I wear my heart on my sleeve. There’s no hiding it, and it
gets stronger as I get older. I have been highly sensitive my entire life and
it is something I embrace about myself. I embrace it because it gives me a
clearer view of my soul; it allows me to know myself on a deeper level and
understand how the world affects me. Though I feel anger or sadness or stress
much more deeply, I also feel happiness and joy more intensely. I feel the emotion
in everything from TV commercials to music to greeting cards to pictures and
home videos scattered across Facebook. I feel a spark of joy when I see flowers
blooming or a rainbow arching through the sky. I feel everything, all the time.
And whatever it is I am feeling will always manifest itself through my words, actions,
and expressions. It does not hide behind anything.
But all of this feeling can be too much at times. There is
no denying that we live in an unfeeling world. Though I know there are others
who are sensitive like me, the world as a whole is brutal and callous. It’s a
big wig business that is cold and careless. So many people have no problem
judging or gossiping or lying. So many people have no problem being rude or
disrespectful to others. So many people lack even a bit of sympathy or
compassion. And now that I have my kids to protect, any words or actions
against them put my defenses on high alert.
In the years I have spent as a military spouse and living
five different states, I have learned that the good ones are few and far
between. I have learned that kindness seems to be a virtue that is slowly
becoming a thing of the past. I have learned that my intuition is pretty good
at knowing who I can trust, and sadly there aren’t very many. I have learned that adults don’t always
outgrow the click-y, condescending nature that usually appears in middle and
high schoolers. And I have learned that people who are meant to help others
often don’t perform their jobs very effectively.
Since everything I observe stirs up emotion, I have slowly
begun to feel discouraged with the world around me. My heart has hardened towards people in general. I want to see the good in
people, but their words or actions turn me away. I want to trust others, but
having been deceived too many times causes me to guard my heart. I want to believe
in kindness, but I have to accept that the world will walk all over me if I am
not careful.
When I look back I see a smiley, curly-haired little girl, naïve
and gullible but optimistic and joyful about life. Now, I feel so sad for her
because she had no idea what the world was really like. She had no idea that when
she grew up, her positive, uplifting nature would be one that the world kicks
to the curb. That little girl was me; and I want so badly to be able to go back
and warn her about life outside of blue skies and rainbows.
So how does one who feels so much move on in an unfeeling
world? I refuse to give up on kindness. Despite how unkind the world can be, I
still believe kindness is the greatest virtue. I embrace the love that my
husband, kids, and I share for each other. I appreciate my family because they
raised me to be who I am and always accepted my sensitive nature. I cherish the
friends I have grown close to because I know they get me, and I can trust them
with anything. And I recognize those who have proven themselves to be kind and
honest and understanding by thanking them for what they have done.
All hope is not lost. The world still holds good, but now it’s
just harder to find it. I’m determined to seek it out. I’ll do it for my kids.
I’ll do it for my faith. I’ll do it for the amazing friendships I have found
when I was least expecting it. I’ll do it in honor of military families, who
are all working hard towards keeping our country great. And I’ll do it for that
little curly-haired girl who only saw the good in the world.
I may feel way too much, and that can make life more challenging
at times; but I’ll never regret my sensitivity. It’s my soul’s way of clearing out
the junk and keeping me focused on what means the most to me in in life.
