…she’s five years old. I remember vividly the day we were in the car on the way to kindergarten. We passed by a bunch of trees that were being cleared and happened to stop at the traffic lights beside a mulching machine. The scream I heard from the backseat was piercing, ripping through my ears and sending a shiver down my spine.

She watched on, completely horrified as the trees were fed into the machine, trunks first, and then were spat out into the holding cart – now mulch.

“STOP!,” she screamed
“Why are they killing it?!??! They’re hurting her! Stop! STOP!,”

You would think I was making this up. I’m not. That day is forever etched in my memory, painting an accurate portrait of my little girl who feels so deeply. She cried for that tree for days afterwards, sobbing into her pillow about the loss of life and destruction of something so beautiful and perfect.

This is only one example of how I’d describe what living and loving an empath is like.

I could also tell you about the time we forgot her pillow behind at Stradbroke Island, and only realised too late. She had formed an almost personal connection to that pillow, she knew it’s shape and form and she was thankful for the comfort it provided her.

Then there was the time we went for a walk in a nature reserve nearby to our house after a big storm had passed and she was crying into her hands, shocked at the destruction which left trees uprooted and plants destroyed everywhere.

Pillows and trees, huh? I guess it sounds a bit ridiculous. But to my little super-feeling, incredibly intuitive and sensitive Wilding – that’s what life is like for her. She’s in tune with things that we don’t even consider to have feelings or much value at all, even.

The little empath I know is the one who is right up beside others when they fall over or hurt themselves, rubbing their back and quickly offering a hug as soon as she can detect pain for them. She’s the one who gets upset when others get upset, telling me she is bothered by their “hurting face” and she cries when other people cry because she connects to their sadness on a deep deep level.

What I would describe as “referred mood” or “mirrored mood”, my little empath takes on the moods of others around her – seemingly without even being aware of doing so. When I’m sad, she’s sad. When I’m mad – she’s mad. When I’m struggling, I can see she is, too. My husband is like that too. This definitely makes for some fun conversations at times, and some, err.. let’s call them, discussions. Picture me, being premenstrual and slightly umm, snappish, moody, dramatic? And then picture my husband behaving in the same sort of manner, without realising it. Yeah, I’ll totally admit to saying “I’m the one with PMS, not you!,” Hah.

I know many empaths in my life, and they all happen to be autistic. So that whole “autistics can’t display/possess empathy” myth is a whole heap of bullshit.

In my experience, autistic people don’t feel a lack of empathy – they feel the exact opposite. They feel all the feels, to a large degree. They take on the moods and feelings of those around them, like a big sponge. This can make life really intense for them and also their loved ones.

One thing I am conscious of doing when I see Wilding (and Sno, and Papagirltribe) mirroring moods is to reassure them that whatever mood I may be in, or others may be in – is not their fault, or their doing. I remind them it’s okay, and I reassure them compassionately that things will work out as they should.

And on the days where  my precious little Wilding is awash with emotions invoked from trees or pillows, I hold her space and allow her to process the world around her however she wishes to do so.

Because being an empath isn’t a curse, it’s actually a blessing. And it needs to be fostered with compassion, kindness and understanding. ┬áBecause it is very, very real.