Anna M. Stratulat

There are moments when you ask a question not because you’re searching for an answer, but because you want someone to see you.

I asked,

“What is my curse?”

And the reply was:

“To care too much in a world that often cares too little.”

No explanation. And yet… it was everything.

Because sometimes the pain isn’t about what’s happening —

it’s about feeling it all so deeply,

while the world just keeps moving.

And for a second, I felt understood.

Like someone held up a mirror to my soul and whispered,

“It’s not just you.”

So maybe this “curse” of feeling too much is actually a quiet kind of magic.

It means my heart is still beating, still open, still willing — even when it hurts.

And that… is something I never want to lose.

Because this heart of mine — this overly sensitive, wide-open heart —

has stayed soft through things that should’ve hardened it.

It still loves after being bruised.

It still hopes after being disappointed.

It still believes in people, even after they left without saying goodbye.

And yes, that means I cry when I care.

I overthink when I love.

I stay when others walk away,

and I carry words people forgot they even said.

But I’ve learned this:

Feeling deeply is not a weakness.

It’s not something I need to fix or hide.

It’s my proof that I’m still connected — to life, to people, to purpose.

So if my curse is that I feel too much…

Then let it be.

Let me keep noticing the little things.

Let me keep getting chills from sunsets,

and tears from music,

and peace from silence.

Let me keep breaking in the most beautiful ways —

not because I’m weak,

but because I care.

And maybe one day, someone else who feels too much will read this,

and take a deep breath,

and realize they’re not alone either.

Because we — the quiet ones, the deep feelers, the overthinkers —

we’re not broken.

We’re just alive in a way most people forgot how to be.

And maybe that’s the hardest part —

Living in a world that keeps telling you to “toughen up,”

to “not take things so personally,”

to “care a little less so it hurts a little less.”

But what if I don’t want to care less?

What if I don’t want to stop feeling everything in full color?

I’ve seen what numbness does to people.

It steals their spark, their softness, their wonder.

And I refuse to become that.

I’d rather feel too much than feel nothing at all.

I’d rather sit with tears in my eyes from something beautiful

than walk through life untouched by it.

I’d rather risk heartbreak

than never know the depth of real love —

the kind that breaks you open, but also puts you back together.

Yes, this heart has cracked.

More than once.

But every crack let more light in.

Every scar tells a story — not of defeat, but of survival.

Of choosing to stay soft even when the world gave every reason not to.

Because strength isn’t about how much you can shut out —

it’s about how much you can let in,

without losing yourself in the process.

And maybe that’s the real magic of being a deep feeler.

We don’t run from the dark — we sit in it.

We hold hands with grief.

We ask hard questions.

We love in full sentences, not half-hearted lines.

We remember details that others forget

because we actually see people.

So no, I won’t apologize for being the way I am.

I won’t dim my light, shrink my feelings, or harden my heart just to make the world more comfortable.

Let them call it a curse.

I’ll call it a gift.

Because this is who I am.

And honestly?

I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.