Let’s talk about one of the lesser-known side effects of living with CPTSD, hyper-empathy.

If you’ve ever walked into a room and instantly felt like you just downloaded everyone’s emotional data through some invisible trauma-powered Bluetooth, congratulations! You might be a hyper-empath. Or a sponge. Same difference.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Wait, so I’m not just too sensitive?” Correct. And, moreover, even being sensitive is not a bad thing. It’s still good to hear that you’re not, in fact, broken. You’re just rocking some elite survival coding from your childhood, like a vintage alarm system that still thinks it’s in a war zone.

Growing up in an emotionally unsafe environment, chances are, you probably developed a finely tuned emotional radar. Not because you were trying to be a feelings guru, but because your safety depended on it. It’s like having an emotional Wi-Fi connection to everyone in the room, whether you asked for it or not.

Becoming a Human Mood Ring

At some point, you stopped just being “in tune” with people, and you started scanning the room like it was your job. Somewhere along the way, you became a human mood ring. But instead of changing colors, you changed behavior. Subtle shifts in tone? You adjusted. Raised eyebrows? You softened. All in the name of dodging explosions, implosions, or the dreaded silent treatment. Adorable, right?

Fast-forward to adulthood: You walk into a room, someone’s a little off, and instantly, your brain goes full detective. Are they mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Should I apologize? Shrink myself? Disappear entirely?

Meanwhile, they probably just skipped lunch. Maybe they’re hangry. Maybe they’re not even thinking about you.

But your trauma brain doesn’t care about logic. It kicks into high alert like, “Danger, Will Robinson! Fix it now!” And honestly? It’s exhausting. You end up feeling everything, even things people aren’t feeling yet. It’s not just sensing emotions; it’s pre-feeling them. Like an emotional early warning system nobody asked for and you never got paid to operate.

The Hyper-Empathy Hangover

Here’s the thing: hyper-empathy was useful. It did help you survive. However, now it’s like having a smoke alarm that goes off every time someone in the building sighs heavily. It becomes, frankly, a major annoyance. It’s fascinating, really, how this survival mechanism, born out of necessity, ends up as a heavy emotional burden in adulthood.

So, what do we do now?

We start practicing boundaries. First, we remind ourselves that just because we feel something doesn’t mean it’s ours. And, of course, we learn that healthy empathy doesn’t mean absorbing everyone’s emotional sludge like a human ShamWow. But, for those of us with CPTSD, that’s often easier said than done. It’s one thing to know we need to stop absorbing others’ emotions; it’s quite another to feel like we can.

And yes, it’s okay to care. It’s okay to feel. But, equally important, you also get to feel like you, not like everyone else crammed into a single nervous system like it’s an emotional clown car. It requires, undoubtedly, a lot of self-awareness and, honestly, a good dose of self-compassion. It’s about recognizing that being an empath doesn’t mean sacrificing our well-being for the sake of others’ emotions.

And, on top of that, healing from CPTSD isn’t a one-size-fits-all process. You’re doing your emotional housecleaning, and it’s okay to leave some things behind, even if they feel like they’re permanently attached to you.

The Next Time It Happens: Pause and Reflect

So, the next time you find yourself absorbing Karen’s third existential crisis this week or pre-crying for a stranger on the subway, pause and ask, “Is this mine, or did I just emotionally shoplift from someone’s aura again?”

And, if it’s not yours? Put. It. Back. Mentally yeet it into the void. Light some sage. Or just mutter, “Not my circus, not my trauma,” and go about your day.

You’re not here to be the unpaid intern for everyone’s emotional baggage. You’ve got your own healing to do, and frankly, that’s a full-time job with crap benefits and no dental.

But, most importantly, you are allowed to rest. To feel joy. To feel safe in your own body. And maybe, just maybe, stop absorbing every vibe like you’re a fleece blanket at a group therapy bonfire.

Photo by Josh Calabrese on Unsplash