Parenting is emotional and as a highly sensitive human being to begin with, it’s no surprise to me that I’ve found the entire journey filled with extremes in happiness, excitement, humor, sadness, anxiety and everything in between. Life can be heavy and raising a sweet human in this sometimes scary, sometimes tragic, sometimes unbelievable glorious world is bound to have its ups and downs.

I’ve lived 30 years as a sensitive, emotional person and for Delaney, my sweet sensitive girl, I want you to know that this is OK. Emotions are good, sometimes especially when they are heavy.

You are such an incredible combination of your Dad and me and I feel so lucky to be your mom. You should also know that from what we can tell so far, you get lots of your emotion from me. This is going to make life feel hard sometimes and if you want to blame me, I don’t blame you. I blame Mimi for my own set of emotional capacities.

But here’s what I don’t want you to do. Don’t push them away. Being sensitive and filled with emotion is what makes us the kind of people we are. It makes us alive. It makes us bold. It makes us thoughtful, sometimes painfully so, and it makes us feel for people around us in a way that millions of people on this earth could benefit from.

As I prepare for our second baby, my emotions are heightened in ways I honestly didn’t know possible. I thought I’d really maxed out in that department after, like I mentioned, 30 years of feeling all of the emotions. But alas, here I am.

I feel excited to grow our family. I feel anxious to meet your sibling, yet panicked by the short amount of time we have left with you as our one and only baby. I feel heavy pangs of fear about the future of this world, about the life we’re building the best we know how, about relationships that will change as we continue to grow, and above all else, about the unknown. At its simplest definition, I feel tired of feeling sometimes. I find that life would be easier if I just said “Who cares?” and I’m sure for many people, that’s why they live this way. But here’s the thing, it’s just flat out not going to happen for me. Perhaps as you grow, you will be able to say who cares more than I can and to be honest, I find myself working hard for this to be true. Having said that, if you find that you can’t, I know that the passion I feel for life, for people, for my work, for your Dad, for our families, for my health, for my dreams, for the gifts of fresh air and sunshine, for God, for your future sibling, and for you my sweet, sweet, sweet thing – this passion will always outweigh the heavy.

Without the dark, the light is not as bright. Without the fear, relaxation feels less like a gift. Without the hard, the easy isn’t nearly as sweet. And for me, I find that true, sincere compassion and understanding for what others might be going through even if you can’t possibly put yourself in their shoes in a tangible way, is one of the greatest gifts of sensitivity. I see this gift in you so often, even in your two-year-old world, that it amazes me.

You are curious beyond belief. You are aware and tuned into your surroundings that makes certain parts of life seem overwhelming (like someone other than Mommy or Daddy holding you) or scary (like why on earth is a person dressed up as Santa Claus) or sad (when a friend leaves a playdate). You are kind when a new friend is sad at school and misses his or her mommy, you are gentle with your dolls, you are inquisitive when it comes to understanding why someone does something – good or bad. You are sensitive and thoughtful beyond that of a typical two-year-old (not that I’m biased or anything) and your innate ability to wonder about what others are doing or feeling is something I hope you never lose.

To be harsh or mean or cruel or just simply rude is to negate the needs and sensitivity of others and I, for one, pray that you can find peace in knowing that no matter how ugly this world can get, there are lots and lots of people who are beautiful, kind, grateful, and sensitive. Sometimes, in fact, all they need is someone like you to remind them of what it means to feel.

Many people will point fingers. They will excuse their behavior for circumstances beyond their control. They may not be grateful. They may not consider your feelings. They may offer no apology or worse, place the blame on your sensitivity by saying things like “I’m sorry I made you feel that way” instead of taking responsibility for their actions. And for sensitive people like me (and perhaps you one day), this can feel heavy.

What I want you to always remember is that to feel deeply is to live. When it feels exciting, I hope you’ll share your joy with me. When it feels scary, I hope you’ll share your worry with me. When it feels sad, I hope you’ll share your tears with me. And when I’m the one making you feel all of the above, I pray you’ll never shy away from me. Because I promise you this, if you are feeling it, I have felt it and while I may not be able to fix the issue, I promise you from the depths of my soul that you are never, ever alone.