Emotional Apnea

In this past weekend, we had to put our dear dog, Chester, to sleep and say our goodbyes. He was 16 years old, and even knowing he had a full and happy life, as I stayed with him a little after his heart stopped beating (I still cry every few hours of the day), I reflected on how he and Bruce taught me to be more present.

I have a North Node in Pisces, a Pisces Moon, and a Pisces Mars. I’m the equivalent of an emotional sponge—absorbing every single feeling of the people around me since I was little. It’s a blessing, but for many years it felt like a curse. I didn’t know how to manage all of those emotions. And through the years, Chester was always there with his kind eyes and patient presence, showing me it was okay to have big feelings and to be soft.

For many years, I felt like I was holding my breath, because we live in a society that says that caring, thinking of others, and feeling deeply is “too much.” So, I hid—probably even from myself, because anyone who knows me knows I’m a big softie—my sensitivity and vulnerability behind hyper-independence, tomboy styles (nothing wrong with them, they just weren’t fully mine), martial arts, and all the things I believed would help me project a tougher exterior so people would think twice before approaching me.

It’s only in these past six months that, slowly but surely, as I’ve been going deeper within myself and trying to look at the wounds with more acceptance, I realized that for a big part of my life, I was in what I call emotional apnea. Like when we’re exercising and it gets so excruciating that we forget to breathe—living disconnected from our feelings or avoiding them altogether does the same. It was never about how I looked or what I could do externally to protect myself—it was about finally understanding, inside, that I deserved better. That I am worthy of respect, of love, and that it is valid for me to feel, to be whoever I wish, without needing permission from the outside world.

Yoga and other habits helped me see this. Because when we find ourselves in a safe space—like on the mat—where we can breathe through discomfort and trust that the pain won’t last forever, we build a kind of muscle memory. Slowly, we carry that awareness into other areas of life. Breathing deeply during hard moments, and turning toward the pain instead of away from it—even if with fear—and saying, “It’s okay, dear heart. It’s okay to feel this.” Not doing it all at once, but finding small pockets of safety to gently look at what’s causing us to hold our emotional breath, to live with tension inside.

When I was younger, I resented my sensitive side because I felt ashamed. I resented all the times I told the truth and was dismissed because people weren’t ready to hear it—and how that made me question myself. I resented the many times I cared too much, gave too much, and took on others’ pain. For a while, I believed I had to become different—colder—to protect myself. (I never truly did, but I was at war with myself.) I tried to "play it cool" or act like I didn’t care.

Now, if people disrespect me, I cut ties. I wish them healing, I wish them well—but I no longer offer access to me on their terms. It's not about changing who we are—unless we’re acting from unhealed wounds that could hurt others and ourselves—but rather about accepting who we are, honoring that, and choosing to walk alone until those who speak the same soul-language find us. We can only find our soul tribe when we stop hiding our light. When we honor our authentic self, we become a lighthouse.

Chester, our dog, was patient, kind, and always true to who he was. He never pretended to be anything else, because he knew he was enough. And when things got difficult, when his health declined, he still carried himself with grace. I miss him so, so much. But before he left, I thanked him—for letting me be part of his life—and promised we’d find each other again, whether in another life or among the stars.

To honor him, I know it’s time I fully accept who I am: a big softie. And to live my life from now on embracing that softness, because I’ve cultivated my tough side long enough. Yes, I am whole with both, but now it’s time to nurture the little me I left behind—the one I abandoned when the world convinced me I was “too much.”

I hope you have a gentle week. And I hope you remember: if something makes you question whether you are enough—be it a job, a friendship, or even a hobby—it may not be the right space for you, and that’s okay. You deserve to be seen as you are, without needing to prove your worth or shrink to fit.

Have a fantastic week!

Francisca 💜