I remember a time a few years ago when I was giving my dog a bath and noticed something I had never really paid attention to before. As I sprayed water over his back, it simply rolled right off.

I turned up the water pressure, convinced that would do the trick. It didn’t. No matter how much water I sprayed, it never soaked in. It just beaded up and rolled away.

And for a brief moment, I was jealous.

He had a built-in layer of protection from the elements. Rain comes. Water comes. Life comes. And somehow it doesn’t penetrate very deeply.

I, on the other hand, seem to be made of something entirely different.

A sponge.

I absorb everything.

The energy in a room. The mood of a conversation. The joy, frustration, anxiety, and sadness of the people around me.

Years ago, my therapist told me I was experiencing empathy.

I told him it felt more like being a sponge that hadn’t been wrung out in a year.

Because that’s the challenge, isn’t it?

Absorbing is one thing. Carrying it all is another.

Over time, the emotions, worries, and experiences of others start to accumulate. You don’t even realize how much you’ve taken on until one day you feel heavy without knowing exactly why.

I’ve always been sensitive to my environment. I notice when something feels off. I can usually sense when someone is struggling before they say a word. I’ve also spent time around people who seem completely unaffected by what’s happening around them. Things bounce off of them. They move through life dry and unbothered.

Sometimes that sounds nice.

But if I’m honest, I wouldn’t trade places.

Because the same thing that makes life heavier sometimes is also what makes it richer.

Being a sponge allows me to connect with people. I can often understand where they’re coming from, even when I don’t agree with them. I can see the fears, experiences, and hopes that shape the way they move through the world.

I’ve never met a stranger because I’ve always been curious about what made someone who they are.

The truth is, the world needs people who feel deeply.

It needs people who notice when someone is hurting. It needs people who listen. It needs people who care enough to sit with someone else’s pain instead of looking the other way.

The key isn’t becoming less of a sponge. The key is remembering to wring yourself out every once in a while.

To rest.

To recharge.

To let go of what was never yours to carry.

Because empathy is a gift, but carrying everyone’s burdens isn’t.

So here’s to all the sponges out there.

The ones who notice.

The ones who feel.

The ones who care.

Yes, it can be exhausting.

But what a privilege it is to move through life with an open heart.

To make people feel seen.

To help them feel understood.

To remind them they’re not alone.

Soak it up.

XX,

MG