I don't like labels.

Lately, they are often used to categorise groups of people rather than helping them feel comfortable in their own skin or integrate into society. This is especially true for young people who are, by definition, still searching for who they are. They are vulnerable to defining themselves before they've truly had the chance to explore life. The most common labels today involve sexual orientation and neurodiversity, significant building blocks of a person's identity.

I don't like labels, but I have to admit that after turning 50, I adopted one. It has truly helped me understand my place in this world. It gave me clarity regarding the confusion I often felt about not being able to handle certain tasks or environments that seemed to come so easily to others.

I am a Highly Sensitive Person, or HSP.

(Another thing I don't like are acronyms! I can never remember what they stand for, and they always make me tongue-tied.)

Throughout my life, I've been called many things by family, friends, and doctors. The word "sensitive" was always there, though rarely in a positive way. I was told I was "too sensitive," as if I simply needed tougher skin to survive. One doctor even told me that because so many people in the world were suffering for "real" reasons, I shouldn't be feeling the way I did. It is a long list of painful, dismissive words. They often made me feel like an alien on this planet, leading to mental health struggles every time the proverbial glass became too full.

What I know now, I wish I had known decades ago. I spent my twenties studying biology, perhaps in an attempt to understand my own biology. I explored the arts: both digital and physical as a way to learn how to express myself. I pursued years of psychological therapy to make sense of my thoughts and my suffering, though looking back, I realise none of those therapists was HSP-aware; otherwise, they never would have said the things they did.

Eventually, I fell in love with the concept of the "inner child." I even spent a period drawing portraits to help people reconnect with their inner children (you can see this work on my Instagram, littleus.art) and wrote a book titled Discovering Life's Journey: Embracing Your Authentic Self. Later, I began studying Naturopathic Nutrition, and that was the missing piece, it tied everything together: the body, the mind, the emotions, and the soul.

I began to see that so much of our makeup can be traced back to generational trauma, our life in utero, our epigenetics, and our early childhood experiences. Our sensitivity is often mapped out by these factors; it stems from an inherited hypervigilance to external stressors, where our genes express themselves differently to help us face perceived dangers more efficiently. But I believe this sensitivity is also a call to action. It is a sign that a genetic lineage has reached a threshold and is being asked to end its cycle of trauma to start a new one. To do that, we need radical empathy and openness, paired with the genuine willingness to heal rather than simply adopting another survival mechanism to keep going, as so many do.

But here I am today, at 58, almost 59, with that same sensitivity, yet with a much more loving and accepting attitude toward myself. I finally know who I am. I don't feel like I've "arrived" at a final destination, but I know what I need to prosper in this life. I have a full pocket of tools to navigate this tumultuous, noisy world, and I am ready to help others like me do the same.

I am currently working on a new book where I share everything I've learned about being me, and how other HSP-empaths can learn to thrive as well.

Does any part of this resonate with you? I'd love to hear if you've spent your life searching for an explanation for why you feel things so deeply. Let me know on social media or contact me directly here, you aren't as alone as you think.