I always thought I was born too sensitive.
I shouldn’t be able to cry that easily, to take so many words to heart, to care so much about people. I needed to toughen up.
In the middle of my kindergarten school year, a girl in my class was getting ready to move. On her last day, she accidentally slammed her hand in her car door as she was getting dropped off. I remember her crying and being so upset. What’s funny though is how upset this made me too. I still, almost thirty years later, vividly recall being so heartbroken it was her last day and it was ruined and she was leaving with such bad memories. It hurt me that she got hurt, and I was just so concerned for her.
I still think about that incident a lot, truthfully.
I still worry about the little girl who isn’t so little anymore and probably doesn’t even remember slamming her hand in the car door in the kindergarten drop-off line.
That’s the first moment I can recall being embarrassed that I cared about someone so much. I remember telling myself to get it together, that I was just drawing attention to myself, and to stop worrying about her.
From then on, it seemed to be about being tough. About not letting people know you care. About a hard outside.
I grew up quite the little tomboy who loved rough-and-tumble games, sports, and wearing unflattering athletic clothes. It helped me act tough because I liked tough things. But inside I was this weird mix of writing sad songs and poetry in my room and then getting into fights with boys in middle school (Jason Alcorn during choir class, I’M LOOKING AT YOU RIGHT NOW). Caring for people and showing emotion didn’t fit in with my desire to be thought of as a hard ass so I pretended I didn’t care about anything.
When really, I just thought I cared too much.
During my second year of teaching, I was sitting in my assistant principal’s office going over my yearly evaluation. She was telling me the story of a kid who caused lots of problems in other classes, but not mine. She had recently met with him and she asked him who he would go to if he ever felt unsafe or if there was a threat in the building. He had answered without missing a beat that he would go to Ms. Graham’s room because she would probably beat the attacker up. She laughed at this when she told me. She celebrated the fact that kids felt safe and secure in my classroom, but she wondered if they might struggle to see past my tough exterior to realize why I wanted them to feel safe. She wondered if I sometimes stood in my own way and they couldn’t see that I cared deeply for them as well. She thought maybe the caring part was getting lost in the tough part.
That was it.
That was it all along, in my professional life, in my personal life, in my friendships, in my writing, in my silence.
A long time ago, I learned that I was too sensitive and I needed to toughen up. So then I toughen up but maybe too much and things got confusing inside and out.
Now, at almost-thirty-five, I’m working on being soft again. I’m learning to be okay with how news stories make me cry, how students’ home lives break my heart, and how I sometimes feel too many things all at once.
Learning to be gentle again in a world that values hard and detachment is difficult. Often the world beats us up and we grow colder, more cynical, and harder as we get older.
I’m fighting hard against that. It feels counter-intuitive but also right. For so long, I could pretend I didn’t care and didn’t feel much because it was easy and expected. It made me feel silly and weak to cry at new babies, car accidents I passed on the road, and obituaries of people I’ve never even heard of. But now I feel like what I’ve been fighting against for so long is exactly who I want to be.
Because when I feel and work through my sorrows, I also get to see the celebrations clearer. When I mourn the loss of people I only wish I had known, I get to see the people around me with softer eyes.
When I cry big, heavy tears as I’m driving down the road listening to the radio, I get to…
Actually, I don’t know what I get then. Probably just eye rolls from my husband and then the giggles when I realize I’m crying over a song about s-e-x.
But even the crazy I-don’t-know-why-I-feel-so-much-right-now chaos is starting to feel okay. I want to be soft and broken and raw and ready for everything, not just hiding and scared. I’ll probably end up with a few more bumps and bruises, maybe a few more broken hearts. But I’ll also end up with more laughs, more love, and more joy.
And I can’t see what could be so bad about that.
I love this post, Mary.
As I’m reaching my mid-30s, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my emotions and how I appear versus how I really am on the inside – much like you describe. For me, it has been an interesting roller coaster of emotional awareness. In high school, I was a dramatic emotional mess – feeling all the feelings all the time to whoever would listen. I annoy myself, just thinking about me back then. Oof.
In college, I started to realize that I could feel something internally but not necessarily have to exhibit all of it on the outside. In my 20s, I had to hide most of my emotions, living life in the proverbial fish bowl as a pastor’s wife. It didn’t feel safe to exhibit feelings in that setting. I grieve over my 20something self.
And now I’m in my 30s and blissfully, I’ve realized that I can own my feelings, show them if I want to, and process them at my own pace. I can be sensitive AND strong at the same time. I no longer care what others think of me weeping during a worship song at church or letting tears stream down my face when I’m watching those GOSH DARN commercials. I’m also okay with being the strong, blunt one with a backbone when I know it’s the right thing to do.
My point – we’re all works in progress. 🙂
We are SUCH works in progress. I’m so sorry you felt like you had to hide in your twenties, but I get it too. I can’t wait to see where we go during this decade and who we become. I think it’s going to be good! 🙂
I never read blogs anymore (or comment… say wha?) because #threekids, but when I do get five minutes to sit down and login I always go to your blog first. I mean this in the totally-not-creepy-est way possible, but I feel like we should be best friends. (As a stereotypical introvert, there are no acquaintances, either we are BFF or not at all haha.) You too often take the words right out of my mouth. Well, out of my mind, because, again, #introvertproblems.
For the first time, approaching thirty feels good. I’ve always been painfully self-aware, but being “too sensitive” is one I’ve struggled to fit in the box. I’m not too sensitive, I’m tough. I’m strong. A label that was assigned to me, but one that I put on when things get too close or real. People that don’t know me will tell you that I don’t care, but anyone that really does will tell you I care too deeply.
I’ve finally discovered that what I want most is to be honest and true to myself, and that includes owning this part of me. Because, honestly, life is messy and broken and beautiful and so are #allthefeels that go along with it. I get to feel that, to own it. I get to weep on Sunday morning during the baptisms and not feel silly… or during songs about s-e-x-. I, too, am trying to embrace the softy-side but I’ve quickly learned that it also comes with a big, heaping, side of grace- for others when I want to put on my tough label, but mostly for myself. <3
Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t read or comment on blogs either! Actually, I think it makes my writing better and more authentic because I am literally not listening to what anyone else is doing on their blog and trying to copy it. I did that a lot in the first years of writing. You know, just like in life: fake it until you make it. 😉
I think we would be BFFs in real life too. As long as we didn’t have to talk too much. I’m very boring in real life. But bring on the messy, FOR SURE.
Great post. I can relate on so many levels to this. I think there is something about the mid- thirties that really seeks reflection on so many areas of “what makes us, us”. That sounded more deep than I intended it to lol… Off topic, but
I feel like we would be friends in real life. (not in a weird stalker way either) sigh.. ok this is comment is going down hill I better stop before.. well just before whatever I may type next that won’t come out right 🙂 Loved this blog post.
Haha, I love a completely random off-topic comment. Probably because that’s how my brain works. 🙂 Also, we can totally be best friends forever. Call me. hahaha
This. This is totally me in a nutshell. I grew up with an older brother that always taught me to be tough. I just lost my Dad to cancer almost 5 weeks ago and at the beginning I just kept saying…buck up cupcake, don’t be sad…that’s not what Pops would have wanted; don’t be sad, Peyton (my 3 YO) can’t see Mommy crying; Just stop the tears, it’s all okay. AND THEN I saw a therapist and her first words were “FEEL ALL THE FEELS.” Feeling and being present in my emotions has allowed me to grieve in a way I was trying to push aside. It’s okay to cry, be sad, be happy or angry or whatever feeling…be grounded, feel it and then let it go it’s course. Wish I would have known this a long time ago!
Oh man, feeling things is the worst. But necessary also. I’m sorry about the loss of your dad; those feelings are probably overwhelming. Good but overwhelming. Praying for you.
Love this post! Your words ring so true for me as well! Our thirties are the perfect time to finally start being happy with our quirks and embracing them!
Amen. Amen. Amen. Thanks, Jennifer.
Wow! As a band geek, I feel I really missed out now on what was happening in that choir room!
Love this post. A few years ago at work, I had a team that nicknamed my “the robot” and whenever someone talked about emotions would say that to me they “did not compute.” For a long time I laughed at that, maybe I still do, but after some time it also made me a little sad that they never saw the side of me that had deep concern, compassion, and empathy for others.
I think as someone that let their emotions rule them, probably even into high school, at some point that flipped (maybe in college, maybe after) and I put on my suit of armor and didn’t show what was underneath. Also, more recently, I have been trying to find a better balance of letting myself demonstrate more of the emotions.
Not to gender stereotype, but I also wonder if this is partially a direct cause-effect relationship with how we all grew up, what was considered ‘acceptable’ for women and how they should behave, how their husbands would want them to interact when they got home from work, etc. I know I grew up believing that we had fought the gender equality balance issues and won, but as I got older, clearly saw the work still to be done. Just a thought…