Being a person with big feelings is both a gift and a weight. It means living life with the volume turned all the way up—where emotions are vibrant, convictions run deep, and connection feels like oxygen.

For me, feeling isn’t something that happens to me.
It’s something that happens through me.

I feel deeply.

My emotions are not small or quiet. They rush in like tides—sometimes gentle, sometimes overwhelming, always honest. Joy lights me up from the inside. Hurt echoes. Love expands. Loss lingers. I don’t skim the surface of life; I immerse myself in it.

I communicate directly and authentically.

I’m not wired for vague conversations or emotional pretense. When I speak, it’s sincere. When I share, it’s truthful. When I express, it’s wholehearted. I value clarity because it honors my heart and the hearts of the people I care about.

I share with vulnerability—sometimes more than others expect.

Oversharing, some might call it.
But to me, it’s simply letting the walls fall so people can see the real me. I believe in honesty, in heart-level truth, in not pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Vulnerability is my native language—even when it surprises those who are used to emotional distance.

I am tender to those who are hurting.

I sense pain the way others sense weather patterns. When someone is wounded, something in me leans in instinctively. Their ache touches my own. I don’t turn away; I draw closer. Being a safe place for hurting people feels less like a skill and more like a calling.

I strongly dislike causing wounds or living in disconnect.

Conflict unsettles me, not because I am afraid of tension, but because I value relationship so deeply. If someone is hurting because of something I’ve said or done—even accidentally—it weighs heavily on me. And when I am unreconciled with someone I care about, I feel the distance like a physical ache. Connection matters that much.

And yes—I have a tendency to scare people.

Not because I am harsh.
Not because I am unstable.
But because my feelings are large, visible, and sincere.

Some people are startled by depth.
Some are intimidated by truth spoken gently but clearly.
Some don’t know what to do with someone who shows up fully alive.
What feels natural to me can feel overwhelming to a person who lives guarded.

My big feelings can be misunderstood as danger instead of devotion, intensity instead of sincerity. But I’m learning that this is more about their fear than my design.

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Conclusion

At the end of the day, I rest in this: God doesn’t make mistakes. He shaped my depth, my tenderness, my intensity, and my passion with holy intention. My big feelings are not evidence of brokenness—they are evidence of design. And as I grow, I’m learning to steward them with wisdom, courage, and grace. I will keep showing up as the whole person God created me to be—unguarded, wholehearted, and unafraid.