Sometimes — especially lately — I feel maxed out.
As if my pain threshold simply cannot bear one more thing.
The news.
The state of our world.
The suffering so many are carrying.
It weighs heavily. Maybe you feel it too.
There are days when my tender heart feels at full capacity — like it cannot hold one more headline, one more story, one more ache. And so I do what so many of us do: I tune it out.
The hard things, yes.
But what I’m gently realizing is this… when I turn down the volume on the pain, I also turn down the volume on the beauty. On the humanity. On the invisible threads that bind us together.
Lately, I’ve noticed myself retreating into light beach reads, rom-coms, and easy playlists instead of my usual nerdy deep dives. I’ve been keeping busy with the mundane. And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with comfort (sweet one, we need comfort), I had a revelation this week:
My retreating doesn’t actually serve anyone.
Not me.
Not you.
Not this world that so desperately needs open hearts.
Last night, I finally watched the documentary Come See Me in the Good Light, about poet laureate Andrea Gibson navigating their journey with cancer. I had avoided it for weeks. I admire their work deeply, but I told myself, I cannot possibly add more weight to this already overburdened heart.
And friends… oh my goodness.
It was breathtaking.
I giggled through my tears — the full, unfiltered, mascara-running kind. I was cracked wide open by their poems, their courage, their generosity of spirit. Yes, there was pain. Yes, I sobbed. But the heaviness I feared? It softened in the presence of such beauty, creativity, joy, and fierce love.
Had I continued avoiding it, I would have missed being moved that deeply. I would have missed loving more. Learning more. Feeling more alive.
It made me wonder:
Where else am I closing my eyes so I don’t have to feel?
Where else am I armoring up to protect myself from sorrow?
And what might happen if I allowed room for both — for the and?
Because here is what I know, and what I remind my clients of again and again:
Anything deeply meaningful in your life has required vulnerability.
A softening.
A willingness to be exposed.
There is almost always a crossroads — one path offering self-protection and containment, the other offering potential pain… and the possibility of unfathomable magic.
We are living in a time of unprecedented information, opinion, and intensity. It is so easy to turn a blind eye to what’s happening in our country and around the world. And truthfully? Sometimes that boundary is necessary. We are not meant to ingest everything at all times. Your nervous system deserves care.
But when we become selective about what we allow ourselves to feel — when we numb the hard — we often numb the holy, too.
Here’s what I am remembering:
I can allow sadness without being swallowed by it.
I can grieve and still be grateful.
I can witness suffering and still stand in awe of humanity.
Where there is pain, there is also breathtaking goodness. They exist side by side. And it is in their coexistence that we find our deepest connection to one another.
There is so much out of our control right now. Truly, there always has been.
But when I turn toward humanity —
when I care for others —
when I serve —
when I stay rooted in love —
I add something to this world that hatred and harm never could.
And I add something to my own heart, too.
So this is your gentle invitation, sweet woman:
Turn toward your feelings. All of them.
Let yourself be sad when you are sad. Let yourself cry. Let yourself be moved. Let your heart crack open.
The cracking open is not weakness.
It is your superpower.
It is proof that you are alive.
That you care.
That you belong to this human family.
And in that openness, you will find the good light.
Always.