The Day I Decided to Become an Asshole

(A Love Letter to Boundaries)

You know those ridiculously empathetic people who feel other people’s emotions like they accidentally subscribed to their internal newsletter?

Hi. Yes. That’s me.

There I was. In my room. Crying. Heartbreak-level crying. Soul-ripping, cinematic grief. Over images of his father, a man I have never met, by the way. I don’t even know the outcome of the situation. For all I know, everything could be completely fine.

But my nervous system? Oscar-worthy performance.

And here’s the plot twist: this is for someone who, if roles were reversed, would probably emotionally evacuate the continent. I’ve had my moments – the kind where you quietly fall apart – and he was nowhere to be found. I trust my intuition. I really do. But sometimes I have to ask: who exactly is my intuition working for? Me? Him? The plot? The jury is still out.

So naturally, mid-cry, I thought: You know what? I’m done. I’m becoming an asshole. No sympathy. No empathy. Emotional firewall installed. Sponge mode deactivated.

Because I have been absorbing environments and people since birth. I used to soak up entire rooms. Thankfully, I’ve stopped downloading random strangers’ emotional weather. Growth. Maturity. Boundaries.

But that one guy? My antenna is apparently wired directly to his satellite. Premium subscription. No cancellation option, or maybe I need to speak to the customer service and demand cancellation like it’s Adobe.  

And I’ve been told, repeatedly, that one of my “soul lessons” is stronger boundaries. To harden up. To become, essentially, hard cheese. While he, apparently, is meant to soften, become one of those softer cheeses with inedible rinds. 

Beautiful polarity theory. Love that for us.

But then why am I over here processing what I think might be his emotions like I’m the unpaid intern of his subconscious?

Here’s what I realized though, mid cry over a man I haven’t even met, getting deeply affected:

Even if you absorb something, your life keeps moving. After the crying session? I washed my face. Met my date who was back earlier than expected. Met a friend after. Laughed. Ate. Chilled. Slept peacefully. The world did not collapse because I felt too much. Thanks to an injury I did not ask for last year for teaching me how to process emotions rather than outrunning them.  

And that’s the part nobody tells you about being sensitive: You’re not fragile. You’re permeable. And permeability without boundaries feels like suffering.

But permeability with boundaries? That’s power. So no, I’m not actually becoming an asshole. I’m becoming contained. There’s a difference.

Boundaries aren’t about shutting down empathy. They’re about choosing when to open the door. Not every signal deserves entry. Not every emotional wave needs to be ridden. Some of them can pass like weather.

And yes, thank God for breathwork. For techniques that bring you back into your own body. Back into sovereignty. Back into “this is mine, that is not.” Thanks to an amazing man who taught me that simple technique.  

Because here’s the real moral of the story: Feeling someone else’s emotions doesn’t mean you’re responsible for them. And absorbing pain doesn’t make you spiritually advanced. It just makes you tired.

So I’m keeping the empathy. But I’m installing better filters. Hard cheese energy. With a soft center, selectively accessed. 

And honestly? That feels a lot healthier than becoming an asshole, even though I’d love to be one, even for a day or two.