I’m SENSITIVE - Hyper
What I write is not to teach you anything. There is no guidance or advice. I write about my experiences or I write about my thoughts or I write about what I feel, think, believe deep down inside. I do this so that if you relate to whatever I’m writing, then maybe you’ll realise that you too have everything you need within.
If there was a sensitivity scale, which there may as well be, I’d be in the 100th percentile.
I used to think that I was an outlier, that there was no one like me.
The more that I coach, the more that I realise that there are so many people like me who have just gone underground with their sensitivity.
It makes sense, really. The word ‘sensitive’ at least in the reality of the world that we live in, is far worse than ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’. I would even go as far as saying that the word ‘sensitive’ is even up there with the ‘c’ word.
“You’re too sensitive,”
“Don’t be a cry baby,”
“Stop acting like life owes you a living.”
I didn’t even know what acting like life owed me a living until I was much older.
I was and am sensitive, hyper sensitive. It took me a long time, in sensitive isolation to figure out how to separate myself from the world without losing my beautiful kind heart, innocence and pure sense of curiosity.
The fact that my essence didn’t get bashed out of me is a miracle.
I come from a long line of generations who did have their true essence taken away from them and here I am, reclaiming the true essence of myself for everyone to bear witness to.
So how does it feel?
Both shitty and amazing, really.
The world is a horrible place. Feeling my buried feeling always feels uncomfortable. I’ve spend decades internalising everything. My poor body and what it’s endured. I am grateful for its innate wisdom in how it takes care of me.
If I were to witness my body when I think a shitty thought or internalise a yucky experience, it would be something like this.
“Okay, here comes the feeling. Where is she going to put it now? Oh, there it goes into her ovaries. I’m not sure how much more room we have left. Let’s just make some more room until she figures this out.”
For a long time there was no ‘figuring this out.
Just more and more internalising.
So my body is like, “Let’s do something to send her a warning sign.”
Which would lead to many physical sensations that my doctors had no understanding about. I realise not that it wasn’t there’s to understand. It was my body’s own unique warning sign.
“Let’s vibrate her intestines on the lower right side. That’s the exact place she can’t ignore,” said my body lovingly.
I ignored.
The other day, my Mum went to a Psychic. Regardless if you believe in such things, the message was clear.
“You’re daughter’s problems have gone. She’ll be ok.”
My Mum thought it was me leaving my job or the mould in the house.
It was my beliefs.
My beliefs were the problem and my body was trying to tell me that all along.
Being sensitive is not the problem. Actually, we need more sensitive people in this world. What a better place that would be. Actually, there is a lot more of us than I ever realised and for that I am truly grateful.
I may not have been able to come out of being a sensitive victim in my formative years, but I can surely help, teach and bear witness to other sensitives’ dilemmas so that intergenerational sensitivity bashing is no longer a thing. Not that is was ever considered a thing until now.