Reflection: Loving the Puddles

I am as deep as the ocean, layered, luminous, full of unseen movement and ancient knowing. I create from that place. I feel from that place. My soul does not skim the surface; it dives. I am not a still pool; I am a force of nature, a sanctuary, a storm, and a calm.

And yet… some of the people I love most are puddles.

Not in judgment. But in form. They were shaped in a world that taught them to be small containers of emotion, to hold only what is safe and necessary. They skim the surface of life, never daring to sink. Their waters are shallow, not because they lack value, but because they were never taught to hold more.

And still, I love them.

But loving them as a woman who feels everything and births life, ideas, visions, and futures is not easy. I speak in symbols. I weep for beauty. I cry when something resonates too deeply to explain. They do not understand that. They do not feel as I do. Their emotions are linear, boxed, and managed.

Mine arrive like waves and moonlight, like thunder wrapped in silk.

I have tried to bring them into my waters, to share with them the wonder of feeling deeply—the joy of a color that moves you, the ache of a song that unlocks your soul. I have wanted them to taste what it means to live in full spectrum. But puddles cannot hold what oceans carry. They ripple and retreat.

So I stopped trying to deepen them. Instead, I began anchoring myself.

I sit beside their smallness now, no longer trying to expand them but letting my presence be enough. When I can, I offer them my reflection, soft and still. I speak in simpler language, not because I am simple but because I am generous. I give them glimpses of the tide without pulling them under.

In return, I keep my ocean intact. My art, empathy, and intuitive knowing are not burdensome. They are gifts; gifts the world needs. I refuse to shrink to be understood. I am learning to be ocean and shore, to love others without losing myself.

Because being a woman who feels deeply is not a flaw.
It is a power.

And true depth doesn’t need to be echoed.
It needs only to be honored.

The Hidden Depths We May Never See

Some people hold oceans inside them, but you’d never know by looking.

They move through the world like puddles, not because they are shallow, but because they are guarded. Their depth is not gone. It’s protected. Fenced off. Kept beneath stillness like treasure buried too many storms ago.

They learned that revealing their full selves came at a cost. That the world didn’t know how to hold their magnitude. That their pain, their tenderness, their imagination, could be used against them. So they made a decision: Keep it in. Keep it safe.

They defend their deepness against the noise of the world, keeping it only for themselves. And that, too, is hard.

It’s hard to feel deeply and not be seen.
To house galaxies of emotion with no one to orbit them.
To have oceans inside, but speak in teaspoons.

I try to remember that now. That when someone seems detached or light or unreadable, it doesn’t always mean they are empty. Sometimes it means they’re surviving. Sometimes it means they’re waiting to trust.

And if I’m lucky, if I’m gentle, consistent, and patient, I might catch a glimpse. A wave beneath the surface. A ripple in their voice. A long pause full of unsaid things.

When I do, I do not dive in.

I simply say:
I see you even when you don’t show it. Even when you feel too much to speak.”

And then, I leave the door open.
Because even hidden oceans deserve to be known.

Author’s Note: I texted this poem to my parents because it reminded me of my relationship with my dad. We are very differnet in the depths we show the world but we will honor and respect each others tides. A few days later, he texted me with this image that said “my puddle”.