10/17/2025
I am strong because I’ve always allowed myself to befriend the sadness when it approached, surrendering to its emotions, allowing them to wash through and out of me….a beautiful cleansing. We were never meant to bury our emotions, we were meant to process them and find the wisdom within them. Then use that wisdom to evolve and grow.
Emotion work is what I do with clients in both my coaching and energetic healing sessions. If you want to find the kind of freedom that comes, not from running from your emotions, but from working through them, then DM me the word “emotions” and we can set up a clarity call to see how my services can help you.
Stacy-Lyn Corlett
Soul Evolution Coaching and Energetics Wellness Practitioner
The fairytale of sadness (wow what a read this is!)
A little woman was walking down a dusty path. She was probably quite old, but her walk was light, and her smile had the fresh shine of a happy girl.
She saw a figure crouched on the side of the path, she stopped and looked down. She couldn't see much. The creature seemed almost bodyless. It reminded her of a grey flannel blanket with human contours.
The little woman bent down a bit and asked, ′′Who are you?"
Two almost lifeless eyes looked up tired. ′′Me? I am the sadness,” whispered the voice stallingly and so quietly that it was hard to hear.
′′Oh, the sadness!" the little woman exclaimed delightfully as if she was greeting an old acquaintance.
′′You know me?" asked the sadness suspiciously.
′′Of course I know you! Again and again you have accompanied me on my journey."
′′Yes, but...", the sadness argued, ′′ why don't you run from me then? Aren't you afraid?"
′′Why would I run from you, my dear? You know all too well that you catch up with everyone. But what I'm trying to ask you is why do you look so frail?"
′′I... am sad,” replied the grey figure with a brittle voice.
The little old woman sat down with sadness. ′′So you're sad,” she said, nodding her head understandingly. ′′Why don't you tell me what bothers you?”
The sadness sighed deeply. Should anyone really want to listen to her this time? How many times did she want this.
′′Oh, you know ", she started procrastinating and extremely amazed, ′′nobody likes me. It is my purpose to go among people and stay with them for a certain time. But when I come to them, they pull back. They fear me and avoid me like the plague."
The sadness swallowed heavy. ′′They invented sentences to ban me with. They say, “cheer up.” And their fake laugh leads to stomach cramps and shortness of breath. They say, “praise be what makes you stronger.” And then they are heartbroken. They say, “you just have to pull yourself together.” And then they carry the heaviest of loads on their shoulders. They say, “only weaklings cry.” And their piled up tears almost blow up their heads. They even numb themselves with alcohol, food and drugs so they don't have to feel me."
′′Oh yes,” confirmed the old woman, ′′I've met such people many times."
The sadness sank a little more. ′′And I just want to help people with that. If i come close to people they can meet themselves. I can help them build a nest to nurture their wounds. Those who are sad have particularly thin skin. Some suffering is like a badly healed wound, and it can hurt a lot. But only those who allow grief to flow and can cry all the uncried tears can really heal their wounds. But people don't even want me to help them with that. Instead, they smile brightly as they laugh and shrug it off. Sometimes they create thick layers of bitterness."
The sadness was silent. Her crying was weak at first, then stronger and finally very desperate.
The little old woman comfortably reached over and the sadness sank into her arms. The woman was struck by how soft and gentle the sadness felt. She thought and tenderly caressed the trembling bundle. ′′Just cry, sadness,” she whispered lovingly, ′′rest so you can gain strength again. From now on, you won’t walk alone. I will accompany you so that you can stay strong."
The sadness stopped crying. She straightened up and looked at her new companion amazed. ′′But... but - why would you help me? Who are you?"
′′Me?" said the little old woman smiling. ′′ I am hope.”
•
A touching story by Inge Wuthe. Translated into this English version by Earthmonk.
With Love
Fiona
Www.earthmonk.guru
