F is for Frayed

I can name alllll the reasons why the world feels so upside down these days, and why my capacity to feel too much feels, well, just too much. But I’m tired of calling out elephants today. I’m tired of being a canary today. Especially if it only adds to the noise. And it’s noisy out there in the fray.

I’m still learning how to master my overly empathic, hyper-sensitivity. It’s both a blessing and a curse to be a receiver of all the things. Somedays it’s a symphony of music, and other days a cacophony of noise; overstimulating, energy-depleting noise.

Yeah, my sensitivity is both my superpower and my kryptonite.

I can walk into a room and while I can’t read your mind or your thoughts, I can tune into your (emotional) frequency. Instead of seeing cartoon thought bubbles over your head, like an old school radio I can hear (feel) your song - whether it’s sad and heavy, hopeful or afraid; if there’s a bunch of resistant static, if you’re stuck on repeat, or if you’re even singing at all.

I can read (feel) your energy, and can sense immediately whether the words you speak match the energy beneath them. Sounds cool, until our frequencies get muddled and my mind and body get overfed with what feels like an alphabet soup of words and emotions that aren’t even mine. And that’s when I know I’ve succumbed to the fray, when I can no longer discern what’s mine; where I end and you begin.

No wonder I’ve always felt like ‘too much.’

Cuz, duh, I’ve literally ‘felt too much.’

Which brings me back to now.

I’m tucked away in my home office – away from the kids who had apparently gotten a direct message from this past week’s impassioned full moon to test out their absolute ugliest meltdowns on me. And the moon’s magic madness hasn’t stopped there. My husband and I were off- and while I’m seasoned (and trained) in the relational cycles of harmony, disharmony and repair- fuuck, the disharmony part is so agonizing.

It’s like I’m missing a limb. And no, not in a codependent kind of way, but in an interdependent, ‘you’re my person and I miss us’ kind of way.

I absolutely hate when we’re disconnected; because let’s face it, I’d much rather be alone than lonely with somebody.

Which brings me back to me.

And the fray.

How much of this disconnect is me?

How much of this hot loneliness is me?

How much of my crawling out of my own skin

is me, once again searching for… me;

me, once again longing for… me.

For the me receiving all the songs,

on all the channels streaming through

and drowning out my own song.

The me lost beneath

the heavy weight of the world,

the me trying to help

the me overstretching my self

the me confusing caring for it all

with carrying it all.

The me now frayed and fried,

my sympathetic nervous system on overdrive.

The me hiding somewhere deep inside

buried beneath my beautiful life.

A few months back we were at one of our kids’ favorite art classes- a pod at our friends’ home. On this particular morning, one of the curated tables had an array of small canvas boards, markers, glue and random treasures and objects. My daughter, Rumi spent a good chunk of her time at that particular station immersed in, and focused on whatever her creation de jours was.

After two hours of art and play and a good dose of catching up with mom friends, it was time to collect Rumi’s artwork to take home.

As we said our goodbyes and headed back to the car, Rumi handed me the canvas she’d worked on so diligently earlier.

“Mama, this is for you,” she said.

“Maybe you can put it in your office, and look at it when you’re helping people.”

I looked over at the canvas I was now holding in my hand, and I was floored. I saw a bursting barrage of glimmering pink antenna beams shooting out of a hot pink cocoon, shielding a grey squishmallow bunny rabbit.

My body softened- in a relieving, grounding kind of way. Like a steadying exhale you take when you feel seen, and held, and understood. Well, I felt all of that.

I felt vulnerable and validated.

And speechless. Yeah, me, speechless. In that moment.

The Fray by Rumi Nahai Rico

Forcing back a deluge of tears, I managed a few words.

“Wow, Rumes. Look at this!”

“Can you tell me about it? “ I asked.

“Nope. It’s for you. That’s all.” she replied.

That was all.

That was all I needed in that moment.

That was all I needed from my tiny and mighty, curly-auburn haired, mini-me ‘teacher’ and ‘see-er’ of all things. Receiver of all things.

Yeah, if I’m a receiver then she is too. But in this particular moment, she was also the wise transmitter- of just the message I needed to receive:

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‘Mama, while you’re out there protecting the world, don’t forget to protect yourself. Your energy matters too. That energy of yours is love, and healing, and gold and God.’

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I titled my latest -one of a kind- art acquisition, The Fray.

And depending on the day and the inner and outer frequencies of my world, its meaning and message shapeshifts into just what I need to see and feel.

It sits here on my desk.

Depending on the day, I may be the overly empathic, hyper-sensitive squishmallow bunny needing that reminder to crawl back into my protective, hot pink cocoon in order to hear my own song.

Depending on the day I may be the powerhouse pink antenna-beamed receiver and transmitter of all the things ~ energy in motion.

And yet, regardless of the meaning I glean from those hot pink beams, I have come to appreciate the fray as nothing more than a cross-wiring of fear and love, and hurt and healing; ultimately all of it, just gold and God.

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For all my highly-sensitive human receivers and transmitters out there, here’s to remembering how to change the channel, turn the radio up, and find our way back to our own songs.

take care of each other,

Az xoxo