Noticing Isn't A Problem - Apathy Is
We’ve all felt it - that creeping, quiet kind of heaviness. When the world feels too loud, too fast, too broken to fix. Whether it’s grief, burnout, or just trying to stay upright in a constantly shifting world, it can feel safer to look away. I get that. I do it too.
Some days, it’s the only way to function - tuning out of the noise, limiting how much we absorb, protecting our system from overload. That isn’t weakness. That’s wisdom.
And yet, for many empaths, that protective quiet isn’t always available. Especially in grief. When the edges of life feel raw, everything else feels louder too.
In the middle of my own sleepless nights - grieving the loss of a friend, the absence of a mother I never truly had - the ache was everywhere. Not just personal, but global. The news. A Dodo video. A stranger’s face. A horse nudging its owner's coffin. Everything was touching something deeper in me.
Noticing too much wasn’t new - but in that state, it became nearly unbearable.
This part of my story isn’t about solving anything. It’s about honouring the weight we carry when we can’t not see the pain around us. It’s about understanding that noticing isn’t the problem - apathy is.
So if you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by how much you care… or if you’ve had to temporarily numb just to stay functioning… know this:
You’re not broken. You’re not alone. You’re human. And maybe even deeply awake.
In this chapter of my deeper reflection on the meaning of my life, I share the moment grief shifted me from paralysis to purpose - a shift sparked by a single paragraph in Jane Anderson’s book Women of Influence. It wasn’t a solution, but it planted a seed. It helped me stop spiralling in despair and instead choose one place to offer my energy - one small point of impact.
Because sometimes, all we can do… is choose where to care.
You can read the full piece - including the questions that kept me up and the shift that brought me peace - inside The Ache of Being Human
Some people think noticing too much is a weakness. I believe it's a moral compass.
What I experience isn't emotional instability - it’s ethical sensitivity. When you see suffering, environmental harm, cruelty, and despair, it doesn’t mean you’re fragile. It means you’re awake.
Empaths aren’t overwhelmed because we’re weak. We’re overwhelmed because we feel.
Awareness isn’t the burden. Apathy is. The ache of noticing is often the first step in creating meaningful change - even if that change begins only in your own corner of the world.
In this part of my journey, I explore the cost of noticing everything, and the shift I made from powerlessness to purpose.
Grief didn’t just weigh me down - it redirected my gaze. Away from what I couldn’t change, and toward what I could support.
The ache didn’t disappear. But it gave me a decision: shut down or show up.