As I lean into my identity as an empath, I face certain undeniable truths.  First, I must acknowledge the types of energy with which I am surrounding myself.  Am I constantly around anger, or joy, or fear?  Whatever it is, I will take some of it in.  Second, as a mental health professional who has chosen to open myself to pain and fear, I must be a pro-active steward of my own energy.  Third (and the conclusion of one and two), it is vital to my health and nourishment that I regularly visit places where people are experiencing joy.  

I used to think of myself as an introvert, but now I wonder if I shied away from contact because of how much sensation it provoked in me.  I could call it social anxiety, but perhaps, it would be more accurate to label it as under-developed energy control.  Without awareness of my boundaries, I often existed in a porous state, taking in the flotsam of so many people around me.  

To those who feel skeptical, I pose one question: while your skin may appear solid, do you know what it looks like on a molecular level?  In truth, our bodies are largely open space, atoms held together by electromagnetic forces, but constantly colliding with the cast-off atoms and electrons of everything around us.  Given that we are colliding with the atoms of those around us, is it that improbable that we can literally feel and absorb the energy of those in our proximity?  

And, turning back to myself, I recognize that with a tendency toward depressive states – and a profession that involves working with others who are similarly oriented – I have soaked up this energy and slid heavily downward. Yet, the slide can turn spring just as easily. 

This weekend, I went with a group of friends to the Dave Mathews concert at the Gorge.  Right now, this group of friends are generally in positive emotional spaces, and as we drove along the mountain highway, I noticed myself become lighter, more playful.  Then, that evening, with the shadowy dusk descended on 50 million year old canyons, I watched as 20,000 people moved with joy.  I can even feel the warm tingle flowering upward across my chest as I type this.  

There, for the first time in so many months, I felt joyous.  I danced, and danced, and danced.  I danced so much that people around me commented on the joy that I was bringing to them.  I let go of so much weight I had been carrying, and let the joy of so many people, of such beautiful land, fill me up.  It was, quite literally, life-giving.  

So now, having returned home, I am left with the awareness that I must continue to seek these spaces where joy is abundant.  After all, I will be soaking in whatever surrounds me; if I populate my life with stressed-out people, if I reside in spaces that feel full of painful memories, I fill myself with this energy.  The choice is mine: what energy do I want to surround myself with?  

In the interest the play, I offer a few experiments to consider: 

  1. Talk to a friend who you consider to be especially joyous — ask them to tell you a story about a time when they experienced joy deeply, and then observe your body and experiment with breathing in their experience.  
  2. Go find a place where people are experiencing joy (maybe a concert, or a sporting event, or a dance).  Take a moment to notice how your body reacts to the cries of joy, to the expressions of energy on people’s faces.  Imagine breathing in this joy.  
  3. Take a moment to bring joy to another, by doing something for them that you know they like.  As you deliver this gift, try to be fully present to the other person: watch their face as they receive your kindness, notice their body, notice your body with theirs.  
  4. Pause and think back to a time this past month when you felt most like yourself.  Allow yourself to take that image in.  Remember how it felt.  Notice and savor how you feel in this moment.  See if you can enjoy this memory!