(original published date: March 27, 2026)
The posture of the heart has been weighing heavily on me—especially over the past 18 months of trying to unravel the knots left behind by being hurt deeply. It’s felt like untangling a twisted pretzel, piece by piece.
And in that process, I have forgiven… but also learning how to forgive myself.
Because the truth is, the body doesn’t just forget once we forgive.
That part has been incredibly hard for me to accept. My spirit can make peace. I can lay it down at God’s feet. I can genuinely say I’ve forgiven. And yet, my nervous system still reacts.
And when it does, I feel guilty.
Like—if I’ve truly forgiven, why does my body still have a visceral need to defend itself? Why does it feel so exhausting—beyond physical or mental strain—to stand firmly where God has planted me, even when I have peace about His direction in my life?
Why does it sometimes bring me to my knees, crying in prayer, asking God to give me wisdom… to reassure me that I’ve made the right decisions, that I am still walking in obedience, that I am faithfully waiting on Him?
And even more than that—why is it so hard to stay quiet?
To let the noise of someone else’s voice, someone else’s opinion, become nothing more than background. To show love and kindness when everything in you wants to make them understand—really understand—the pain, the heartache, the neglect.
But this is the part no one really talks about.
There are many of us—sensitive souls—who have come to recognize God’s grace and mercy in giving us a second chance to do life with Him in the driver’s seat instead of the backseat. And sometimes, that calling looks like restraint.
It looks like choosing silence.
Letting people think what they want.
Responding with love when your heart is aching.
Holding back tears you so desperately want to cry.
To the empath reading this—you know exactly what I’m talking about.
And just like every quality we carry, being an empath has its weight. It’s easy to forget—even for a moment—that not everyone thinks like we do. Not everyone is sensitive to the needs, hurt, or pain of others.
To the Highly Sensitive Person—you feel this deeply. Down to the tears in your eyes. Down to the energy shift in a room before a word is even spoken. You can sense the storm before it arrives… and still be told to “just let it go,” as if your silence is expected while your feelings are dismissed.
And to the one who is both—empathetic, sensitive, and faithfully waiting on God, praying fervently and wondering when He will answer—
I get you.
I was reading Psalm 73, and God has such a way of meeting us exactly where we are through His Word.
If you haven’t read it in a while, go read it.
Asaph’s words felt almost too familiar. Looking at the world around him, questioning the injustice, the weight of it all, the way the wicked seem to prosper while everything feels so heavy for those trying to walk rightly.
And I could feel my heart racing as I read—because it felt so relevant.
But then… the shift.
“Nevertheless, I am continually with You;
You hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with Your counsel,
and afterward receive me to glory.”
And just like that, the reminder.
When everything feels loud, when the world feels heavy, when your heart feels stretched beyond what you think you can carry—He is still with you. He is still near.
“My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
So let yourself feel it.
The pain.
The sadness.
The confusion.
It is okay to feel.
It is okay to process.
And do not let anyone make you feel guilty for that. More often than not, that discomfort belongs to them—not you. It’s their inability to sit with truth, not a flaw in your expression of it.
Ego flees when truth is present. Don’t forget that.
And protect that big, beautiful heart of yours.
Because God made you that way—on purpose.
You are not too much. You are not weak.
You are rare.
And even in the moments when you feel alone in it—He is holding you steady through it all.
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