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“Create boundaries. Honor your limits. Say no. Take a break. Let go. Stay grounded. Nurture your body. Love your vulnerability. And if all else fails, breathe deeply.”
― Aletheia Luna, Awakened Empath: The Ultimate Guide to Emotional, Psychological and Spiritual Healing

“Empaths feel more deeply, more intensely, and more persistently than those around us. We even feel what other people are afraid to feel within themselves.”
― Mateo Sol, Awakened Empath: The Ultimate Guide to Emotional, Psychological and Spiritual Healing

“Dear empath:

You are a being of immense depth, wisdom, and compassion. You are a pioneer and trailblazer of humanity, a model for others on how to be sensitive and powerful. All the strength and love you need is already within you, waiting to be discovered.”
― Mateo Sol, Awakened Empath: The Ultimate Guide to Emotional, Psychological and Spiritual Healing

“It’s this thing I have. I’m sorry if it scared you. I feel other people’s feelings. I imagine crumbling insides and splitting hearts, goodbyes that hang in the air before they break into tiny pieces. I hear words that aren’t said, the echoes of lonely hallways and hollow footsteps. I hear sobs that soak pillowcases when all the lights are out and the world is sleeping. I carry this inside of me, all of it.

I knew you paced the floor at night, trying to walk over all the things you didn’t want me to know. But I felt every wound you ever endured when I rested against you. I felt the ache that I have, deep inside of me, on your lips. Every time we kissed, I tasted a lifetime of tangled paths and bumpy roads woven with joined hands. Love isn’t blind, you see. I felt everything you were and could be, if only you stopped hiding in the same darkness you sheltered me from. I knew who you could become if someone loved you just right.
I’m sorry if that scared you.

Just in case you were wondering, I still love you and I'll keep the lights dim.

Come home.”
― Jacqueline Simon Gunn

“And so, even though she was loving by nature, as time passed, she craved solitude more and more, due to the tortures of her sensitive heart.”
― John Mark Green, She Had a Very Inconvenient Heart: A Tale of Love and Magic

“Intuition is a wonderful gift but it can be both a blessing and a curse. If you can easily tune in to the grief of another, it is very easy to lose your way if you have not yet resolved your own present or past trauma and grief. If you have not healed from your own grief and you turn around and give all you have to give, you will find yourself drowning. Soon there will be nothing left of you.”
― Kate McGahan, Only Gone From Your Sight: Jack McAfghan's Little Therapy Guide to Pet Loss and Grief

“Never underestimate the empowered empath. Our kindness and compassion is too often mistaken for weakness or naivety, while we are in fact highly calibrated human lie detectors...and fearless warriors for truth and justice.”
― Anthon St. Maarten

“Life has not been able to break me and it will not break you. Stand tall for you are loved, you are enough, you are able, and in the end we will survive.”
― Donna G. Bourgeois, Life with Ollie: The story of an only child of a single narcissistic parent

“We don't need to save the world; we need to love people. We can't fix anything for anyone, but we can listen. We can love. We can empathize. And as long as we can, we should.”
― MARY SWAN-BELL, Post-Its and Polaroids: Snippets and Snapshots of an Overthought Life

“Now, more than ever, our society is in need of sensitive and empathic people. Now, more than ever, the human race needs to go inwards and connect with the Soul again. As natural born healers, intuitives, and mentors, it is not only our responsibility but also our destiny to help humanity heal.”
― Aletheia Luna, Awakened Empath: The Ultimate Guide to Emotional, Psychological and Spiritual Healing

“I said yes because I didn't want to do anything wrong,”
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

“Resisting, identifying with, and suppressing emotions is the number one reason why we become so sick and overwhelmed as empaths. But the more embracing and accommodating you are towards the emotions you feel, without identifying with them, the more quickly they leave.”
― Aletheia Luna, Awakened Empath: The Ultimate Guide to Emotional, Psychological and Spiritual Healing

“The reason a person should love you is for you, not what you can do for them.”
― Shanna Star, #peoplelikeus: the intro

“I’ll gift you with feelings you didn’t know where there, that’s the pleasure of crossing paths with a mystic.”
― Nikki rowe

“Empaths have to be careful not to internalize others�� feelings, as this can cause them to feel anxious, sad, or even depressed. It can leave the empath feeling drained or exhausted. They must learn to set boundaries so as not to let toxic people drain them dry.”
― Donna G. Bourgeois, Life with Ollie: The story of an only child of a single narcissistic parent

“I often ask myself is how on earth is it that we empaths can survive under the domination of a narcissist? How is it that we do not become bitter and cruel as adults, with the role models
we survived under? How is it that being an empath stays with us and cannot be beaten down? We always get up again and keep on going, being an empath still. I also wonder, if I had not been so tightly wrapped up in my mother’s web and she had let me fly instead, what kind of person would I have been, then?”
― Donna G. Bourgeois, Life with Ollie: The story of an only child of a single narcissistic parent

“Manage your energy, not your time.”
― Anthon St. Maarten

“She is like magic,
completely untouchable.
Only those aligned with themselves,
know the secret to still feeling her.”
― Nikki rowe

“Empaths are absorbers, not observers. When you just observe, you are no longer an empath but just a sympath.”
― Monika Chhetri

“As painful as it is to be scapegoated by your family, you might be surprised to learn that there are positive, empowering aspects associated with the ‘scapegoat�� role, as described in the original biblical
story of the ‘scapegoat ritual of atonement.�� It may be that certain qualities you possess, such as intuition, empathy, and compassion, led to your becoming the target of family scapegoating abuse, as
paradoxical and confusing as this may initially seem.”
― Rebecca C. Mandeville, Rejected, Shamed, and Blamed: Help and Hope for Adults in the Family Scapegoat Role

“Her fight with alcohol had made for contentious exchanges and, if that were possible, even more contentious silences. Tony, empathetic to the point of self-harming, felt the pain of her abstinence as powerfully as anything he'd ever endured personally.”
― Val McDermid, Insidious Intent

“To je smisao veze s narcisom. To je poslednji nivo. Umreti da bi on živeo.”
― Tamara Kučan

“The word “empath�� jumped up in my awareness a few years after I had already been in the States. When I first came across it, it felt so woo-woo and new-agey that the “normal�� part of me balked at it. It was hard enough to own being a Highly Sensitive Person, words that had research backing them. But this empath thing, this was taking it even a step further. It veered off into ambiguous, questionable territory.  In fact, when I had first stumbled across the word online, trying to find a way to understand a part of my sensitivity that being an HSP didn’t quite encapsulate, I hadn’t even thought that it could possibly have anything to do with me. But the more I listened to other people’s stories, the more I followed the breadcrumbs, the more it started feeling that although the words that people used to describe their empath experiences were foreign, what they were talking about was essentially my own experience. It was just that some of these people connected that experience to belief systems I didn’t always resonate with while some others wrapped up the word in explanations that felt like the making up of a false story. But slowly, I could see that at the heart of it, beyond the cloak of words, beyond the different interpretations that people gave, our experiences felt similar. Like these so-called empaths, I often felt flooded with other people’s feelings. Their curiosity, worry and frustration jumped out at me. This often made me feel like I was walking through emotional minefields or collecting new feelings like you would collect scraps of paper. Going back to India after moving to the States, each time, I was stuck by how much all the little daily interactions, packed tightly in one day, which were part of my parents�� Delhi household, affected me energetically. Living in suburban America, I had often found the quiet too much. Then, I had thought nostalgically about India. Weeks could pass here without anyone so much as ringing the bell to our house. But it seemed like I had conveniently forgotten the other side of the story, forgotten how overstimulating Delhi had always been for me.  There was, of course, the familiar sensory overload all around -- the continuous honking of horns, the laborers working noisily in the house next door, the continuous ringing of the bell as different people came and went -- the dhobi taking the clothes for ironing, the koodawalla come to pick up the daily trash, the delivery boy delivering groceries from the neighborhood kiraana store. But apart from these interruptions, inconveniences and overstimulations, there was also something more. In Delhi, every day, more lives touched mine in a day than they did in weeks in America. Going back, I could see, clearly for the first time, how much this sensory overload cost me and how much other people’s feelings leaked into mine, so much so that I almost felt them in my body. I could see that the koodawalla, the one I had always liked, the one from some kind of a “lower caste,�� had changed in these past few years. He was angry now, unlike the calm resignation, almost acceptance he had carried inside him before. His anger seemed to jump out at me, as if he thought I was part of a whole tribe of people who had kept people like him down for years, who had relegated him to this lower caste, who had only given him the permission to do “dirty,�� degrading work, like collecting the trash.”
― Ritu Kaushal, The Empath's Journey: What Working with My Dreams, Moving to a Different Country and L

“The word “empath�� jumped up in my awareness a few years after I had already been in the States. When I first came across it, it felt so woo-woo and new-agey that the “normal�� part of me balked at it. It was hard enough to own being a Highly Sensitive Person, words that had research backing them. But this empath thing, this was taking it even a step further. It veered off into ambiguous, questionable territory. In fact, when I had first stumbled across the word online, trying to find a way to understand a part of my sensitivity that being an HSP didn’t quite encapsulate, I hadn’t even thought that it could possibly have anything to do with me. But the more I listened to other people’s stories, the more I followed the breadcrumbs, the more it started feeling that although the words that people used to describe their empath experiences were foreign, what they were talking about was essentially my own experience. It was just that some of these people connected that experience to belief systems I didn’t always resonate with while some others wrapped up the word in explanations that felt like the making up of a false story. But slowly, I could see that at the heart of it, beyond the cloak of words, beyond the different interpretations that people gave, our experiences felt similar. Like these so-called empaths, I often felt flooded with other people’s feelings. Their curiosity, worry and frustration jumped out at me. This often made me feel like I was walking through emotional minefields or collecting new feelings like you would collect scraps of paper. Going back to India after moving to the States, each time, I was stuck by how much all the little daily interactions, packed tightly in one day, which were part of my parents�� Delhi household, affected me energetically. Living in suburban America, I had often found the quiet too much. Then, I had thought nostalgically about India. Weeks could pass here without anyone so much as ringing the bell to our house. But it seemed like I had conveniently forgotten the other side of the story, forgotten how overstimulating Delhi had always been for me. There was, of course, the familiar sensory overload all around -- the continuous honking of horns, the laborers working noisily in the house next door, the continuous ringing of the bell as different people came and went -- the dhobi taking the clothes for ironing, the koodawalla come to pick up the daily trash, the delivery boy delivering groceries from the neighborhood kiraana store. But apart from these interruptions, inconveniences and overstimulations, there was also something more. In Delhi, every day, more lives touched mine in a day than they did in weeks in America. Going back, I could see, clearly for the first time, how much this sensory overload cost me and how much other people’s feelings leaked into mine, so much so that I almost felt them in my body. I could see that the koodawalla, the one I had always liked, the one from some kind of a “lower caste,�� had changed in these past few years. He was angry now, unlike the calm resignation, almost acceptance he had carried inside him before. His anger seemed to jump out at me, as if he thought I was part of a whole tribe of people who had kept people like him down for years, who had relegated him to this lower caste, who had only given him the permission to do “dirty,�� degrading work, like collecting the trash.”
― Ritu Kaushal, The Empath's Journey

“I know you are gifted my child, but are you all seeing? Can you see past, present, future, and all nuances of every person’s experience and life?��
She pursued her lips a bit, “Of course not.��
“So, without seeing everything, what makes you think your judgment is not flawed?”
― Evelyn Klebert, An Uneasy Traveler

“There are numerous Starseeds on this planet and they are here to illumine all of the dark corners of this earth.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson, The Book of Maxims, Poems and Anecdotes

“Jon reeled, as Lex’s dark psyche began infecting him like an emotional contagion. As usual, the physical symptoms came first: his heart rate ramped up and caffeine jitters buzzed down to his fingertips. He knew how this dinner would go, and after traveling for twenty-six hours, he simply didn’t have it in him. Thankfully, he’d had a lifetime of practice bowing out of social situations.”
― Richard H. Roberts, Tuning In

“I da znaš, mnoge žene koje završe s narcisom i saznaju istinu, imaju potrebu da upozore novu žrtvu. Nemoj to da radiš. To je njena bitka, njena lekcija koju mora da nauči.”
― Tamara Kučan

“The word “empath�� jumped up in my awareness a few years after I had already been in the States. When I first came across it, it felt so woo-woo and new-agey that the “normal�� part of me balked at it. It was hard enough to own being a Highly Sensitive Person, words that had research backing them. But this empath thing, this was taking it even a step further. It veered off into ambiguous, questionable territory. In fact, when I had first stumbled across the word online, trying to find a way to understand a part of my sensitivity that being an HSP didn’t quite encapsulate, I hadn’t even thought that it could possibly have anything to do with me. But the more I listened to other people’s stories, the more I followed the breadcrumbs, the more it started feeling that although the words that people used to describe their empath experiences were foreign, what they were talking about was essentially my own experience. It was just that some of these people connected that experience to belief systems I didn’t always resonate with while some others wrapped up the word in explanations that felt like the making up of a false story. But slowly, I could see that at the heart of it, beyond the cloak of words, beyond the different interpretations that people gave, our experiences felt similar. Like these so-called empaths, I often felt flooded with other people’s feelings. Their curiosity, worry and frustration jumped out at me. This often made me feel like I was walking through emotional minefields or collecting new feelings like you would collect scraps of paper. Going back to India after moving to the States, each time, I was stuck by how much all the little daily interactions, packed tightly in one day, which were part of my parents�� Delhi household, affected me energetically. Living in suburban America, I had often found the quiet too much. Then, I had thought nostalgically about India. Weeks could pass here without anyone so much as ringing the bell to our house. But it seemed like I had conveniently forgotten the other side of the story, forgotten how overstimulating Delhi had always been for me. There was, of course, the familiar sensory overload all around -- the continuous honking of horns, the laborers working noisily in the house next door, the continuous ringing of the bell as different people came and went -- the dhobi taking the clothes for ironing, the koodawalla come to pick up the daily trash, the delivery boy delivering groceries from the neighborhood kiraana store. But apart from these interruptions, inconveniences and overstimulations, there was also something more. In Delhi, every day, more lives touched mine in a day than they did in weeks in America. Going back, I could see, clearly for the first time, how much this sensory overload cost me and how much other people’s feelings leaked into mine, so much so that I almost felt them in my body. I could see that the koodawalla, the one I had always liked, the one from some kind of a “lower caste,�� had changed in these past few years. He was angry now, unlike the calm resignation, almost acceptance he had carried inside him before. His anger seemed to jump out at me, as if he thought I was part of a whole tribe of people who had kept people like him down for years, who had relegated him to this lower caste, who had only given him the permission to do “dirty,�� degrading work, like collecting the trash.”
― Ritu Kaushal: The Empath's Journey: What Working with My Dreams, Moving to a Different Country and L

“The word “empath�� jumped up in my awareness a few years after I had already been in the States. When I first came across it, it felt so woo-woo and new-agey that the “normal�� part of me balked at it. It was hard enough to own being a Highly Sensitive Person, words that had research backing them. But this empath thing, this was taking it even a step further. It veered off into ambiguous, questionable territory. In fact, when I had first stumbled across the word online, trying to find a way to understand a part of my sensitivity that being an HSP didn’t quite encapsulate, I hadn’t even thought that it could possibly have anything to do with me. But the more I listened to other people’s stories, the more I followed the breadcrumbs, the more it started feeling that although the words that people used to describe their empath experiences were foreign, what they were talking about was essentially my own experience. It was just that some of these people connected that experience to belief systems I didn’t always resonate with while some others wrapped up the word in explanations that felt like the making up of a false story. But slowly, I could see that at the heart of it, beyond the cloak of words, beyond the different interpretations that people gave, our experiences felt similar. Like these so-called empaths, I often felt flooded with other people’s feelings. Their curiosity, worry and frustration jumped out at me. This often made me feel like I was walking through emotional minefields or collecting new feelings like you would collect scraps of paper. Going back to India after moving to the States, each time, I was stuck by how much all the little daily interactions, packed tightly in one day, which were part of my parents�� Delhi household, affected me energetically. Living in suburban America, I had often found the quiet too much. Then, I had thought nostalgically about India. Weeks could pass here without anyone so much as ringing the bell to our house. But it seemed like I had conveniently forgotten the other side of the story, forgotten how overstimulating Delhi had always been for me. There was, of course, the familiar sensory overload all around -- the continuous honking of horns, the laborers working noisily in the house next door, the continuous ringing of the bell as different people came and went -- the dhobi taking the clothes for ironing, the koodawalla come to pick up the daily trash, the delivery boy delivering groceries from the neighborhood kiraana store. But apart from these interruptions, inconveniences and overstimulations, there was also something more. In Delhi, every day, more lives touched mine in a day than they did in weeks in America. Going back, I could see, clearly for the first time, how much this sensory overload cost me and how much other people’s feelings leaked into mine, so much so that I almost felt them in my body. I could see that the koodawalla, the one I had always liked, the one from some kind of a “lower caste,�� had changed in these past few years. He was angry now, unlike the calm resignation, almost acceptance he had carried inside him before. His anger seemed to jump out at me, as if he thought I was part of a whole tribe of people who had kept people like him down for years, who had relegated him to this lower caste, who had only given him the permission to do “dirty,�� degrading work, like collecting the trash.”
― Ritu Kaushal, The Empath's Journey: What Working with My Dreams, Moving to a Different Country and L