"Stop crying. You're such a Sarah Bernhardt."
That was my mom’s attempt to quiet my tears when I was little. I had no idea who Sarah Bernhardt was, so I finally asked. Mom told me she was a world-famous actress who could cry on command.
At five years old, I thought: Why would anyone want to cry on command?
Over time, those comments planted a seed — the idea that feeling deeply made others uncomfortable. When I applied to nursing school at sixteen, most of my family bet I wouldn’t make it. They knew I fainted at the sight of blood. (The surprise? I only fainted at the sight of my own blood — which turned out to be a sign I was anemic, not a weakness.)
Nursing school taught me more than anatomy. It taught me the difference between emotion and empathy — and how people sometimes use sarcasm, like my mom did, to shield themselves from the depth of human connection.
The Empathy Myth
I’ve often heard people say they’re “too empathetic” to handle certain challenges, like a murder case or a tragedy. But I’ve realized that what we call “too empathetic” can be:
- A way to protect ourselves from old wounds
- A sign we choose to focus our care where it matters most
- A reminder that empathy flows in many directions — not just toward others, but toward ourselves
Empathy, when aligned with the soul, becomes one of the greatest forms of intelligence we can develop.
Think of it like a finely tuned radar system. If it’s picking up too many distress signals, you can adjust the settings — not dismantle the radar. The gift is the ability to perceive more, not less.
Simple Steps to Reframe “Too Empathetic” Thinking
If there’s a pattern in your life that leaves you drained, you can shift it with small, soul-aligned language changes:
Instead of: “I’m too empathetic.”
Try: “I choose to direct my empathy where it helps most.”
Instead of: “I can’t trust people.”
Try: “My empathy helps me recognize who’s trustworthy.”
Instead of: “I’ve never been lucky.”
Try: “I’m grateful for the fortune of being here, alive and breathing.”
Instead of: “I’m so nervous.”
Try: “Every breath I take brings me calm.”
The Whale Lesson
In my book Nature Speaks, I share the story of our cousin, a Navy SEAL who once took part in a military water exercise. He was dropped into the middle of the Atlantic, to be picked up 20 minutes later.
The moment he hit the water, humpback whales appeared from every direction. They surrounded him until he was lifted to safety — then vanished back into the deep. They didn’t ask why he was there. They didn’t need to. They sensed vulnerability and offered protection.
That’s empathy. That’s intelligence. That’s connection in its purest form.
Your empathy is not a flaw — it’s an inner compass, a sonar system for truth, a way of recognizing needs that others may overlook. Like the whales, you can use it to sense, protect, connect, and guide.
The key is to navigate toward the waters that nourish you, so you can swim in your purpose without being pulled under by someone else’s storms.
In the joyful light of love,
Nancy
