Feeling everything deeply (and not being sorry about it)

The moment that made me pause

This morning, walking over the Bridge on my way to the station, I had one of those rare moments of clarity. The sun was spilling across the water, the breeze brushing against my face – and I suddenly realised:

I love to feel things.

Not just surface-level things. I mean really feel. Soak things in. Let them settle in my body. and weirdly, water seems to always bring that out in me. Whether it’s being near a river, or watching raindrops slide down the Elizabeth line platform, I get this overwhelming sense that I’m part of something bigger. It grounds me. It reminds me I’m here, alive, present.

I soak things in – and that’s a good thing

 

I think I’m someone who likes to soak things in – not just physically, like the sun or the breeze or a peaceful walk by the river, but emotionally too. I sit in moments. I carry them with me. Sometimes it’s a glance, a song lyric, or a quite morning that lingers long after it’s passed.

And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. The world moves so fast – we scroll, we skim, we move on. But I like to linger. To notice. To feel something rather than rush through it just to get to the next thing.

That’s how I make sense of the world – by soaking it in slowly and deeply, even if it means carrying moments a little longer than most.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Growing up without permission to feel

Growing up, I didn’t think having feelings was… good. Or even allowed. No one really told me it was okay to feel. So I became the master of distraction: headphones in 24/7, The Sims 2 on rotation, YouTube playing endlessly in the background. Anything to stop me from sitting with myself.

For years, I’d push my feelings down, convinced that being emotional made me weak or dramatic. But lately, as I ease into my late twenties, I’ve started to realise how wrong that was. Feeling isn’t a weakness – they’re messages. They show you what’s good for your soul – and what’s not.

Feeling for others, too

And it’s not just my own emotions I feel deeply. I feel for other people too.

Sometimes it’s subtle – someone walks into a room and I instantly sense something’s off, even if they say they’re “fine”. It’s the way their energy shifts, or their eyes look tired in a way words can’t explain. I absorb it. carry it. and sometimes it’s hard to let go of, even when it’s not mine to hold.

Being emotionally open means I connect quickly, deeply. I read between the lines – not just of words, but of energy. That’s been my default setting. For a long time I thought it made me too much. But now, I see it’s a kind of superpower. It means I understand people. I care. I’m present. I can love without needing long explanations – because I feel the meaning behind the silence.

The calm I crave

 

And maybe that’s why I crave calm.

And for me, peace lives in still moments with the three forces: the sun, the water, the air. That’s when I feel most at piece. Like I’m home. Like I’m close to my lost ones. Like I can finally think clearly in a mind that’s always racing.

Even the smallest things ground me – sunlight flickering through leaves, the smell of rain on pavement, the heat from the sun. I think I hold onto those things because they remind me to slow down. To feel. To exist in the now.

A gift and a gentle reminder

I’ve learned that feeling things deeply can be a gift. Yes, it means the lows sometimes really hurt. It might take me a few days to get over something that felt like an injustice. But it also means I experience joy on another level – glee, freedom, bursts of laughter I can’t explain. Having missed out on parts of childhood, I guess I’m making up for it now – living life with open arms, sometimes being a bit silly, and letting my heart leave.

That’s why I randomly blurt out ‘I love water’ when I’m near a river. Or why I keep telling people why I want to live by the sea or a river. Because those things bring me home. They bring me back to myself.

Coming home to myself

The more I’ve allowed myself to feel, the more I’ve come to understand who I really am. What lights me up. What drains me. What I actually want from life – not what I was told I should want. Feeling deeply has helped me learn my own emotional language, and slowly, I’m building trust in myself again.

So here’s what I’ve come to believe:

Feeling deeply is not something to be ashamed of. It’s not always easy, but it’s real. And it means you’re alive. So if you’re someone who cries easily, or can’t stop thinking about a comment someone made three days ago, or just loves a good sunrise over water – same.

You’re not too much. You’re not weak. You’re just living. And life, honestly, is too short not to feel every inch of it.