Sensitivity is like a multiplier. It amplifies both happiness and pain by the same factor, with perfect impartiality.
Perhaps it isn’t childhood neglect that breeds sensitivity. Perhaps it’s the opposite — having been given too much love early on, so that when that love inevitably recedes, pain rushes in to fill the void.
At least, that’s how it seems to have worked for me. If you asked me about childhood trauma, I honestly couldn’t name any. Maybe I’ve forgotten — but forgetting might be the best outcome. Some things are better left unremembered.
As I grew older, I ventured further and further from home. More people, more situations, more complications. At some point I stopped being able to tell whether sensitivity was a blessing or a curse.
I’ve come to believe that this kind of hardwired temperament can’t be erased — only reined in, kept out of sight. My genes made me who I am, and I can’t exactly rewrite my DNA. The most I can do is play the part of someone who has it all together.
I know sensitivity doesn’t serve me well. I know I should develop a thicker skin. But it refuses to stay hidden. Sensitive thoughts leap out without warning, hijacking my mental state at random.
Sensitivity thrives in the company of other people — relationships are its breeding ground. When I’m alone, sensitivity can actually be an asset. I can perceive my own needs with uncanny clarity and then meet them. A keen eye in daily work means fewer oversights and more discoveries.
Sensitivity might be a rare superpower. The trouble is, it’s constantly deployed on matters that don’t deserve the analysis. Overthinking, perhaps, is sensitivity’s shadow side.
Sensitive people always assume others see catastrophic flaws in them. Sensitive people believe that a single misstep will hand someone who loves them the perfect reason to stop. Sensitive people place themselves on a hot skillet, flipping their overactive minds back and forth in a relentless act of self-torture.
When does the sensitivity ease? My guess: when you realize that things are never as wonderful as you imagine, nor as terrible. It comes down to narrowing the gap between ecstasy and agony. I don’t believe a person can experience the heights of joy without also having known the depths of suffering.
Force is relative. So is perception. Perhaps the idea of developing a “thicker skin” is really just a way of saying: learn to return to a state of calm.
…
Growing up is watching the cruel side of society slowly unfold before your eyes. And there I am, swept forward by the relentless wave of maturation — mechanically pushed toward the world, unable to turn back, unable to stop. Every kind of thing, like slanting rain hammering down in fragments, pelts my sensitive, overthinking mind.
Maturity is the quiet composure your heart shows when human nature reveals itself in full. When you’ve weathered enough disappointment, you simply grow up. You allow everything to happen. Even if the sky falls, you face it with grace.
…
The best antidote to sensitivity may not be finding someone who makes you feel safe. Because everything external is, by nature, unstable. True stability comes from strength within.
Every sensitive person seems to carry a magnifying glass. It’s our superpower — our birthright. Use it well. Observe the beauty and the suffering of this world. Be someone who passes along beauty, and someone who heals suffering.
The best antidote to sensitivity may simply be this: becoming a person who is at peace — easygoing yet never careless, grown up in all the right ways.
I’m glad I’m a sensitive person. Because sensitivity itself is a superpower — a deeply romantic one, even if it brings me pain. After all, even the most beautiful rose has its thorns.
…
I love you with everything I have. But if you don’t love me, there’s nothing I can do. If that day ever comes, I’ll simply smile, keep walking, and go on being a decent person.
I love this world, and I love searching for the meaning of its existence — and mine. But I’ve come to realize that the meaning of the world and of my being lies in the act of searching for meaning itself. It sounds like a paradox, but if we could actually find the ultimate truth, there’d be no reason to spend another day here.
Above all, I love myself — because love is not something you take from the outside, but something you give from within.
May every sensitive soul become a person of strength — a person who stands tall. May every person be treated gently by this world.
Wishing you all well.
October 20, 2024
Santa Clara
