My Middle Name

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I’m sensitive.

Been that way most of my life, even during those years when I tried to behave as if I were not, thinking (read: hoping) that would somehow make it my reality.

It didn’t.

I didn’t grow a “thicker skin” or let things roll off my back. Don’t get me wrong, I am the reigning champ at not taking myself seriously but for some reason, I tend to take others, namely their words and actions, super seriously. Especially the stuff that bites.

And sometimes I shouldn’t. I know this.

But I also know that even if I were to construct a force field that blocked all those things that might trigger these feelers, I’d be as I am. And the thing about force fields, or magic bubbles, or brick walls, they trap your emotions in until they threaten to come bursting out all over the place. And ain’t nobody got time for that!

So…I am sensitive. I openly accept that shadow of myself as it is at present. I work on it with a coach and in my masterminds. I get real about it. But I accept, which liberates me to stop feeling sensitive about being sensitive so that I can embrace the bright, laughing, loving me more and more.

It’s a work in progress.

I mean, we’re all granted a life for a reason, right? To like, learn. And I’m learning it’s far easier to live a good one by embracing what is and allowing that to evolve into what might be.