There are some words that get painfully etched into our memories as if with a red-hot poker. For me, growing up, those words were “you’re too sensitive.”
I often caught this phrase in the fumbling hands of my shame after someone chucked it at me with callousness and superiority as a means to justify their cruelty.
They may have said something vicious or condescending in private, or told embarrassing stories or outright lies about me in public.
Either way, the results were the same: I’d take it personally, get emotionally overwhelmed, then either explode in anger or sob.
But it wasn’t just cruelty that evoked my sensitivity, and I didn’t cry only when obviously provoked.
Well-meaning people, who generally treated me with kindness, would gently remind me I’m too sensitive when I overanalyzed the smallest things other people did—like taking a while to call me back or “making a face” after I said something I thought sounded stupid.
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