Those dear souls flock to your door. They can’t help it. You draw them in with your counselor/helper/listener magnet. (Think moth to flame.) You’ve probably tried leaving the magnet on the dresser, or stashing it on the top shelf of the closet, thinking that if you hide the magnet, you won’t ooze that helper vibe. That helper vibe clings to you the way hurting souls cling to an HSP.
That’s our lot. We listen. We counsel. We comfort. We care. That’s who we are, even if/when we pretend we aren’t.
And so you open your door, pour the wine, stoke the fire and fluff the pillows. Their shoulders relax, the furrows in their brow release and the flood gates open. And you sip wine and listen. You refill their glass and listen some more. You offer them sustenance or a hug and most certainly a tissue. You do this automatically. You’ve done it all your life. You don’t have to remember how to be compassionate. You don’t have to refer to your cheat sheet on how to be kind and caring. This treatment defines your character and drives your actions. It flows from you the way their story flows through those flood gates.
When they leave – after they’ve purged and cleansed and lightened their load – you are left holding their big mess in your hands. But more times than not, you’re still holding another person’s mess in your hands. So you end up standing at the door, saying goodbye, juggling 2 or 10 or 100 different messes from souls who came to your door for comfort.
As you close the door, you wonder how you will clean up the wine glasses, re-stock the firewood, and go about your day while still holding the messes from all those hurting souls. Continue reading →