Excuse me. You're stepping on my cape.

I was raised at the crossroads of I'm Gonna Give You Something to Cry About and You Better Get Over Whatever You Think is the Matter. In case you're wondering, it's pretty close to Did Anyone Ask You to Fix It and Don't Just Stand There; Fix It. That was all a bit confusing. I wore my heart on my sleeve, and yes, the other kids tried to eat me alive. I was the child who cried when the kid beside me got into trouble. These days, I'm more sympathetic than not to the grown ups that had to deal with that hot mess of emotion. It's true, I had no idea why my mom kicked me out of the car for crying the day she was yelling at my cousin. Now I know her world was spinning so far beyond her control she just couldn't do one more thing. I was the thing. So Too Sensitive and Overthinker went on the list of things to fix.

Fast forward a dozen years, and I was in a massive self help reading binge, probably because I am a sucker for armchair fix its, and I was, by this point, a big fix it project. Elaine Aron's The Highly Sensitive Person turned out to be a magic key of enlightenment masquerading as a book.

Too Sensitive? Forget that. Highly Sensitive? Absolutely. Tactilely Sensitive? Air makes me itch. Bothered by other people's discomfort? See above story about The Long Walk Home.
Thanks be to G-d, it turns out there were *other people* just like me having to walk around in ordinary skin doing the best we could to get by in a world with no time or patience for a person who wept for The Mighty Ducks. I was part of the Tribe of Bleeding Hearts. Heaven help us.

As I learned to make room for all the feels, to notice, but not squash, to feel, but not erase, I grew strong. Strong enough to have children and protect their right to exist, think, and feel according to their call. Strong enough to hear the stories near and total strangers would tell me. Strong enough to note my failings and express compassion for myself.
strong enough to occasionally speak and act against injustice.
Some days, I'm even strong enough to note the feelings of those who drive me mad and act with compassion. Sometimes not though.

So no, I'm not too sensitive. I'm not even highly sensitive. Sometimes, truth be told, I'm absolutely oblivious. I'm flooded with feels, and it clouds reality. I have to withdraw to see clearly.
I am an Empath. I am creating and maintaining safe space for authenticity in a fake world. My crankiness or tears often mean I'm filtering and/or recalibrating experiences rapidly. I may be coaching myself through transitions. My inner 5 year old occasionally requires it.

I like to think I've got a cape, an iridescent one if you please. I'm sorry you can't see it. It's glorious. It is my buffer against doubt, fear, judgment, loud and repetitive noises, and conflict. It allows my extraverted self to travel among chaos and settle. It allows me to create and guard safe space for the tired and conflicted. On my best days, I am a Peaceful Warrior; on my worst days, I'm 5 and I'm melting.
Recalibration would be a lot faster if I could just stop everything and say, "Excuse me. I'm working hard, and you're stepping on my cape."