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*Warning: well-deserved cursing ahead!

If you are highly sensitive, you can’t not be highly sensitive.

Fuck. I feel it all, everything, so deeply.

My wounds. My inner tides. My triggers.

My emotional rollercoaster.

My mental chatter.

My inner child and her pain.

I feel it all so profoundly that it leaves me literally gasping for air. 

Being highly sensitive means that your heart feels beyond what the average person might feel. And you have a mind that is constantly creating new worlds to live in.

It can be fun, a blessing, and a curse all at the same time. 

When my inner world gets messy, gets triggered by situations or people who remind me of past events, I fall into a deep, dark hole.

I lose my shit during those times.

I disconnect from my body.

I become numb.

There is empty space within and around me.

I lose touch with my current environment; I’m not present.

I’m taken into a different space where stillness resides.

In this space of nowhere, I encounter the deeper parts of me, past or present wounds and hurts—triggers that make me relive similar emotions from some distant past—and a whole fucking messy, emotional state that I don’t know how to handle at times.

Tears follow my hypersensitive moments.

I can’t stop crying, and I ask why.

Usually, the answer comes later but not at the moment.

Sometimes I wish I did not feel everything so much.

But then, I’m reminded how my sensitivity is part of my core, my essence, and my wiring.

I then realize I simply cannot be insensitive. Being sensitive is who I am at my deepest of depths. Highly-fucking-sensitive.

And top of everything, I am also an empath.

I feel other people’s energies, thoughts, and moods as if they were my own.

As I finally understand, my sensitivity shows me all the places my soul has been and where it will further expand and evolve—where she became and will become the best she can be. 

My sensitivity is my raw, real self. But I often cover it up so that I don’t feel fragile or delicate. 

I know I am a strong and fucking powerful woman, but my sensitivity reminds me that I am also fragile. The heart needs to be cracked open instead of closing off when I’m triggered or provoked or when old hurts revisit me. 

I must feel them fully to let them go.

My sensitivity is my friend.

I’m the most intimate with myself and others when I’m profoundly feeling my heart, my mind, and the scars that still trigger me when they are being pressed by someone or some situation.

My sensitivity tells me that it’s okay to grieve, lose, win, cry, feel like a mess, feel out of control, expose my vulnerability, and still be open to living my life as my authentic self at any given moment.

My sensitivity is there to tell me I don’t need to hide; I need to come out into the world and let them know who I am.

At my rawest and deepest, I am a powerful human being and woman with a highly sensitive nature that throws me off balance (only to bring me closer to my soul). And I must allow myself to feel hopeless and fragile at times—and powerful at other times.

My sensitivity tells me that I don’t need to have all my shit together at all times.

Sometimes I need to get lost to be found.

I need to grieve to allow deeper healing to happen and do things differently and unfamiliarly for me to open up.

Our sensitivities tell us about our soul’s blueprint. They are our map to truly opening up and allowing the world to crack us open.

They are there so we can finally come home to our messiness, humanness, divine nature, and all the layers in between.