When did “sensitivity” become a 4-letter word?

When did sensitivity become a four letter word?

When I suggest that a client may be sensitive, or even highly sensitive, they wince when their sensitivity is mentioned. As if I called them an asshole or some other unsavory name. Shame washes over them, as if I have suddenly discovered the secret they’ve been hiding from the world.

When did it become taboo to be sensitive?

History shows us that sensitive people have always been misunderstood. Labeled. Judged. Locked away. I think of the hysteria diagnoses given to women in the Victorian era, and of the witches burned at the stake. Could they have just been sensitive (and reacting to the patriarchy)?

Who decided it was taboo to be sensitive?

I’d like to know the person who decided that sensitivity was a liability. The one who decided that sensitivity was a flaw.

I was first labeled as sensitive when I was a child. My arms were covered in eczema and I was forced to sleep with socks on my hands to prevent scratching (of course this backfired because the socks only provided a better vehicle for scratching). After eating a delicious angel food cake covered in strawberries for my 8th birthday, my face broke out in hives. Then there was my emotional sensitivity. I felt things deeply and my heart crushed easily.

The label “sensitivity” was used against me in moments when I was feeling deeply. Or let’s be honest, having an emotional breakdown. It was used to categorize me. To judge me.

My sensitivity did not spur curiosity in my parents. How do we support her sensitivity? Protect it? How do we honor her constitution? What does she need? What would be gentle? Kind?

I was having an emotional moment. I was in tears over the friend drama of the day or a missed answer on a quiz (yes I was that kid who wanted every answer right). Usually there was more under the surface, where I stuffed all the things that upset me. The missed answer or friend problem would make it spill out. Like a pot boiling over on the stove.

The response from my parents was “You’re so sensitive.” “You’re too sensitive.” Words meant to judge me. Put me in a box. My worries were not taken seriously. Discounted.

If I was too sensitive, then my worries, feelings and needs were only exaggerated responses and nothing serious. I spent my childhood never feeling taken seriously. My internal world was repeatedly discounted.

Here’s the thing - when you put a child in a box repeatedly, they learn to stay there.

Today when I mention someone’s sensitivity as a means to understand their world better, it brings shame in the middle of the room. The person brushes past it. Let’s hide it under the rug. Pretend it’s not here. I can tell their sensitivity was also used against them. And that today they might not understand what to do with it. They might not understand that it is a gift, something to honor.

What if sensitivity is a superpower? And not a liability.

Therapy has helped me understand my sensitivity. Undoing the damage that was done to me when I was younger. Change what the label means for me. Plus I have learned how to use my sensitivity, how to harness it, how to protect it, how to honor it.

As I age, my sensitivity only increases. I am more sensitive.  To fragrance and odors. To overstimulation. To insomnia. To emotions. To hormones. To food allergens. To skin rashes. To scratchy tags. To uncomfortable shoes. To detergents and soaps.

I am also more sensitive (and less tolerant) of emotional allergens. To bullshit. To gaslighting. To manipulation. To guilt trips. To passive-aggressive behavior. To energy vampires. To narcissism. To drama. To obnoxiousness. To rudeness.

What if sensitivity is a superpower? What if it makes you intuitive? What if it gives you extra-perceptivity?

I first read Elaine Aron’s book “The Highly Sensitive Person” when I was 21 years old.  It was my first experience of understanding my sensitivity and of being seen for who I really was. My true self was mirrored on the pages. Suddenly life made sense.

In midlife, maybe it’s a good thing that my sensitivity is increasing while my tolerance decreases. I can no longer put up with what I used to be able to. Instead it throws me into anaphylaxis - physically and emotionally.

Maybe it’s a good thing when our tolerance runs out. When tolerance decreases, it provides an opportunity to reduce our exposure to allergens, including emotional ones. It acts like a catalyst, forcing us to change or pay the consequences of the exposure.

This is the first essay in a series on Living as the Highly Sensitive Person. This is a sampling of topics that we’ll discuss - how to live as a HSP, how sensitivity is a superpower misunderstood by the world (like the mutants of X-men), when our tolerance runs out physically and emotionally….

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