
The first time my wife cried in front of me, I cried too. It just happened. Her pain moved straight into me and I couldn’t stop it. I still don’t know what she thought about that. Maybe she needed me to stay steady while she fell apart. I never asked her. I was too scared of the answer, as she can be very meanie-pants with her answers.
That same empathetic part inside me, the way I put other people’s feelings before my own, is also why I didn’t fight when she decided we should part ways. I just accepted it. I couldn’t bring myself to turn it into some big battle. It felt wrong somehow. So I let it go.
The worst part came later, during the court proceedings. It sounds like a scene from a cliche movie, but it actually happened. I must have looked pretty bad sitting there during one of the breaks in the court. This man I had never seen before walked up to me. He said I looked lonely. Then he told me his wife had died in an accident. He said he understood how it feels. And then, almost gently with a fear whether I would raise my voice, he asked “can’t you just talk and sort things out between the both of you?”.
I knew right away what he was doing. He was trying to help us fix what he never got the chance to fix with his own wife. That thought hit me so hard I started crying right there in the middle of everything. Like a child. I couldn’t control it. Those words are still sitting with me even now. But there was nothing I could do. My hands were tied. I couldn’t go back and talk to her. I couldn’t make any move unless she wants it. Nothing was going to change just because I felt it.
I keep thinking about that sometimes. How this thing inside me that makes me feel for other people so strongly also leaves me with no real power when it matters.
When I was a child, maybe from first grade if I recall, people started calling me pavam. In Malayalam it means something like “poor thing” or too soft for your own good. Once that tag stuck, a lot of kids figured out they could take advantage of it. I would share whatever I had. I took the blame when it was easier for them. I didn’t push back. It took me some time to understand that being seen that way made me useful to everyone except myself.
After a while I got tired of it, I hated when people said good things about me. I changed. I started picking fights over nothing. Got into trouble on purpose. Became the kind of person other people were careful around. I went from sitting on the first bench to the last bench. The pavam label disappeared almost instantly. Suddenly I had space. People left me alone or even gave me respect, the kind that comes from fear. It wasn’t something which I was proud of, but it worked.
But as I got older and matured, I couldn’t keep the act going. The fights and the image started feeling hollow and wrong in many ways. Deep down I was still that same empathetic kid who felt for other peoples emotion too much, and not my own. I couldn’t pretend anymore. So slowly the armour cracked.
Even after that, I never really changed how I treated myself. I never expected anything from others. When I bought clothes for myself I would compare prices for hours, something I would never do if it was for someone I cared about. Taking care of myself was always the last thing on the list, and it never got done. I told myself it didn’t matter.
For a long time I thought this way of feeling everything was just who I was. Maybe even a good thing. But the older I got, the more I saw that the world doesn’t really make space for it. People like the parts that are useful to them, the listening, the showing up, the carrying of their problems. But when you need something back, or when you show your own cracks, it gets uncomfortable fast. They don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes they pull away. Sometimes they act like you broke some unspoken rule by not staying strong all the time.
Continue reading “The Price of Feeling Too Much”









