Why I Hate It When Someone Calls Me An Empath
Empath quotes are filling social media feeds and people absolutely love to lay claim to being one, so why is it that I’d rather not be labeled an empath.
I’ll start by saying that I have no problem with those who identify as empaths. It’s such a wonderful quality, empathy.
Empathy is described in the dictionary as the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.
An Empath, however, is described in the dictionary as — (chiefly in science fiction) a person with the paranormal ability to perceive the mental or emotional state of another individual.
Now, I fully believe that an Empath is a ‘real thing’, and I do believe that I can do this. That I am an empath of sorts… The ‘chiefly in science fiction’ bit wasn’t me; it was the Dictionary. I swear.
So, why do I hate when people label me an Empath?
Ok, hate is maybe a bit of a strong word. I don’t go backhanding people for innocently identifying me as an empath.
Being an Empath, for me, however, lends to the idea that I have no control or part in my circumstances.
In many ways that’s absolutely true; I wasn’t in control of many aspects of my situations. I mean, you don’t ask for people you love to break you down emotionally with gaslighting, do you?
Before I embarked on my healing journey I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the problem was. Why did I keep getting hurt? Why were these people gravitating to me like flies to shit? Frenemies, toxic boyfriends.
“You’re an Empath, narcissists feed off of Empaths energy”, I’d hear. Leaving me feeling like a delicate empath. Ok, I’ll take it.
But that couldn’t be it? So I was supposed to just accept that these narcissists were always going to be a reality for me. No, thank you.
I knew that to lay claim to having no part in my own hurt wasn’t right.
So I set about getting my study on. I found out about Empaths and Narcissists, associations with childhood trauma; learning I was what was called an adult child of alcoholics.
I unpeeled and unpicked away the chipped exterior that left me feeling less than shiny and an easy target for vultures; to unveil a fresh me underneath it all.
I stumbed across attachment styles and boundaries; all through following therapists and survivors of their own journeys.
It was brilliant.
If I could understand what it all was, it’s part in my life and what it meant, I most certainly could make changes in my life to keep these fuckers out. The really tough thing about this way of thinking is that it’s really hard not to get self-critical.
Learning habits or being drawn to certain types of people because of the trauma I endured growing up wasn’t my fault.
I had learned that love was hard work, painful and I’d have to earn it. If it was easy then I wasn’t deserving of it. Criticism and jokes at my expense were part and parcel; having to bid for affection the norm. I wasn’t allowed to express my true emotions or feelings because if I did I was selfish or an attention seeker.
I was set up for a life of dysfunction to carry on really. It was only natural that I was going to look for this in partners and friends, even though it caused me immeasurable pain.
It was home.
I’d feel the pain of these tortured souls and try to fix them. I’d tell them my story and we’d trauma bond. Only I would more often than not get badly burnt. In my time I encountered a couple attempted baby trappings; ghosted by a boyfriend when my mum was in the hospital and died; and got bullied out of my workplace.
Some people would look at these things and label me an Empath, some would come to the conclusion that I was the problem because so many awful things happened to me; I was the common denominator.
This is where victim shaming in mental health battles is really dangerous. We’re battling enough without not-even-spectators hopping in to throw in their dutty sixpence.
I came to my own conclusions. These behaviors I was being put through weren’t normal. I was the common denominator, but not the problem. Through conditioning I had weak boundaries, allowing others to treat me as they pleased instead of sticking up for myself, so I didn’t lose more people. Though these people needed desperately to be shed, not kept.
I’d been taught, and witnessed, that to stick up for myself was rude or made me a bad person; neither of which are true.
I would break the chain of intergenerational pain.
Sure, trauma changes the brain, but so does healing. I had to do this for my daughter; I had to do this for me.
What was my part in this?
I started the main venture into my healing journey after my little girl had been born.
I knew that I wanted a different future from my little girl — with healthy attachment and behaviors cushioning her world. It’s a long journey but I’m making some serious tracks.
I decided to bow out of dating until I could figure myself out a bit, figure out the hurt. What were my love addictions? Where were my self-sabotage behaviors kicking into play?
My little girl just turned two. A year into the real heavy work and I’ve not quite cracked it yet, which is totally understandable. We’re talking 2 and a half decades of work to undo here. I’m’a give myself some time.
What I will say is that by the time I got to the psychotherapist's office for a 6-week course of therapy, I was re-referred back into the system because I’d already done the unpicking work.
She looked at me, incredulous. “Wow, you’ve really done the work here.”
I half high fived myself, half cursed because I really wanted to be seen right then. Unpicking of trauma really is something to be done with a licensed and qualified Therapist. I was lucky to have the support of amazing friends and could call up my former counselor when the journey felt a little hairy and saw her frequently throughout. (Please don’t attempt going solo! It can be dangerous.)
I’ve just started the 20-week course of therapy and I’m so proud of myself because I fought hard to get it. I’m really looking forward to getting into the nitty-gritty to undo the subconscious limiting beliefs that are still holding me back.
You see, a full life is absofrickinglutely possible for the traumatized, the work has to be done though. I think it’s pretty exciting, the possibility that lies ahead after spending my 20s resigned to the fact that this was it; I was just a broken toy.
I’m not a broken toy. I got hurt and I set out the protect myself the only ways I knew I could.
Now, I notice the reds flags.
Instead of seeing them as signals to fight for love, like I would have done before, I bow out.
When I experience bouts of being ghosted or feeling like I’m being played for attention, I bow out.
Though often still be drawn to the types I was before and that needs work, I’m seeing warning signs and get out before I head into a nasty, emotionally abusive relationship; one where I feed my former addiction to rejection and pain.
Eeesh.
When I questioned the label of Empath, with regards to myself, I opened up a world of possibility. One where I could still be empathetic, but I would take responsibility for my happiness and wellbeing; and do the dirty work of healing.
It’s not easy. It’s ugly, painful and frustrating at times. The fruit is oh so sweet though. How exciting is it to know that I’m on the road to breaking that cycle and that a ‘relatively normal’ relationship is a possibility.
I’ll take that.
Amanda Jayne is single mummy to Ruby, aged 2, Personal Trainer and Nutrition Advisor of over a decade; and a C-PTSD warrior passionate about sharing all she’s learned about personal growth, self-development and her own healing and wellbeing journey.
