Being Sensitive and Other Undesirable Traits
Being Sensitive and Other Undesirable Traits
by Sara Kernan
Sensitive.
A word used to describe me along with fun synonyms like “emotional,” and “overthinker.” You know, the fun words that you love to hear as placards of who you are in the eyes of others.
Sensitive, a word that’s described me as since I first learned how to string words together into sentences. I never needed to be disciplined as a kid, a simple stern look of disappointment would send me into tears. Seeing an elephant behind bars at the zoo sent me into a meltdown. Tears would fall on the playground when I was worried I offended a friend. My feelings were easily bruised when teasing went too far. "Sensitive Sara", that's me, who is all too fragile and too easily hurt.
I hate this word. I desperately wish that words like “brave,” “adventurous,” “tough,” “gritty” would replace it.
As I have gotten older, the word is even used by personal growth tools like the enneagram. I'm a type 2, “the Helper.” Described in terms as clingy, reliant, and people-pleasing, but they all just feel like spin-offs of the word sensitive in my mind.
I have fought desperately to not be so sensitive my whole life. I forced laughter after someone made a deprecating comment and paused, wondering what Sensitive Sara will do. I played it cool when I saw things that made my heart melt, like momma ducks and their babies and other details that adults aren’t supposed to notice.
I have been brought up to see this sensitivity as a weakness, reinforced by peers and comments. Sensitive people are doormats. Spineless, fearful, doormats.
My attempts to hide my sensitivity are not usually met with success. For some reason beyond my understanding, no amount of self-help books or power poses in the mirror can seem to change the fact that I am, in fact, sensitive. I bleed when you bleed, I ugly cry when dogs die in movies, and harsh words feel like open wounds to me.
But I am learning that there is a difference between areas I can grow in and areas that are just ... me. I have treated sensitivity as a shell that I wear, and my true self is the hermit crab that has made residence within. I see this shell of sensitivity as lesser, made of some sort of plastic trash that found its way into the ocean floor and I thought it would make a nice home.
I think sensitivity is less of a shell, but more a part of me than I thought or want it to be. And it’s not so much about losing sensitivity when I change shells that are bigger and fit better, but that I learn how to wear it better, to be more comfortable in the shell God's given me.
I’m learning that it’s okay that when kids teased me at recess it hurt my feelings. That wasn’t sensitivity, that was an emotional response, one I’m allowed to have. I’m leaning into the realization that I can be offended or hurt by what someone says but that doesn’t mean how I feel is absolute truth, it’s only a part. Empathy and communication, good things, follow in suit. It’s okay that elephants alone in cages, dogs in movies, and memoirs make me cry. These are areas of heightened empathy that let me love others well and make me passionate about advocacy.
It’s okay that elephants alone in cages, dogs in movies, and memoirs make me cry. These are areas of heightened empathy that let me love others well and make me passionate about advocacy.
I can be sensitive and brave at the same time. They are not opposites.
And while there is always room for growth, that doesn’t mean I outgrow some of the very fabric of who I am. I’m Sensitive Sara. You can bet that I’ll be crying in 87% of situations.
Sensitivity isn’t a lesser or greater gradient of being. It’s just another characteristic that we need in people. It's what makes us better. And I think there’s something in all of us that we have been taught to see as bad but maybe it just needs to be finetuned.
So I’m less worried about shedding sensitivity these days, and leaning into how to nurture it, love it, and embrace myself with the kindness I would give to others.