahhhhhh Sue Ann! you are such a kindred soul! I thank you so much for the permission to feeeeeeel during this challenging times. There is such a complex series of responses my brain gives me during these terrible events. My thinking function wants to go for the solutions… teach others how to ‘be with the dark’. To quote the giants, like Joseph Campbell and how he speaks of the necessity to move towards life rather than away during these horrible events. To say “yes” to life and show up. And my feeling function tells me to weeeeeeeep. To dare to enter the altar of grief… and let go into it.
For me the saddest thing to hear during these times are those who give up on the human race. Whose despair falls toward anapathy, a hopelessness towards living, or that humans are evil. Who want to hide and protect themselves from the world. I do understand, and yet if we can open to these places rather than close, we will be made stronger… and deepen in our compassion. We will find our way if we engage through the heart.
Thank you for this… “…take a day off from work if you feel the need to regroup or to reach out to someone in your own community who needs your help. Do this in the name of all those you cannot help. Action absorbs anxiety.”
Action also changes the world. Ours and theirs.
Thank you for your exquisite sensitive heart. yes… yes… YES to THAT in the World. The impact you are having is exactly what we need and want. What the world needs and wants from all of us. I feel so honored to be your friend and student.
Thank YOU, Kathleen. I feel your passion on so many levels and I have been honored to be YOUR student in working with (and being with) the dark in order to access the light. I love the words, “We will find our way if we engage through the heart.” We can’t give up on the human race. We can’t hide from our own humanity. I find I come from a much stronger place in reaching out to help others when I first fortify myself. I’m so grateful for the guides at my side.
Today, we are encouraged to take a pill to take away what we are feeling and keep on going or just keep ourselves busy. However, this is what we should be doing — processing our feelings so that we may move through them and above. In this way, I believe we will be able to make this world a better place. Thank you for leading the way!!
Oh Marissa, that is so true. Symptom = pill, for emotions AND for health issues. How will we ever know how to read the signs our body delivers if we keep masking them, denying them or pushing them away? Yes to processing those feelings so that we can move through them and with them. Thank you. I am inspired by you and how softly, yet powerfully you move through the world. I love it that you can hold both of those qualities in the same place.
Awakening to the beauty and underlying stillness of the early morning I gaze from my bed with wonder at the flowering trees. Then my mind begins the never ending questions. Why do the birds sing so early? What are they communicating to each other? Are they calling me to live live my life this day, this precious day? Then my mind leaps from gratitude to the fears… the life threatening illness of my little grandson, Boston and the world’s suffering on so many levels. Sometimes, I jump up and just get busy. Sometimes I contemplate. What is mine to do? Am I really too sensitive? All my life I have heard voices, “too sensitive;” “big girls don’t cry” or “you are trying to make me feel quilty with tears.” Now, I mostly let tears roll. I am grateful I can feel the full range of emotions with almost no apologies to self or others, knowing that when I allow the emotions, they will pass through my body and I may be wiser for them. Seasons of Life. Pausing and moving forward…pausing and moving forward.
Annie, I loved reading your words this morning and I can so relate to the mind that never stops questioning. I hope your grandson is flourishing under your care and that you are giving yourself permission to rally AND weep. Sending you light and love as you navigate the Seasons of Life. You ARE so wise and may you be wiser with each pause.
I feel things, events, & other people’s pain too.
My daughter rolls her eyes and asks, “Are you crying…AGAIN?”
Yes.
Yes. I. Am. Deal with it, kid.
I was recently asked what kind of a healer am I. My standard answer has been, “I heal through humor and compassion.” I think I might have to change it up and say I am “A Sensitive.” (Love that, Betsy.)
These have been particularly brutal times to be a sensitive. It really all started on 9/11 in so many ways – at least for me who is here in NY.
I stopped all TV in the morning in the house over a year ago. I don’t read the paper. I always have FB up so I am not completely ignorant. I have teens who have Twitter attached to them via their iPhones all the time and as a result I am never in the full dark. I like living in the shadows. I much prefer to live in love.
Thank you, Sue Ann for a beautiful piece.
xo
Maggie, so good to see you here. Thank you for your thoughtful response to this post. I, too, stopped reading the paper and watching the news. I know that shocks people and I have been accused of “hiding under a rock” but for me, “news = to dwell.” I rely on my husband to keep me up to date and I seek the sources that give me the facts without the drama. I prefer the BBC, actually. I like to listen to the news through the lens of the outside looking in.
I came across this post on Facebook yesterday and it speaks volumes. It was written by Cam Siciliano. I don’t know this man but I suspect we would be friends if we met.
“I don’t want to know his name. I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to know his life’s history, his back-story, who his family is, where he went to school, or what he liked to do in his spare time. I don’t want to know what “cause”, if any, he was fighting for. I don’t want to know why he did it, or may have done it, or what possessed him to carry out his actions. I don’t want to know. Because that’s what he really wants. I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him what he wants.
Put him on trial, but don’t cover it. Tell me when you decide to jail him for three lifetimes – because that number matters. That’s the number of lives he has to now pay for. That’s all I want to know about him. Nothing else.
Instead, tell me about the first responders who ran towards the fray, within seconds, fearless. Tell me about the ones wearing the yellow volunteer jacket, or the neon police vest, or even the ones in the regular everyday t-shirt who became a helper. Tell me the story about the first responder who held gauze over a wound until they made it to the hospital. Tell me the story about the volunteer who held the hand of the injured spectator until they got into the ambulance. In six months, tell me the story of those who lost a limb, who beat the odds, pulled through countless surgeries, and are learning to walk again. Tell me the story about the love, the compassion, and the never-ending support of thousands, millions, of people who support the victims here. Tell me their stories. Tell me everything you can, because they are the ones that matter. Tell me of the good that they have done, are doing, and will continue to do, regardless of… No, not regardless of, in spite of. In spite of that someone who would do them harm. Because that’s what freedom in this country means. It means coming together in the hardest of times, even in the face of unfathomable adversity, to make life better for all those around us.
Tell me the good stories. That’s all I want to hear.”
Hello Sue Ann,
I am thrilled I came upon your site, for I needed some words of wisdom today. I will explain why momentarily. First, I want to share that my son wrote the above shortly after the heart-wrenching events in Boston. He was not in Boston at the time, but he knew many people running as well as people caring for athletes. He shared it only with friends, but a friend asked if she could share it and when he opened it to sharing, it went viral. He clearly struck a nerve. It was quite unbelievable, and more than a bit scary! People’s responses were overwhelmingly positive, although there were a few negative responses that bordered on lunacy (hence, the “scary”).
Since then, I’ve been thinking about painting some of his quotes on driftwood(I create other driftwood/seaglass art), and I did a search for his piece; which is how I happened upon your website today. I will be sure to share your post with my son; he’ll be pleased.
Not only did my son have ties to Boston, but he knew people at Sandy Hook. One of his best friends was teaching in the building; thankfully, she lived to tell her story and is considered one of the many heroes from Newtown. She exhibited amazing strength and courage that day, and continues to do so in her teaching.
Above, I mentioned my need for words of wisdom. I was also a teacher, preschool special ed then middle school special ed. Last year, after 23 years, I resigned before the school year started. It’s a long story, but the bottom line is, teaching consumed my life and I ended up with health issues caused by stress. As with so many teachers, the kids were “my” kids, and their individual and familial problems kept me awake at night. Unfortunately, my sensitive nature did not always serve me well, particularly when dealing with surly administrators and difficult parents. Since I left, I’ve been focused on regrouping and restoring good health and a sense of calm. Of course, I am sad this week with the new school year starting. Reading your post and the accompanying responses lifted my spirit; thank you. I look forward to perusing the rest of your site.
Peace
Thank you so much for stopping by my site and leaving me such a heartfelt response to this post, Debbie. I love it that your son’s poetry went viral. Words are powerful and having a way to express them is a healing art in itself. I love that you are thinking about about painting some of his quotes on driftwood. I can so relate to your story about the classroom and how teaching can consume one’s life. That was my experience as well. I felt like I gave birth to a new set of children each year and I, too, was completely consumed by my passion. That lifestyle also compromised my health which is, to a large degree, why I do the work I do today. I’m so glad you found this post.
It is good for us to know what takes us away from our own peace. I too do not watch TV or read the news, and it is not about not caring, but self care. And when we are in balanced and calm, we are not adding to the evil but holding the balance, by remaining calm…in what ever way possible.
For me, giving attention to Evil, means they have my awareness and my now moment. Unless and until I am face to face with evil, it doesn’t do the world good to have me focus on bad things…when there is nothing I can do.
In fact, we who have faced our own evil and have survived, can show others it is possible to return to a new normal after tragedy.
Others who walked before me with strength and wisdom, and found personal peace, love and joy…..allowed me to believe it was possible. It is nice to see others touched by our pain, to know they feel our sadness, but it is also helpful for those that are strong when we are weak….to give us someone to lean on.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts,
Beth
Thank you so much for this thoughtful response, Beth. “It is not about not caring, but self care.” Yes, that’s exactly how it feels for me as well and I love that you claim that so powerfully.
Thank you for this post Sue Ann. Thank you for reminding me of the importance of allowing my feelings to surface and fully be. Allowing my feelings to be they naturally start to pass through me and subside. Its when I try to hide them that causes me pain. I love also that you say action absorbs anxiety. That is so true and so nicely put–it’s sticking with me. Thanks again for such an important post.
Thank you for responding so thoughtfully to this post, MaryJoe. It helps to view feelings as energy moving through us rather than with us. There is freedom in that, yes? So glad you’re here.
Reading your post feels like loving, comforting words from a mother — someone who knows our pain and wants us to grow, learn, and just be happy. TLC and permission to feel our pain and nurture ourselves. Thank you.
Thank you for stopping by, Kay. Permission is a theme that shows up frequently in my world, both in pleasure and in pain. It’s comforting to know we can hold both.
This is so gently and beautifully written. I, too, trembled with emotion during the Sandy Hook tragedy. Not only are we often taught that crying/sensitivity is weak, it leaves us with little space to reach out when we are feeling that way. I share the same gift of feeling TO MY CORE what others are feeling during tragedy, loss, grief, despair. Thank you for sharing so that connection could be felt, by me and others.
I always encourage my clients to sit with the emotions they are feeling, not to be afraid to feel them. There are always ways to move through it, when the time is right. But to sit with it and embrace it for a time is perfectly healthy.
I’m new to your site and look forward to checking back!
Peace,
Shannon
Welcome, Shannon. I’m so glad you’re here. I love that you encourage your clients to sit with the emotions they are feeling. I can only imagine what it would have been like to have a trusted guide at my side showing me the ‘strength’ in feeling those emotions as a child rather than crushing them out of fear of reprimand. Thank you for reaching out.
Sue Ann, your sensitivity was a blessing to me. Such heart. Such compassion. What a wonderful reminder to “feel.”
Sandy Hook disturbed me so deeply, and then what happened in Boston hit home for me, for that is where I grew up and the place I still call home. I have a dear friend who lost her son 2 years ago, possibly to the same guy who bombed the marathon. I admire her because she grieves and lives with the pain of her loss, yet she can still smile and laugh—and she marches on. It’s a dichotomy. Thank you for giving us permission to feel whatever we need to. And yes, I am eating some chocolate right now. : )
Hello. Just a quick note to say that the beautiful carved angel depicted is, in fact, a copy of William Wetmore Story’s original Angel of Grief that is in the Non-Catholic Cemetery here in Rome, Italy. It is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful tombs in the Cemetery and was carved in the 1880s by Story for his wife’s tomb. It was his last major work as he died himself soon after and is also buried there. It’s been copied several times and I think that the one shown here is in Metairie Cemetery, New Orleans.
Thank you so much, Mick. I will make that correction. I appreciate you stopping by my blog and all that you shared here.