My 34th Blog:  The Girl Who Felt in Colors

A simple story of feeling deeply

 

There was once a girl named Beth who felt things more than most people. She didn’t just see the world—she felt it in colors. 

When the wind passed by, it felt fragile and wistful.  She didn’t just see the sadness of people—she absorbed it, feeling the weight of it settle inside her. When joy found her, it wrapped around her, warm and gentle, like sunlight filtering through the trees.

 

But people didn’t always understand her.

They said she was “too sensitive.”
They told her she was “overthinking.”
They asked, "Why do little things unsettle you so easily?"

 

Beth often asked herself the same questions. Sometimes, the world was too loud, too fast, too much. She would curl up in her bed, her chest tight, her thoughts racing.

 

“Why am I like this?”
“Why can’t I just be calm?”
“Maybe I really am too much…”

 

One stormy night, while Beth was trying not to cry, a little creature with glowing wings appeared on her windowsill. It whispered,

“You are not broken. You are porous—able to absorb, to feel, to grow.”  Beth blinked. “What does that mean?”

The creature smiled.

“It means you feel everything deeply. That’s not a weakness—it’s a gift. Porous things can soak in light. They can hold truth. They notice what others miss.”

Then the creature gently touched her hand, and Beth remembered small things she had done—comforting a stranger, helping someone through her careful thoughts, noticing little details that others ignored.

“Yes, you feel a lot,” the creature said. “But that means you care a lot. And one day, the things you’re most afraid of will become your greatest strength.”

The next morning, Beth wrote this down:

“I am not broken.
I feel things strongly, and that’s okay.
I will cry, I will overthink, I will breathe.
And I will keep going.”

She didn’t stop being sensitive after that. She still had big emotions and moments of panic. But now, she knew those things didn’t make her weak.

They meant her heart wasn’t just beating—it was awake, alive, and overflowing with feeling.