It's Too Quiet In This Room...

So, I spent today just as planned. I bought and prepared all my healthy food for the week (even though the lying liars at Whole Foods were NOT open at 9:00!). I put my laptop away and set my timer when playing online games. I went for a walk in the rain. I started reading a new book. Even though 2017 started as planned and I am in good spirits, there is a sadness. A sadness at another year ending. It makes me think about mortality, endings, regrets. It's inevitable to go down that road, the difference is instead of fighting it I am embracing these feelings and labeling them as appropriate. Rarely in my life have I allowed myself to believe my feelings are appropriate. Nice job, Melissa.

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2016 was far better, for me, than 2015. I achieved what I set out to: regroup, build my self-confidence, and gain a better understanding of my self-worth. I met some amazing people many of whom I suspect will be lifelong friends. I've also unintentionally hurt some people and those are some of the regrets I woefully carry with me into 2017. Because that's how life works. You leave as much of the past as you can, but baggage is what it is. You can't realistically leave everything behind, unless you want to forfeit the beautiful memories, too. I want all of them-even the painful ones.

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I'm also ready to take 2017 by the balls and tell him to follow my lead. I'm on fire-the Alicia Keys way not red, hot, burning ouchies way. I am motivated, focused, determined, and downright fucking zen, man. I don't know where this pizzazz is coming from but I'm not arguing. I'm not going to do what I have done in the past in a New Year's post and bullet point all the things I learned in 2016 and all the things I plan to do in 2017. You'll find out soon enough and there aren't enough surprises left in this world. I'm holding onto this for a bit. But suffice it to say, it's epic. This year will be no different than any other year unless I (or you) make it different. That is a fact. Wtf, my new Fitbit talks to me?! Gives me directives?? I love this! It just "told" me to walk 244 steps in the next 10 min. Amazing...

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But I digress...

I am embracing my weird and letting my freak flag fly. Some of you must be thinking how much more "freak" do I have to wave, but I hold back more than people think. I feel myself becoming hyper and I quiet myself. I feel myself become emotional and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from crying. I feel myself start to worry and outwardly portray someone who is cool, calm, and collected. I have pride in those moments when I am genuinely cool, calm, and collected; sensitive; or spazzy, but I don't want to fabricate these feelings any longer and, more importantly, I don't want to dull them either. I have felt the light in my eyes go out and it's a horrifying feeling. To feel yourself becoming numb, succumbing to the dissatisfaction as a normal part of living is the antithesis of living. So, to that light in my eye that wavers and considers going out completely, I say:

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I'm intrigued and hopeful as 2017 commences. We shall see what this sexy beast has in store for us. I, for one, am ready. Are you?

~Melissa

*Title credit song: "Blood In The Cut" by K. Flay in 2016

NYC Pride Flashback circa 2007

Happy Pride Weekend!

I know June is LGBTQIA+ Pride Month for most of the country, but being a Northeasterner at heart, the last weekend in June has always been reserved for "The Pride Event": New York City Pride Parade.

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Being out since 2004, I had always imagined myself walking in the NYC Pride Parade. My fantasy revolved around images I had accumulated from movies, books, and music videos. You know the ones-stereotypical depictions of butch lesbians on motorcycles and scantily clad gay men waving rainbow flags-I wanted to be in the thick of it!

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Unfortunately, I could not manage to scoop up any willing participants on this excursion, so come Sunday morning I headed to the New Haven train station by my lonesome. Destination: Grand Central. I am definitely someone who can "pass" and my attire reflected that as well. En route to NYC, I looked like a typical college student heading to The City for the day. I was equipped with a bagel and coffee, very little money (in fact JUST enough for my round trip train ticket and a $5 meal in New York), and a spunky attitude!

Being cognizant of the mayhem that would soon ensue, I arrived VERY early. So early, in fact, the volunteers were still setting up the event. That is when I first noticed the traffic barricades blocking off the sidewalk...and when it dawned on me that most people don't assume they can just show up to one of the largest pride events in the world and expect to just simply MARCH with the parade. But, then again, I'm not most people. 

I casually usurped the barricades and starting walking up 7th Ave, in the street. It took approximately 27 seconds before a very militant lesbian approached me with a clipboard and asked if I needed help. In my youthful arrogance I simply responded I was there to march in the parade. She scoffed and asked if I was registered with a group. I slowly took a sip of coffee and explained I was not registered with a group. She all but laughed at me and said I could not march if I was not registered, before marching away herself. I smiled and affirmed: I am marching in this parade.

  
I peered across 7th Ave and saw a group of 20-somethings in a vibrant and excited huddle. Unlike most of the other groups that were forming, these individuals were not dressed alike and, therefore, made it easier for me to sneak in and pretend I was with them. In a matter of minutes, a woman shouted, "Who wants to carry a sign?!" 

I thought, Here's my chance! If I'm carrying a sign, I can't be told I can't march!

"I do!" I exclaimed and hurried over. I cannot for the life of me remember what my sign said and unfortunately it did not survive the many moves I've had since 2007. But, that sign was my ticket to my very gay fantasy, so I held on for dear life. 

At precisely noon, we kicked off from 36th and 7th towards The Village and the excitement pulsed immediately. I had no idea who I was marching with, but I was overwhelmed by the proud energy pounding from the onlookers and marchers alike. 

We hadn't walked very far, when we stopped and I heard a man speak from one row ahead of me. In a dizzying moment of realization, the pieces start to connect and I realized who, exactly, I was marching with. I was marching with the New York City Council and quite literally one person separated me and Mayor Bloomberg!

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These are pictures from NYC Pride 2007. I was one of the many people holding signs announcing important political and legal dates in gay history. 

 

My head was spinning. It was surreal to know I was actually participating in this event and I had done it with nearly no preparation. As the march continued, my casual attire became more "Gay-a-fied" as I collected rainbow Mardi Gras beads, buttons, stickers, and flags. By the time we ended at Christopher Street, I was covered in rainbow goodness from head to toe-never mind my sign. Having spent hours marching in the heat, I was in need of a subway pronto. I stopped and asked a cop where I could find the nearest subway station and was informed that all participants of the parade got to ride for free!

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I lived off that Pride high for weeks after, telling anyone who would listen about my adventure! The train ride back to CT was entertaining to say the least as I garnered looks from everyone from elderly couples to children to other queer 20-somethings who smiled with solidarity.

So while I was not able to participate in today's Pride events, my flashback holds special significance for not only the queer in me, but the activist in me.

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 ~Melissa

An Open Letter to 2015

As the new year begins, I find myself caught up in the typical end-of-the-year reflections, mostly thanking the fuck out of the Universe that 2015 is over. Please trust I am everyday grateful that I am alive and able to live each day to it's fullest, that I have an abundance of family and friends who know me better than I know myself, and that I am (finally) employed at a job I do not vehemently hate every second of. That being said, this past year certainly gave 2014 a run for its money.

 

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It's natural, then, to look back and bid adieu to all the fucked up shit that happened in 2015. Taking this reflection a step further, I have decided to address the main source of my discontent in 2015: my bad attitude. Because, basically, it all comes down to that. After 2014 proved to be misstep after misstep, I expected the Universe to grant me a break, without even considering my role in the equation. I assumed 32 essentially good (at worst decent) years + 1 tough year = I deserve all the things. But that, my darlings, is not how Life works. Life just is-it gives and it takes in a cycle that most of us pay little attention to. And when Life takes, the outcome depends almost entirely on our reaction to it. Pissing and moaning, blaming others, exclaiming "I'm cursed!" (something I am ashamed to admit I have said more than once in 2015), and throwing hissy fits is not going to force Life to give back, it's just going to make the situation that much harder to accept. 

I have even gone so far as to declare: "In the past two years, I can't seem to have more than 2 or 3 days of peace without the rug being pulled out from under me." Now, as extreme as that may seem, it's actually fairly accurate situation-wise, BUT it didn't have to accurately describe my attitude. Instead, I let each situation puncture me, seep into my veins, and (worse of all) define me. I'm going to say that again: I let those bad days, awful situations, and heartbreaking moments DEFINE me. For two fucking years. Me! The person who always thought of herself as spiritual, positive, affirming, compassionate, understanding, open, "silver lining" adjacent.

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I had become cynical, sardonic, skeptical, smug, bitter, jaded. All these alarming adjectives I never could have imagined associated with myself. And not because I've never felt these feelings in my life, of course I have, but never for so long, unrelenting to the point of attempting to forge itself into my core, my very soul. And I was afraid there was no way back. As scary and dark as these feelings were, I experienced a sense of superiority. Equivalent to the moment I asked my mother (at age 9) if there was really a Santa Claus and she confirmed there wasn't. The magic was gone, but I felt eerily superior, enlightened, "better." That is precisely the feeling I have held onto for two years, each day growing stronger: The magic was gone, but I felt eerily superior. Like I knew the "real" meaning of Life and everyone who was positive and happy was being duped. Trust, I recognize how absolutely miserable that sounds.

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The magic I am referring to is the wonder of Life. The fascination of connecting with people, sharing common goals, allowing your heart to love, being open to hurt, putting yourself "out there." Everything I had come to love about Life, I was now belittling and demeaning. And it has affected my psyche, my heart, my well-being, and, most tragically, my soul.

Sure, I could blame dysfunctional relationships (I've had my fair share!), a crazy family (check!), unsupportive partners (yep!), career burn-out (yes, ma'am!), or a strong case of wanderlust (Lord, yes!) OR I could look at the preceding reasons and conclude my poor attitude likely played a large part in each of those areas, as well. Had I been more confident, comfortable in my skin, and trusting I wouldn't have sought out partners, careers, and locations that would eventually disappoint, most through no fault of their own. (Especially since I am not the only human on this planet who has ever experienced the previous.)

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So, 2015, you have given me many opportunities to face who I really am, even when it hurt. You have given me reasons to cry and scream and shut down from the people closest to me. You have given me grief and struggle, but also resilience and hope. In truth, last year was never about you and Life conspiring against me, it has always been about you giving me reasons to trust Life loves me and gives me exactly what I need, exactly when I need it. I can't promise my attitude will magically alter today, I can't even promise to go back to the wide-eyed optimist I was in my 20's, but I can promise not to give up, not to succumb to the bitterness, not to expect the worst from people. I can promise to try harder, laugh more, take Life (and everything!) less seriously while I am blessed enough to be here on this planet. In closing, 2015, you gave much more than you took, because you gave me a purpose, you pushed me to my breaking point and trusted I would find my way back. And I am beginning to. Thank you.

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~Melissa

I Get Into All The Don'ts

It always seems like we're just "getting through" things. You get through school to get through college to get through work to get through to the weekend, vacation, retirement. As an anxious person, this has colored my entire world and my perspective on most things, unfortunately leaving me with a general sense of misery I typically cannot pinpoint. I am in a constant state of anticipation (good or bad) and it wreaks havoc on the here and now.

I've tried changing my attitude and outlook to "be present" in the moment-employing mindfulness techniques while at work or suffering through a long line at the DMV. This has been about 50% effective, which is not a bad statistic overall, but for someone who feels "born anxious", maintaining mindfulness for extended periods can feel time consuming, exhausting, and (in the end) more anxiety-producing.

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I've tried making the most of my "free time" to the point of estimating I have approximately 64 "free" hours a week I'm not at work, sleeping, or getting ready for work. This, of course, does not count errands, phone calls, paying bills, and the myriad other "adult" things we are required to accomplish everyday to be considered "grown up." (It also carries on the aforementioned "getting through" dilemma.)

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I've tried militant list making and planning-an escape route of sorts-to give me meaning and purpose in current stressful situations. That works more often than mindfulness, but perpetuates the anticipatory anxiety I am trying to avoid altogether. Never mind all of these avenues typically have the shelf-life of a gallon of milk.

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Each time I consider this quandary, I come out feeling more defective. It appears most people have it down. "It" being LIFE. These guys and gals seem to know who they are, what they want, and how to get it. Not only that, but they seem to know how to convert that self-awareness into financial success. On the other hand, there are just as many people who do "get through the week" at a job they don't particularly enjoy, but find satisfaction in family, friends, hobbies, and clubs.

I can't relate to either. Depression has tricked me more times than I can count into believing this universal dissatisfaction I have felt definitely in the past 2 years, probably since I graduated college, possibly since birth is me just being a lazy, bored, miserable bitch. Unhappy, unsatisfied, unappeasable.

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The kicker is...I'm not miserable. I'm truly not. Sure, I have significant mood, food, and booze issues. True, I have untreated OCD (Thanks, South Carolina!). Yes, I feel lost and alone almost all the time. Those are things I have dealt with my entire life in one form or another, yet only in recent years has this growing dissatisfaction, disillusionment, and disinterest in remaining an automaton reached levels I can no longer ignore. Levels where it physically hurts to ignore them.

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I'm also not lazy. I thrive on hard work, deadlines, and productivity. I was unemployed from June to the end of October and it made little difference in my mood or anxiety. I still worried about the future and had epic mood changes, trouble sleeping, and obsessive thoughts. The irony is routine works both for and against me. My mental health craves it for stability and security, but my spirit feels bound and strangled. Which has led some noteworthy revelations about myself.

In recent months three things have become evident:

1. I am a very sensitive person, an empath who absorbs mine and others' experiences and feelings to the point of mental, physical, and spiritual unrest.   
2. I am a gypsy soul with a serious case of wanderlust and a side of free spirit syndrome. I love new beginnings, moving, having a "fresh slate", but find myself restless soon after arriving at these new adventures.
3. I consistently set myself up to fail. I put pressure on myself to mold to the "norm" and when I do, immediately feel stifled, robotic, and (quite possibly the most disturbing) ordinary.

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I believe the restlessness lies in expecting geography to change my worldview so much so that my creative/wanderer/activist self will be satiated. The fact of the matter is Greenville is Corning is Meriden in the sense that I (like every single responsible adult on this planet) have to earn a living to support myself. Just being a living human being costs money-a lot of money. Never mind the stacks of various kinds of debt accrued when my former self was transitioning to this newest place on earth.

In terms of conformity, we have maintained a love-hate relationship since adolescence. I was fortunate enough to come of age in the grunge era. I say this not only because the music, movie, and art scenes were on point, but as a body-conscious teen, having baggy cords and oversized tee shirts in vogue was a godsend. I assert had fate decided I adolesce in the present, I would have pulled a Martha Dunnstock. I wanted to fit in as badly as any teen girl does, yet at the same time I had a non-conformity death wish of sorts, wanting to be as far from the trends as possible and uncertain how to marry the two. Twenty years later and I'm just as lost.

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Lastly, feeling ordinary and normal seems so far from the person I am inside-in my mind, in my spirit. I don't say this in a superior way, far from it. Instead, I am saying it from an outcast's perspective. I feel like a fraud and have in just about every job and career I have held. Even when I write there is a sense of chicanery, however minute, I feel I have to overcome. Perhaps that is due to society's fixation with talent=money=success and because I have never been published nor achieved massive blog readership, I am, therefore, an unsuccesful/untalented writer.

I wish this post held more answers, but I fear the deeper I dive into this arena, every answer spawns several more questions. What needs to change? Will I ever feel satisfied? How can I be both authentic and a productive member of society when my authenticity so badly wants to give 9-5 jobs the middle finger?

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I think the best I can hope for is connection with others who feel the same and remain optimistic that time will reveal how I can achieve my goals-personal and professional-in a way that is legitimate, satisfying, spiritual, and meaningful. To be clear, my mission is not a complete lack of disillusion in life. It is in disappointment that my creativity is born. To be without it entirely would leave me without conflict, too satisfied to rebel and speak my mind. And this gypsy soul has a rebel heart.

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~Melissa

*Title credit: Song: "Moments" by Tove Lo in 2014

Sweet (Inner) Child o' Mine

***WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST INCLUDES IMAGES THAT MAY BE EMOTIONALLY TRIGGERING***

It is fair to say the image below largely impacted me and had a direct influence on my writing this post. An art installation from this year's Burning Man was shared on the World Wide Web by many and made it's way to a friend's Facebook page (thank you, Cherie!) where I spotted it for the first time a few days ago. This piece, titled "LOVE" by Ukrainian artist Alexandr Milov, depicts two adults (a man and a woman), backs turned and posing in a display of despair while their encaged inner children reach out to one another.

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I'm certain this piece struck me in the same way it did most people: as a commentary on the way adults are often quick to turn inward during times of struggle, so enmeshed in their own suffering they cannot see they are not alone. In addition, this piece spoke to me, personally. It asked the questions: Is my inner child trying to tell me something? And if so, what?

The answer was painful to face: I haven't the foggiest.

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As a student of psychology, counseling, and spirituality, the inner child concept was familiar, if not somewhat elusive. Wikipedia describes the inner child as:

"...our childlike aspect. It includes all that we learned and experienced as children, before puberty. The inner child denotes a semi-independent entity subordinate to the waking conscious mind."

In essence, the inner child represents our innermost desires and feelings, often screaming to be heard over the everyday humdrum of life we, as adults, face. In more dire circumstances, the inner child may be suffering along with the "waking conscious mind" of its adult counterpart, due to pain, suffering, and/or trauma experienced in childhood.

Having attended many Overeaters Anonymous meetings, I learned many twelve-step programs also adhere to this school of thought, suggesting healing the inner child is an essential part of addiction recovery. The implication is if our inner child represents our purest selves, our most independent and carefree parts of our being, when s/he is damaged in some way, it can (and in many cases) will affect our everyday lives. The idea being, as adults, we find ways to drown out the inner child's pleas through overworking, addiction, eating disorders, self-harm, distractions, escapism, anything really.

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Having some knowledge of the inner child concept and viewing the Burning Man image opened my mind in a way I was not prepared. While the above image of the woman viewing herself and her inner child in the mirror can, upon first glance, appear to be nothing more than an animated horror movie scene, this is precisely how I felt after viewing "LOVE": alarmed and afraid. 

I was/am frightened of what I might have done to my inner child with my addictions and disorders, depression and anxiety, self-loathing, self-injury, and self-deprecation. I was afraid she was angry with me after yelling at her for not being smart enough, skinny enough, strong enough, or just plain ENOUGH. I imagined her cowering in the darkest corners of my mind and body, crying and feeling hopeless, longing to hear anything close to praise. But worse still, I was most frightened she was gone-given up on me the way I had given up on her. I feared she wouldn't trust me again, for all my failed attempts to nurture her in the past. And, in all honesty, she had every right not to. 

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The twist is, when I went looking for her she was eager to connect with me again. She trusts me implicitly and expects no explanations for my failures. She welcomes me with open arms, as if she were there all along, waiting for me. Because that is exactly where she has been. She didn't leave me, I had left her. She waited, patiently, knowing I would return, understanding that my journey may involve letting her go for a time, but always confident I would someday reappear. She didn't scold or pout, she didn't cry or scream, instead she danced and sang and played with my comeback. 

She became radiant, glowing as if from within, as she laughed and joked, prompting me to do the same. I felt my insides begin to heal, both symbolically and literally. It was as if her glow of rejoice was beginning to consume me. The air felt lighter and  easier to breathe, my feet carried me with ease and purpose, I straightened my back and adjusted my smile. I felt honest, sincere, genuine...I felt like me.

Me, age 3 

As if this epiphany wasn't enough, in true Melissa fashion, I found a song to encapsulate this very feeling of "coming home" to my inner child-to acknowledging her and freeing her from the emotional traps I had kept her in. Interestingly, in the past I had tried to make this song fit with lovers and a couple months ago I heard it again and decided it was a love song to myself. Saturday night, this song happened to play on my iPod and I was paralyzed for 2 hours as this song repeated and the realization unfolded that this was me singing to my inner child. 

The song is "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri. The lyrics suggest that not only have I known and loved my inner child seemingly forever, but also that I have always known I would reconnect with her-seeing her alone in the shadows of my mind, wiping away all doubt of her existence. The opening line: "Heart beats fast, colors and promises, how to be brave, how can I love when I'm afraid to fall?" reminds me of the feeling I had (and continue to have) once rediscovering my inner child and inner spirit: reckless abandon, colors seem brighter, bravery reignited after being long forgotten and yet the oh-so-human response of "what if I fall?"

Granted, this song can hold some negative connotations for its association with the Twilight movie and it has been used by many as their wedding march. But, if you are willing to look past that, listen to the lyrics, and imagine what I do, I believe you may experience the same goosebump-y feeling I had Saturday night, when each time the song ended I silently said, "One more time..."

I suppose this means I am, indeed, "one step closer" to reconnecting with the me I haven't seen in some time. The me that loves to color and joke, makes up songs and poems, and dances around the house. The me that laughs uproariously at nothing in particular, has dreams and chases them, sets goals and is hopeful they will pan out. The me that plays. The me that leaps. The me that lives.

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Me, 8 hours after my "A Thousand Years" reverie

Rumi said: "When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy." I think he was right.

~Melissa

*Title credit: Song: "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns N' Roses in 1987

 

Silence is the New Black

I am guilty of what many of us do: fill quiet moments with unnecessary (often mundane) chatter to avoid silence. I call this "jibber jabber," (taken from the indisputably hilarious relationship of "Penny" and "Sheldon" on The Big Bang Theory).

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To me, jibber jabber and small talk has become mind-numbing. It appears the more change our world sees (socially, politically, environmentally), the more obsessed with monotony some become. For example, on a day when marriage equality is achieved for the entire country AND the President of the United States attends funerals for some of the Charleston 9, I may hear two neighbors discussing, at length, how the time the mail arrives has changed over the past few months. This is just one of many examples. I have never before heard so much discussion about mail arrival, lawns that need mowing, why this restaurant opens at 11:00 versus 12:00, and so it goes. I don't mean to sound judge-y, but for real? In the words of one of my favorite comediennes and podcasters, Jen Kirkman: "I don't want to do small talk anymore, I want big talk." I am beginning to reach a point where I am interested in one of two things: big/ "medium" talk or silence. Larry David has similiar sentiments.

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In this post, I am hoping to encourage all of us, myself included, to enjoy, accept, and embrace the silence, when big talk isn't possible and small talk is irritating. In graduate school for counseling, we learned silence is not only a good idea, it is essential to growth. It gives both the client and clinician the room and space to process what has already been said. In a world where it is easy, most times unavoidable, to fill every silent moment with media static and white noise, this concept may seem unconventional. I am positing that it IS unconventional and that can be good.

I, for one, am constantly inundating myself with noise. If it's not TV, it's my iPod. Or I'm watching videos on YouTube, answering e-mails and texts, while also balancing my checkbook. In fact, as I write this post it is the only silent moment I will likely have today and yet my mind is still quite stimulated. As someone who struggles daily with mental hygiene, I speculate my avoidance of silence is due to fear of the places my mind wanders when there is no stimulation. The far reaches of my mind where dark thoughts, sad memories, and fear of the future reside. On days I am particularly motivated to embrace silence, I often achieve this by still distracting my mind, just in a less noisy way-reading. While it is a much needed break from screens (unless I'm using my Kindle...), it is still distraction from silence in its truest form.

 

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It may be obvious to some what I am suggesting: less time online, more time outside, put your phones done. And that is all true, but I am also challenging us to go a bit deeper than that. Instead of only leaving 5 minutes before bed for meditation or 10 minutes in the morning for solitude, I am advocating a Lifestyle of Active Quietude or LAQ, as in lack of distractions, lack of noise, lack of disturbance. We can all use LESS in our lives. In fact, I have designed a second blog to devote especially to this idea. New blog here!

What I am suggesting may seem radical: how does one build a lifestyle around quietude? Like any change in perspective, it will surely take time and patience. It will involve yielding to other disciplines as well, such as mindfulness, choiceless awareness, and compassionate love (all topics that will be discussed at length in my additional blog). It will also involve actively setting boundaries with myself (limit game time, limit the number of times I check Facebook, designating certain times for texting), as well as boundaries with others. Admittedly, I have a tendency to become rigid and obsessive any time I implement a plan, no matter how beneficial it is or how good my intentions are. Something I need to be mindful about. 

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Some ways I hope to spend my quietude:

• Reconnecting with a spiritual path
• Spending more time in nature
• Reviving new creative interests
• Finding new hobbies
• Enhancing meditation practices
• Journaling

Some things I hope to learn from my quietude:

• Patience
• Mindfulness
• Non-judgment
• Compassion
• Gratitude
• How to let go of all "The Stuff"

I am eager to begin my journey and grateful to have the time and space to explore my solitude to its fullest. While I am hesitant to see what lies in the quiet moments I so desperately try to drown out, I am hopeful that taking time throughout the day to be quiet, mindful, and aware will only calm my chaotic mind. 

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~Melissa

Don't Be So Sensitive!

I am an empath or HSP (Highly Sensitive Person). Some of you may have suspected, based on personal interaction with me or previous blog posts. Some of you may be perplexed as to what an empath or HSP is. That is understandable. Let's begin with some definitions. As described on Dr. Elaine Aron's website, someone who is an HSP experiences most or all of these traits:

• Easily overwhelmed by bright lights, strong smells, coarse fabrics, or sirens
• Rattled when you have to do a lot in a short amount of time
• Makes a point to avoid violent movies and TV shows
• Needs to withdraw during busy days, into bed or a darkened room (or some other refuge where you can have privacy and relief from the situation)
• Make it a high priority to arrange your life to avoid upsetting or overwhelming situations
• Notices or enjoys delicate or fine scents, tastes, sounds, or works of art
• Has a rich and complex inner life
• When you were a child, your parents or teachers saw you as sensitive or shy

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Dr. Aron's website goes on to espouse that not only is being an HSP normal (15-20% of the population are reported to be highly sensitive), but also innate.

"In fact, biologists have found it in over 100 species (and probably there are many more) from fruit flies, birds, and fish to dogs, cats, horses, and primates. This trait reflects a certain type of survival strategy, being observant before acting. The brains of highly sensitive persons (HSPs) actually work a little differently than others’."

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I adamantly agree and relate to every single bullet point listed on Dr. Aron's webiste, as well as previously written blogs or articles on HSPs. The two pieces I linked include some super relatable quips such as:

• "That annoying sound is probably significantly more annoying to a highly sensitive person."
• "The effects of criticism are especially amplified in highly sensitive people."
• "They're probably used to hearing, 'Don't take things so personally' and 'Why are you so sensitive?'"
• "We notice that subtle change in your tone."
• "We're always willing to hear you vent."
• "They're more prone to anxiety or depression (but only if they've had a lot of past negative experiences)." 

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Sounds pretty exhausting, doesn't it? It IS. Being highly sensitive, coupled with my OCD, is quite literally the definition of mental exhaustion. My mind is constantly thinking, rethinking, thinking again, and thinking from the other person's perspective. Then, my brain does the ever-so-awesome analyzing of facial expressions, sighs, tone of voice, and body language. In addition to all that activity I am juggling just having a typical conversation, I'm also on sensory overload. Fluorescent lighting, dings from my phone and yours, TV blaring, the tag in my shirt, and food smells. And probably the most prevalent sensory disturbance (for me) is loud talking. Which, admittedly, is ironic considering I am also a loud talker. However, when I am already in sensory overload and my systems are ready to abort, loud talking is the living worst.

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Keeping in mind this is an example of a typical conversation, void of conflict or subtext, it is easy to see how I would often have a hard time asserting myself, setting boundaries, and saying "No." Unfortunately, this had made me extremely vulnerable to abusive and toxic relationships, as well as bottling up my feelings which leads to resentment which leads two things: uncorking every negative thought or feeling in a frightening and unexpected manner or subconsciously creating a conflict that validates my reason for cutting the person out of my life. I have more often than not done the latter.

Knowing I am an HSP has helped me feel FAR less crazy. It has also helped me recognize and accept my limits. Unfortunately, I am still not fully comfortable asserting my boundaries and limits with others and have a very small group of people I explicitly trust, who understand and respect me. But, no one is perfect and even my most trusted confidantes may struggle to understand me all day, everyday. And I don't expect them to. I've accepted that there will be moments of emotional exhaustion and compassion fatigue where I have nothing left to give or receive, needing only the sanctuary of a dark room and a movie I have seen 18 times.

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Even as I finish this blog, sights and sounds that didn't register hours ago (it's 7:00pm) are beginning to grate on me. The sound of the keys as I type, cars speeding past the house, the way my bed sheet is bunching in the middle of my futon in couch-position, my bedroom light glaring onto my glasses. Harmless annoyances, yet all signs I am hitting my limit. I hope to follow up, someday, with a post about how I manage my HSP-ness in a relationship, as that opportunity has not yet presented. Soon enough, I suspect. 

~Melissa