Empath Burnout and Emotional Boundaries: Why I Stopped Calling Myself an Empath

A personal story about empath burnout and emotional boundaries—and how reclaiming my energy changed everything.

I used to think I was an empath—until I learned there’s no such thing.

One day, after spending time with a group of moms I had deluded myself into calling friends, I called my husband on the drive home. I was spiraling—sifting through a storm of emotions that didn’t quite feel like mine, but felt real all the same. This was a common occurrence after spending time in misaligned spaces. My tone would shift. My complaints weren’t mine. I would contort myself into versions of the people I had just sat with.

Being in blended groups, especially larger ones, always left me depleted. I’d bounce from conversation to conversation, wildly swinging from one emotional current to the next. Matching the tone, matching the grief, matching the tension. I didn’t know what was mine and what was theirs.

I felt everything. All the time. All at once.

Looking back now, it was empath burnout and emotional boundaries—or the lack thereof—that shaped my entire experience.

Whenever someone was upset with me (even if they weren’t), whenever someone was frustrated (even if it had nothing to do with me), whenever someone was disappointed (even if it was a valid reaction)—I absorbed it. And because I absorbed it, I believed it was mine to fix.

If I could fix it for them, then there would be nothing to disrupt me. I would be at peace.

I remember sitting on the phone with my husband, unraveling a litany of digressions that didn’t belong to me. I felt them viscerally, but with sudden clarity, I realized: these feelings weren’t mine. And neither were the problems.

I had wanted to be a rock with a lighthouse up top—steady, rooted, helping others find their way through the storm. But I wasn’t. I was a sponge. Soaking up everyone else’s emotions and losing myself in the saturation. I couldn’t discern. I couldn’t decipher. I couldn’t find me in the mess.

I had wanted to be a rock with a lighthouse up top—steady, rooted, helping others find their way through the storm. But I wasn’t. I was a sponge. Soaking up everyone else’s emotions and losing myself in the saturation. I couldn’t discern. I couldn’t decipher. I couldn’t find me in the mess.

That moment marked a shift. And over time, with the guidance of a mentor and dear friend, I came to understand something I’d never questioned before: I wasn’t an empath. And I no longer claim that label at all.

Now, when I hear someone identify that way, I feel a mix of tenderness and urgency. Not because I doubt their sensitivity—quite the opposite. I know exactly how intensely they feel. But I also know that what people attribute to being an "Empath" is not a gift. It's the byproduct of misattunement and lack of support. It's what happens when we feel deeply and haven’t yet learned to filter, protect, or discern.

Empathy is a deeply human trait. It’s not a spiritual phenomenon. It's not rare. In fact, the absence of empathy—not its abundance—has long been considered the true mark of evil. And while yes, psychic sensitivity and energetic attunement are real (I’d be out of work if they weren’t), empathy itself is not mystical. It's a nervous system function, a trauma imprint, a survival skill gone unchecked.

The problem with “Empath” as an identity is that it names the sensitivity but not the skills. It’s a description, not a solution. It explains how you’re feeling but not how to move forward. And more often than not, it becomes a badge worn by people who are silently suffering.

Because here’s the truth: those who resonate with the empath label are often highly sensitive, both psychologically and energetically. Many come from traumatic or neglectful environments. Many are navigating the effects of CPTSD. Many have had to mask or over-adapt to survive. Their antennae are always scanning. They pick up on slammed doors and subtle tone shifts like static in a frequency they can't turn off.

And without the right tools, this sensitivity shows up as:

• People-pleasing

• Co-dependency

• Self-abandonment

• Intense emotional awareness (especially about others)

• Weak or collapsed boundaries

• The inability to care for themselves without guilt

• The overwhelming need to fix discomfort—even when it isn’t theirs

If empaths were thriving, I wouldn’t have anything to say. But more often than not, they’re overwhelmed, exhausted, and locked in cycles of self-erasure. They’re trying to apply the wrong tools to terrain that keeps demanding more than they have to give.

Being an empath often feels like living as an open wire. Everything surges through you. And while the answer should be simple—wrap the wire in protective casing so it can function—it rarely is. Instead, we stay exposed. And then we do the worst thing imaginable: we try to fix other people’s open wires with our own exposed one. It's burnout. It's unsustainable. It's martyrdom disguised as love.

Empath is passive. Things happen to them. Energy moves through them. Emotions attach to them. They hold all the pain and consider it a gift.

But I want to offer you a new path. A new term.

What if, instead of identifying as an empath, you chose to become a Boundaried Mystic?

A Boundaried Mystic is someone who has paused long enough to meet themselves in truth. They understand their sensitivities and their sovereignty. They can stand in the storm without becoming the sea. They are stewards of their own field—clear on what is theirs to witness, to move, and to release.

They aren’t immune to emotion—they simply aren’t ruled by it. They don’t deny their compassion—they direct it with intention. They don’t carry every boulder—they’ve learned that some obstacles are sacred “no’s,” and others simply aren’t theirs to move.

Detachment. Discernment. Devotion.

These are the tools of the Boundaried Mystic.

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Fieldwork invites you to step out of the empath identity and into your embodied sovereignty.

You are allowed to feel without absorbing. To care without contorting. To bear witness without becoming buried.

This is the work we do in Fieldwork: we rewire our response to emotional overwhelm, develop clear energy boundaries, and reclaim our right to belong to ourselves.

If this spoke to you, here are a few Field Prompts to explore:

• What emotion am I carrying that might not be mine?

• Where am I over-functioning for others in an attempt to feel safe?

• What does protection actually feel like in my body?

• Who do I become when I am no longer absorbing what isn’t mine?

The myth of the empath is dissolving. Something far more powerful is waiting underneath.

→ Ready to discover your field? Join us inside Fieldwork—my 6-week program for emotional clarity, energetic discernment, and somatic sovereignty.

Learn more at tonikeniston.com/fieldwork

With love and moonlight, always—

Toni

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