5.7
December 25, 2013

Sensitivity is Beautiful. ~ Nicole Markardt

I was always told that I am “too sensitive.”

What does that even mean?

I used to try and resist this label, as I felt exposed and insulted. I decided to adopt a more cavalier attitude about life, words and energy. I would become tougher.

I was the worst faker on the planet.

My face, my eyes, my visceral reaction to other people that I found hurtful or harmful or offensive—my body took it personally. This energy invaded my demeanor and my facial appearance, as the look in my eyes took it so personally.

I found myself needing to leave certain conversations because I was resisting my sensitive nature.

Sensitivity is beautiful.

There is no numbness in sensitivity.

We are never numb to the sensations that feel prickly against our thin skin glistening with receptors to those who can really see us. We are alive and awake in our empathy and aware of the energy that we bring into a room.

Hurt reminds sensitive souls that we are alive and taking it all to heart.

We feel the hurt of others, and have a hard time listening to cruel gossip in which another person is being belittled. We actually feel physically affected by this energy.

There is no slumber in sensitivity; it’s an awakened space of feeling.

It’s messy. It’s rich. It’s layered.

A flat landscape never lends itself to ascension or contrast. We must allow our reactivity to be as it is without feeling we must hide our hearts.

I absorb sensations that surround me like a wet paintbrush, and this allows me to paint a rich, layered landscape on the human canvas of my life.

My skin is not thick. I possess a strong tendency to be aware of nuances in meaning.

I’ve learned to allow for this awareness; to embrace my gifts in sensitivity. Sensitive souls are not protected by a thick layer; our hearts more easily accessible with its thread-like fibers of sensitivity easily stimulated.

The rich tapestry of our energy field causes us to absorb energy and moods of those that surround us. We are labeled “too sensitive,” but we can see with different eyes.

It is this energy absorption that moves our relationships to greater depths.

We don’t do lighthearted love.

Our sensitivity allows us to feel truly alive—whether it’s in an abyss of grief and pain, or the overwhelming intensity in the climax of a song that leaves us breathless or a love that can birth a star through the strength of its power—we are gloriously sensitive.

We take it personally.

So, go ahead and be sensitive. Allow. Embrace.

Conjure real or imagined conversations in which you bark like that noisy dog chained to a fence. Speak your truth and let it get messy. Real messy.

So what? It’s your life; your heart that bleeds. Allow your beating heart and your being to be infiltrated by that of another.

You will learn that you must connect with other untamed sensitive spirits, and feel the collective energy in those groups. Ask for recognition and understanding. Find your tribe and open up to unspoken vibrations together.

No need to toughen up or explain. You were created this way for a beautiful reason or thought yourself into existence to experience life exactly as you are.

Embrace your open heart.

I share so much of myself in my writing. I’m a sharer. A connector. I long for that moment when I can see people.

That moment of vulnerability, the moment the veil is lifted, even if it’s a momentary peak; that moment right before the flood of true sensitivity reveals itself. I relish in the moments where there is space between words, and I feel something more essential and of far greater value emerging.

I long for real connection and that uncomfortable pause because that means we’ve really connected and listened to one another.

These shared moments lead to a paradigm shift from separation to oneness. I live to feel these moments and the moments in between the destructive process of more enlightened realities, the painful crumbling of truths and the letting go of ideas about ourselves.

Life as a sensitive soul can be difficult.

Spiritual gurus tell us not to take things personally, and warn that it will lead to suffering. We have chosen or have been chosen to learn to rest in what we truly are. We have not chosen to be spiritual gurus. What a beautiful gift.

Take it to heart. All of it.

In the words of poet Tony Hoagland:

Personal.

Don’t take it personal, they said;
but I did, I took it all quite personal—
the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;
the price of grapefruit and stamps,
the wet hair of women in the rain—
And I cursed what hurt me
and I praised what gave me joy,
the most simple-minded of possible responses.
The government reminded me of my father,
with its deafness and its laws,
and the weather reminded me of my mom,
with her tropical squalls.
Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness
Think first, they said of Talk
Get over it, they said
at the School of Broken Hearts
but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t
believe in the clean break;
I believe in the compound fracture
served with a sauce of dirty regret,
I believe in saying it all
and taking it all back
and saying it again for good measure
while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries
like wheeling birds
and the trees look seasick in the wind.
Oh life! Can you blame me
for making a scene?
You were that yellow caboose, the moon
disappearing over a ridge of cloud.
I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;
barking and barking:
trying to convince everything else
to take it personal too.

~ Tony Hoagland

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Assistant Editor: Jes Wright/Editor: Rachel Nussbaum

Photo Credit: Mindy Morin/Pixoto

 

 

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Nicole Markardt