The Sensitive Mind
What it means to feel everything more sharply - a collaborative post
I recently cross posted an inspiring story from Kristi Joy Rimbach’s Substack to KTHT about the highly sensitive person —
I immediately related to her words and opened up a new collaboration post.
The prompt being:
Write about sensitivity — to emotion, noise, people, or atmosphere — and what it has taught you about yourself.
Join us in finding out the impact sensitivity has on some of our writers.
KTHT - Sensitivity and ME
Diana C. writes
What a great topic for this month’s collab. The very trait that fuels our craft can be a total curse in everyday life. For me, environment is everything. Highly crowded places, malls especially, are impossible. Because I can’t tune out the noise, I end up hearing every single conversation at once, which almost always leads to headaches and fatigue. I was honestly shocked to find out that some people can just mute the background noise. I always wished I had that superpower!
But the flip side is that this sensitivity keeps me hyper-aware of the world. Smells, colors, and sounds hit me all at once, which is both overwhelming and inspiring. It means always noticing the details others walk right past. It’s a sensitivity that definitely brings a sense of isolation, of always being the odd one out. Honestly, I still have to force myself to be social to this day. It just takes so much less energy to isolate than to go out and absorb every single person’s emotions like a sponge.
Noor Vellin writes
Imagine living without skin.
That is the closest way I can describe it.
I walked through the world feeling everything at full volume. Every sound entered like an alarm. A door closing too hard felt like danger. Someone sighing across the room felt personal.
I carried that intensity every day, pretending I was fine. Smiling while my body was in survival mode. Crying silently under the shower because it felt safer to drown in the sound of water than let anyone see it. Terrified that people would look at my pain with irritation instead of understanding. So I hid it, made myself smaller, until even my breakdowns happened in secret.
I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I thought everyone felt this way and that I was simply failing to cope. So I blamed myself.
Getting diagnosed didn’t change who I was. It gave me an explanation. Medication helped turn the volume down. For the first time, the world wasn’t just noise. Understanding helped me let go of years of shame.
Now I can enjoy the beautiful parts of it. Noticing details others miss, feeling deeply, seeing the world intensely. ADHD is not something I have to survive anymore.
Marie A. Rebelle writes
Years ago, a manager said to me: “You’re a strong woman, but under your mask you are kind and sensitive.” Her words made me cry because I felt seen. Understood.
As a child, I could feel the atmosphere in a room the moment I entered. Other people’s moods affected me and shaped my own reactions. Had I done something wrong? Were they angry with me? What had I missed? Why did they stop talking when I walked in?
Those questions made me insecure, and while everyone saw a strong woman, I hid a vulnerable being underneath. Even then, I never shied away from showing vulnerability, only to question myself afterwards. Had I shared too much? I could replay a single expression or shift in mood in my head for hours.
So exhausting. All of it.
It took me until my fifties to understand that I am allowed to be who I am. That I am not “making it about me,” as I heard so often throughout my life. That people can accept me exactly as I am, with all my quirks.
Even so, I always have to be aware of it, because it’s so easy to slip back into insecurity. I will always be sensitive to atmosphere and emotion.
It’s simply who I am.
Ute Luppertz writes
Leon, the cat, came into my life as one of my greatest teachers. As I accompanied him through the final chapter of his life, I was confronted with some of the most difficult emotions I have ever experienced: helplessness, grief, anger, and heartbreak. I wanted to ease his suffering, yet I was forced to face the reality that not everything can be fixed or changed.
Through my intuitive conversations with Leon, I came to understand that his life had a profound purpose. He showed me that an animal needs not be extraordinary in the eyes of the world to fulfill a meaningful soul mission.
What Leon ultimately taught me was how to remain present in the face of suffering. Instead of turning away from the pain, I learned to open my heart more deeply while recognizing the limits of my control. He helped me shift my focus from the physical body’s condition to his soul’s essence.
Leon’s journey changed me. His lessons continue - reminding me that compassion is not always about rescuing; it is often about bearing witness with love.
Robert Gowty writes
We all know the old joke. I should have listened to what my mother said. Why, what did she say? I don’t know, I didn’t listen. But on one occasion, I did listen. In my family, there were school teachers in every direction. As a sensitive child, my mother once said, “whatever you do, don’t become a school teacher. You’re too sensitive.” I took that advice, and decided to become a life-long learner instead. That was going great right up until the point someone thought I might have something to teach someone else, employing me as a business mentor.
I’ve now quit and have gone in search of reclaiming my sensitivity.
Sue Banerji writes
For me it is noise as well as the waste. It hurts when I see people wasting anything– especially food and water. We were taught to take only what you need and try everything at least once. Don’t waste.
I remember how recycling became fashionable once celebrities like Ed Begley Jr. got involved. But even before him, there were millions of people around the world who recycled.
When I see people wasting food, it churns my stomach. I find it difficult to control myself when tap water runs constantly during loading the dishwasher.
My dad used to shave without running the tap for long time. Many will call him old-fashioned today. He relied on a sink basin or bowl to trap water, paired with a razor and a shaving brush for the ultimate zero-waste shave.
In O.R. I saw real waste. I tried to educate and change the habits without compromising the safety principles. But the management believed,“We are not third-world country to think about recycling!”
I have an attorney friend who used to say, “My kids do not need to finish their plate; it gives rise to overeating.”
An educated person did not see anything wrong in wasting food.
You could say I am kinda obsessed with it.
Kristi Joy Rimbach writes
I used to think that everyone felt sensations and emotions at the volume I did, but that they could simply handle it better. So for most of my life I just tried to muscle through. No one else seemed to even notice the things that were glaring to me, so maybe I just needed to stop dwelling on them so much. Maybe I was just being dramatic or, God forbid, “high maintenance”.
But the sensory overload would pile up on my nervous system, making me irritable and exhausted and sick.
It wasn’t until I was in my 40s that I learned that I was part of the 20% of humans born with the trait of “high sensitivity”. I understand now that this is the way I am wired, that I actually do experience the world more intensely than the average person.
Being highly sensitive can be difficult in a society that is made for the non-highly sensitive. It makes it hard for me to keep the gifts of my sensitivity in the forefront of my mind, to not see it as a “problem” to be fixed. But, the truth is, if I could somehow “cure” myself of being sensitive, I would lose so much. My sensitivity is what makes me empathetic, intuitive, attentive to details, and aware of the energy of people and spaces. It makes me the person (and writer!) that I am.
May More 💜writes
As a child, I was never happier than sitting quietly in the living room reading. My idea of a perfect Saturday afternoon was cycling to the library, returning my finished books and choosing four more to take home.
When Jackie, who lived around the corner, knocked on the door asking me to come out and play, I often made excuses. She talked constantly and her brain seemed so busy. She wanted us to wander around the shops, but I would persuade her that we should go to the park or the woods.
I didn’t understand why back then, but it makes perfect sense to me now. I needed friendships and social connection, but I could only truly enjoy them in calm spaces. Too much noise, too many voices, bright lights, busy places — overwhelmed me then, and they still do.
Over time, I learned that when I have to endure loud, overstimulating situations, I must balance them after with solitude, nature, and quiet. That is how I reset myself. Without calm, I cannot think clearly, process or stay mentally and physically well.
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Such a great collection, and so recognizable. Thank you for this collaboration, May!
Another great collaboration. A reminder that the sensitivity of the mind can affect our body and soul.