Growing up as a sensitive person is like navigating the world with heightened senses. I remember when I was little my whole family would call me sensitive for not being able to take jokes, so I started laughing instead of crying.

I grew up with two older brothers. They would constantly make jokes towards me. In return I would get upset or I would get sad and end up crying. They would reply with “Why can’t you just take a joke?” That sentence would just make it hurt more.

In junior high I started making friends. I would rely on them for everything. They had other friends whereas I did not. I would make a big deal about the littlest things. And every time it would lead to the end of my friendships, along with getting called “too sensitive”. The sting of their words lingered for a while. A familiar burn I knew all too well.  I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong.

I was fed up with being too much for everyone. I learned to laugh along, to ignore how I truly felt. For once, I felt accepted. Even if the acceptance was all thanks to a performance I had to put on.

But after a while it got so exhausting to have to act out as a whole different person. Eventually I met people who didn’t care how sensitive I was. They never once have made me feel like “too much”. I learned in the end if you’re going to be anyone, be yourself. It’s something so little but something that makes me, me.