The Littlest Empath
Hello Everyone!
It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to write. I miss sitting with my worlds. I miss my characters. I miss the ebb and flow of following the star trail through the unknown and into the land of endless stores.
The book I am most excited to get back to The Littlest Empath.
The Littlest Empath is a tiny [children’s] book about a young neurodivergent girl who experiences the world in an emotional sensory way. The problem is, nobody knows how deeply she feels the world around her. Ariella, ‘Ari’ for short, just wants to live and write about the worlds that exist beyond this one. Especially because being in this world can be so painful for her!
But as many children like Ari do, she must bear through the mundane things like visiting grandma’s house.
One rainy morning, mama tells her she must go with her family and spend time with her Grandma for today. Ari’s stomach turns at the sound of this. It’s not the she doesn’t love her family, she just knows they don’t understand her. It can be difficult spending time with people you love when they’re not honest about how they feel.
Ari knows there is so much more going on than just smiling and putting on purple dresses. She knows that behind the smiles and pretty words, there are feelings of attack hiding underneath! How does she know this? Because she feels them in her body! It is so difficult being a Little Empath and feeling the feels of the world around you…. especially when no one believes you do!
Join us on Ari’s journey to strange and curious world of Grandma Gertie’s house and together we’ll unravel the mysterious ways of The Littlest Empath.
Momma becomes frustrated with my sleepiness, “We have to get ready” she says curtly. My heart goes pa-lunk from my shoulders into my belly. We’re going to Grandma’s house today.
I don’t like Grandma’s house.
It smells funny and it’s unbearably cold. Not winter time cold, the kind of cold that sends chills out from under your skin. It freezes my bones and my arms feel tied down by invisible ropes that that squeeze out bubbly blue blood.
Mom plucks a lacy white and purple dress out from my closet as the wire hanger pings against the medal rod and I involuntarily place my palms over my ears.
I tilt my head to my chin and frown at the sight of the lace. Large loopy threads swirl in and out of each other, I wince at the sight. The loops always manage to snag my neck.
Dresses are the worst.
This particular dress bites me under my arms. The satin bow squeezes around my belly. Dresses don’t make me feel pretty. No, it’s more like a slithering snakes squeezing me tight around my ribs. Marks from the stitching sink into my skin leaving a ring around my body.
Momma lays out stockings next. If anything is worse than a dress, it’s stockings. Stockings are itchy. My outfit today makes me shiver. White hot Fire ants in the Lacey parts and purple snakes bows that cinch my waist. Topped with tights made of the itchiest fabric in the land.
I let out a loud groan in protest.
“Oh relax, it’s just for day.. and you look so precious in this outfit!” she says to me as the curt words fall from her tongue to the floor.
She throws my clothes onto the bed and I scan her black pants and pink cat paw print t- shirt paired with sneakers and ruffle white socks, Why doesn’t she have to wear a dress? I almost blurt it out loud and immediately shut down instead. I have only ever mentioned this injustice once before and paid deeply for it. The memory of pudgy fingers grip my chin and I rub over the memory. After a nasty screaming match, she threw me in the dungeon and locked away the key. I don’t always know why this happens but I do know this is something that would cause trouble, so I stay as quiet as I can.
Not having realized I flashed inside the memory, I am pulled back to my room by the soft wind blowing my sheer white curtains high into the room. I’m still trying to understand the dress.I Suppose Grandma Gertie expects me to look pretty when I visit. Momma likes when I dress up too.
No one has ever asked if I like it.( I don’t, not that it seems to matter what I think) Honestly, I’m not even sure I know what it means to “look my best”. I look the same to me every day. Pants, skirts, shorts, and t- shirts I am still the same me? What does it matter what clothes I wear? Sometimes my hair is up, sometimes it is down. The only time I am not my best is when I am sick. Then my skin looks funny and my eyes drag down into my cheeks. But I am still the same me at the end of the day.
I can’t help but wonder, Why pants aren’t pretty too? I don’t know what it means to be pretty, but I think I don’t care. Mom cares. Which is why I must learn to care… or pretend to.
Grandma cares.
Maybe love for little girls only exists when they wear dresses and smile nice. OH ..and stay quiet …. It is important that I don’t point out the grown ups mistakes. I learned that too.
Dress nice. Smile. Don’t talk.
Those are the rules. Not that anyone tells me the rules. I just kind of figure them out as I go.
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Yours in True Spirit,
~ Robin