Confessions of a Highly Sensitive Person
When I recall my earliest childhood memories, I find myself in my childhood home. I can visualise myself sitting on a charpoy with my father, either on the veranda or under the open sky, listening to him narrating stories from Indian mythology. One memory that always stands out to me is when he finished recounting a story and asked me what I thought of it, but I couldn’t respond because I was trying to choke back my tears, quite unsuccessfully. The characters had become real in my mind. I was vicariously experiencing their pain, facing the same dilemmas as them and suffering as they were. My tiny heart didn’t know how to deal with the barrage of emotions it was feeling.
When I was growing up, people reacted in two different ways to my emotional intensity. Either they were intolerant of my lack of emotional regulation and would advise me to toughen up, or they would deliberately tease and provoke me to get a reaction out of me. They would bully me to tears and then call me hypersensitive. I was constantly shamed for my intense emotions. So I was convinced that there was something inherently wrong with me. Naturally, I grew up with a lot of insecurities around being sensitive.
I also had a lot of trouble bonding with others in a healthy way because one snide remark would be enough to sadden me. I would often wonder why people couldn’t be a little kinder or a tad more careful with their words. I realised I was constantly getting hurt by people who had no intention of causing me pain. This further reinforced my belief that my sensitivity was a handicap. From a very early age, I was aware that I felt all my emotions much more intensely than was ‘normal’.
It took me more than two decades to come to terms with the way I experience the world. It took me just as long to understand that my normal doesn’t have to be the same as someone else’s normal. Over the years, I have come to see my vulnerability as a strength rather than a weakness.
I do feel intense pain, but I also experience intense joy. A snide remark might cause me a lot of pain, but a few words of kindness or a warm smile is enough to gladden my heart. I still break into a smile when I recall the time a friend surprised me with my favourite flavour of ice cream. Or the time I realised one of my friends loved to talk about me when her friends (who I was meeting for the first time) knew my likes and dislikes as if they had known me forever.
I am much more appreciative of the little things that people often take for granted — a breezy summer evening, the colour of the sky or the way autumn feels so cosy. I love to stop and smell the roses, both literally and metaphorically. I enjoy savouring the good things in life.
I remember every little compliment I’ve ever received and every little thing anyone has ever done for me. I remember the time someone offered me their blazer because I was cold. Or the time I was having a sleepover at a friend’s place and I woke up in the middle of the night to find my friend putting the blanket over me because I had thrown it off in my sleep.
I notice and remember little details about people like the song they don’t like because it makes them sad or the way their eyes light up when they are happy. I notice when someone starts fidgeting with their hands because they are angry or when someone starts shifting around in their seat because they are nervous.
Because I know how it feels to be at the receiving end of unkind remarks or callous behaviour, I try to be more careful with my words and behaviour. And when my words or actions inadvertently cause others pain (which they sometimes do), I am quick to recognise it and make up for it because empathising with others comes naturally to me.
If I were less sensitive, I would also be less empathic, less conscientious and less kind. My (hyper)sensitivity makes me a better person. It also makes my life richer, deeper and more meaningful. I would never want to let go of the intense joy that a meaningful conversation brings me, the intense pleasure that music gives me, or the intense connection that I experience with others.
Recently, I felt like going back to the same stories my father used to read out to me nearly three decades ago. By the time I was done with the book, I had shed bucket loads of tears. But instead of trying to choke them back, this time I let the floodgates open and marvelled at my capacity to feel so deeply.
