I cried a lot as a baby. My mum told me, numerous times, about the road trip holidays they abandoned because I would cry and cry from the back of the car. By all accounts, that crying baby grew into a very sensitive child (who cried a lot). I was introverted, shy, and very reluctant to explore beyond my comfort zone. If the stories are true, I was pulled out of kindergarten because I would just cry and cry when my mum left.
I have very little memory of this, of course. But what I do remember is being six years old and told that we were moving overseas. From Canada to Australia – over 16,000 kilometers. Just a touch further than those road trips we could never complete. I didn’t want to move so far away. I didn’t even like going to kinder – how was I going to navigate a transition across the globe?
When we arrived in Australia, I cried again. Every day of school, in fact. I distinctly remember sitting in the principal’s office with my mum while they tried to figure out what to do with me. The solution from Mr Principal? Threaten to send me back a grade if I couldn’t pull it together.
I never did go back a grade, so I imagine I pulled it together enough to satisfy him, but I stayed crying every day – perhaps just a little more privately. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I was deeply overstimulated at school. I felt lonely and out of place. Like I never quite fit in.
Part of it was feeling different – my heavy Canadian accent was a point of humour for my peers. I had to say ‘banana’ a lot so they could laugh and I could feel … different. It was hard enough being a sensitive kid, but now I stood out in ways I never wanted.
I was sensitive to everything – sensory input for sure (I cried many tears over underwear!), but more than anything, the emotional stuff hit me hard. I felt sick when people argued, dysregulated when others were upset. I was empathetic and also had no idea what to do with that empathy. I became a classic people pleaser – the only way I knew how to regulate myself was by pleasing other people. Yes I’ll play your game; no I don’t need anything; of course I’m happy!
Fast forward to high school where it seemed like time slowed down. I felt as though I lived five lifetimes at that place – punctuated by floods of tears and overwhelm. And still me saying ‘banana’ for a laugh. It was around this time that I worked hard at changing my accent. I could say banana the way they did! Along with bath, almond, tomato … I just wanted to fly under the radar, and this helped.
Thankfully, I was a strong student, so that pulled me through, but gosh it is not with fondness that I reflect on those times.
When I got to university, I felt so much better. I could hang out on my own and it wasn’t weird. I got all that quiet time on my commute. I got to do what I did best – dig into a project and be in a quiet room to nut through it. That said, uni came with its own challenges. I didn’t know what to focus on. It took me several tries and a panic attack to find my path, but even then, when I finally left uni with a Bachelor of Behavioural Science under my belt, I had no idea what to do next.
I entered the corporate world with such optimism. But that world can be a harsh place for a HSP. The (non)ethical approach of many of my bosses felt deeply misaligned and within a few short years (and three jobs) I was burnt out and done with that harsh environment. I decided it was time for a complete 180 turn … to become a yoga teacher.
Now this felt more like home. Helping people feel better – that seemed to be my thing. Suddenly my sensitivity was a strength in my work, not a hindrance. When I worked in an office I spent inordinate amounts of time and energy being dysregulated as I tried (unsuccessfully) to block out the noise and emotion and chaos of the environment. In a yoga class? My sensitivity allowed me to tune into the mood of the room and offer thoughtful support.
Then, not too long after becoming a yoga teacher, I became a mum. I was not even a little prepared for the impact parenthood would have on my HSP self and, as I look back, I’m sad to see the constantly overstimulated and dysregulated woman I was. Despite all of my training (and knowledge of HSP, even back then) I never took my sensitivity seriously enough to advocate for my needs. The result? Burnout and a deep sense of self-loathing. This was one of my darkest periods – I adored my babies, felt deeply supported by my husband, and yet I hated myself. I felt broken and hopeless. I knew something had to change.
That was over 10 years ago now. Since then, I’ve embraced my sensitivity and learned to love myself for exactly who I am. And … I’m still learning and figuring out how to navigate being a sensitive person in this world.
At the time of writing, I’m 90% of the way through my assessments for Autism and ADHD, and I’m 99% confident I will be diagnosed with both. The rearview mirror is often so much clearer, and seeing myself through this lens – of HSP and neurodivergence – helps me to see that I never was broken. I felt broken, sure, but I never actually was. I was, however, misunderstood – both by the people around me, and myself.
I now see understanding myself and taking my needs seriously as the ultimate form of self-compassion, kindness and care.
I’ve needed this in spades in adulthood as I’ve navigated some really tricky things. In my late 30s, I watched my mother fall deeply into the grips of Fronto-Temporal Dementia. She died this year (when I was 42).
And sometime in between her illness setting in and her death, I learned a truth I never knew I was searching for – that I am a donor conceived person. A man I have never met contributed 50% of my DNA. This secret was locked up tight but I do find myself wondering if my high sensitivity always knew something was awry. That feeling of something being off but not knowing what … I have a feeling that my intuition knew more than I did.
Being a HSP and navigating hard and often traumatic events can be really tough. But I am deeply grateful to know myself more and more so that I can advocate for my needs. This is what I support others to do, too: to understand themselves through a compassionate lens and nurture their sensitivity instead of shaming and blaming it. It really can make all the difference.
– Erica
Erica is a counsellor, somatic exercise coach and yoga teacher. She is the founder of both SOMA:HOME (an 8 week online program for HSPs) and the SelfKind Hub (an online movement and wellbeing space for HSPs). Along with Matt Glover, she’s also the founder of High Sensitivity Australia.
I cried a lot as a baby. My mum told me, numerous times, about the road trip holidays they abandoned because I would cry and cry from the back of the car. By all accounts, that crying baby grew into a very sensitive child (who cried a lot). I was introverted, shy, and very reluctant to explore beyond my comfort zone. If the stories are true, I was pulled out of kindergarten because I would just cry and cry when my mum left.
I have very little memory of this, of course. But what I do remember is being six years old and told that we were moving overseas. From Canada to Australia – over 16,000 kilometers. Just a touch further than those road trips we could never complete. I didn’t want to move so far away. I didn’t even like going to kinder – how was I going to navigate a transition across the globe?
When we arrived in Australia, I cried again. Every day of school, in fact. I distinctly remember sitting in the principal’s office with my mum while they tried to figure out what to do with me. The solution from Mr Principal? Threaten to send me back a grade if I couldn’t pull it together.
I never did go back a grade, so I imagine I pulled it together enough to satisfy him, but I stayed crying every day – perhaps just a little more privately. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I was deeply overstimulated at school. I felt lonely and out of place. Like I never quite fit in.
Part of it was feeling different – my heavy Canadian accent was a point of humour for my peers. I had to say ‘banana’ a lot so they could laugh and I could feel … different. It was hard enough being a sensitive kid, but now I stood out in ways I never wanted.
I was sensitive to everything – sensory input for sure (I cried many tears over underwear!), but more than anything, the emotional stuff hit me hard. I felt sick when people argued, dysregulated when others were upset. I was empathetic and also had no idea what to do with that empathy. I became a classic people pleaser – the only way I knew how to regulate myself was by pleasing other people. Yes I’ll play your game; no I don’t need anything; of course I’m happy!
Fast forward to high school where it seemed like time slowed down. I felt as though I lived five lifetimes at that place – punctuated by floods of tears and overwhelm. And still me saying ‘banana’ for a laugh. It was around this time that I worked hard at changing my accent. I could say banana the way they did! Along with bath, almond, tomato … I just wanted to fly under the radar, and this helped.
Thankfully, I was a strong student, so that pulled me through, but gosh it is not with fondness that I reflect on those times.
When I got to university, I felt so much better. I could hang out on my own and it wasn’t weird. I got all that quiet time on my commute. I got to do what I did best – dig into a project and be in a quiet room to nut through it. That said, uni came with its own challenges. I didn’t know what to focus on. It took me several tries and a panic attack to find my path, but even then, when I finally left uni with a Bachelor of Behavioural Science under my belt, I had no idea what to do next.
I entered the corporate world with such optimism. But that world can be a harsh place for a HSP. The (non)ethical approach of many of my bosses felt deeply misaligned and within a few short years (and three jobs) I was burnt out and done with that harsh environment. I decided it was time for a complete 180 turn … to become a yoga teacher.
Now this felt more like home. Helping people feel better – that seemed to be my thing. Suddenly my sensitivity was a strength in my work, not a hindrance. When I worked in an office I spent inordinate amounts of time and energy being dysregulated as I tried (unsuccessfully) to block out the noise and emotion and chaos of the environment. In a yoga class? My sensitivity allowed me to tune into the mood of the room and offer thoughtful support.
Then, not too long after becoming a yoga teacher, I became a mum. I was not even a little prepared for the impact parenthood would have on my HSP self and, as I look back, I’m sad to see the constantly overstimulated and dysregulated woman I was. Despite all of my training (and knowledge of HSP, even back then) I never took my sensitivity seriously enough to advocate for my needs. The result? Burnout and a deep sense of self-loathing. This was one of my darkest periods – I adored my babies, felt deeply supported by my husband, and yet I hated myself. I felt broken and hopeless. I knew something had to change.
That was over 10 years ago now. Since then, I’ve embraced my sensitivity and learned to love myself for exactly who I am. And … I’m still learning and figuring out how to navigate being a sensitive person in this world.
At the time of writing, I’m 90% of the way through my assessments for Autism and ADHD, and I’m 99% confident I will be diagnosed with both. The rearview mirror is often so much clearer, and seeing myself through this lens – of HSP and neurodivergence – helps me to see that I never was broken. I felt broken, sure, but I never actually was. I was, however, misunderstood – both by the people around me, and myself.
I now see understanding myself and taking my needs seriously as the ultimate form of self-compassion, kindness and care.
I’ve needed this in spades in adulthood as I’ve navigated some really tricky things. In my late 30s, I watched my mother fall deeply into the grips of Fronto-Temporal Dementia. She died this year (when I was 42).
And sometime in between her illness setting in and her death, I learned a truth I never knew I was searching for – that I am a donor conceived person. A man I have never met contributed 50% of my DNA. This secret was locked up tight but I do find myself wondering if my high sensitivity always knew something was awry. That feeling of something being off but not knowing what … I have a feeling that my intuition knew more than I did.
Being a HSP and navigating hard and often traumatic events can be really tough. But I am deeply grateful to know myself more and more so that I can advocate for my needs. This is what I support others to do, too: to understand themselves through a compassionate lens and nurture their sensitivity instead of shaming and blaming it. It really can make all the difference.
– Erica
Erica is a counsellor, somatic exercise coach and yoga teacher. She is the founder of both SOMA:HOME (an 8 week online program for HSPs) and the SelfKind Hub (an online movement and wellbeing space for HSPs). Along with Matt Glover, she’s also the founder of High Sensitivity Australia.