Looking Back: Life Always Seemed "Louder" Than Me

Do you ever stop and look backwards, trying to spot "early points" in your life at which it became obvious that you were an HSP?

Much of the early "evidence" from my own life is largely anecdotal: I was supposedly a quiet kid; I was supposedly not interested in "establishing territory" with other kids; my mother would tell other people that I was "very sensitive;" as a baby I'd evidently sit quietly in my playpen and "observe" quietly. But these are not my memories... they are "stories."

My own first memories that hint at my being a highly sensitive child arise from the sense I quickly developed that everything in the world; in my surroundings seemed "more" than me: People, activities, places... the WORLD... felt bigger, louder, rougher, more violent than I... just more "everything."

It felt so strange... and scary, at the same time.

Why did adults need to YELL so much? Maybe they weren't exactly yelling, but their voices were so often raised, even when they were communicating with someone (including me) who was right next to them. It didn't make sense.

Why were kids-- the kids in the neighborhood I was sent out to play with-- so LOUD? Sometimes it felt like they just wanted to "make noise, for noise's sake." Whether it was that obnoxious kid down the street who was forever blowing his English policeman's whistle, or "that dangerous boy" in first grade who would use almost any excuse to set off firecrackers... why all the NOISE? And some would just sit there and scream, like they just wanted to hear the sound of their own voice. It hurt my ears...

Why did the other boys always want to FIGHT? Simply "playing" seemed to be sustainable for only a few minutes before someone felt the need to "have a fight." I do remember soon getting labeled a "sissy" because I didn't want to fight with people. My lack of "fighting spirit" was immediately labeled as "being afraid." Nobody seemed able to grasp that I simply didn't want to.

I was probably somewhere in the range of six to eight years old when I first became aware that it seemed like people had a certain "energy" around them. At the time, I couldn't really associate anything "intelligent" with feeling the energies and moods of others... so I thought of them in terms of shapes and everyday objects.

Most kids... well, at least most boys... felt either like "chainsaws" or "jackhammers" to me: they were scarily LOUD, and "unpredictably dangerous and destructive." Girls were generally "softer" and not so scary (which is why I generally preferred their company)... they felt more like "bee hives;" typically a soft pleasant buzz, but they could become "screaming and deadly," sometimes at a moment's notice.

Adults were a little different. Most men were like tractors or heavy trucks: noisy, often to the point of drowning out all other sound; powerful... and occasionally stinky. Some (like my father) felt more like "thunderstorms;" much of the time they were impressive clouds drifting around... but they could "explode" into something truly scary and deafening, when I least expected it. Adult women were-- on the whole-- the least scary and overwhelming persons in my life... many seemed "soft" and fairly "quiet" so I felt less "on edge" in their company and less like I just wanted to go hide somewhere. The thing that mostly scared me a little was that there were some who seemed like... like they were trying to "pull the life out of me" so (I presume) they could make it their own. Of course, as a child had had no concept of such things as "energy vampires" or people trying to get unconditional love from others "by proxy."

As I felt all these "energies" around me... I gradually "learned" that my best strategy to avoid getting buffeted and hurt by them was to practice the fine art of Not Being Noticed. It's evidently something I became quite good at, because even as a 50-something, 6'4" adult male, I still seem able to move through space (the house, outdoors, whatever) in such a way that people don't even notice that I am there... and it actually scares the hell out them that I seem able to suddenly "appear" (or DIS-appear) next to them, without a sound.

As a kid, I learned how to intuit when something "bad" was about to happen, because the "energy" would be changing (building up), so I would either "leave the scene" or learn to change what I was doing in such a way that whatever seemed to be "boiling up" would simmer down again... and the impending "explosion of loudness" would be avoided.

When I look back on those days-- now with 45 years of hindsight-- I can see that it was here I started to lose my sense of self, because I put so much effort into "adapting myself" in whatever way I could, so as to avoid "loud explosions," that anything I personally wanted to do or say was pushed into the background.

As an adult HSP, noise sensitivity remains on of my primary sensitivities. I just don't do LOUD well. I am personally not loud, and I don't like loud things... from jet engines and chain saws to high volume stereos and night clubs. LOUD makes me feel like someone is actively beating the side of my head with a wooden board, taking particular "care" to hit my eardrums every time.

People sometimes ask me if my noise sensitivity has gotten less with age... and the answer is "no." What has gotten better is my ability to understand and manage my exposure to noise, and the overwhelming effect it has. What has also gotten better is my ability to accept "being in discomfort" for measured and finite periods of time.

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Talk Back! What are some of YOUR early memories hinting at you being highly sensitive? What do YOU remember (as opposed to what you've "been told") about your early life as an HSP? It doesn't have to be "noise" of course-- I just happen to most strongly remember that the world was LOUD. Please leave a comment and share your experience!

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Childhood Memory: A Highly Sensitive Boy's Relationship with "Excitement"

From time to time I get asked if I ever write "anything personal" on these pages.

"You know, like a memoir, or something that happened to you," they then add... perhaps since pretty much everything I write here is "personal." I did actually start in on some more "personal" stories a couple of years ago... and, in all fairness, my post "Perceptions and Reality: Childhood, Part I" was about my early life. I intended to write a series of such articles, but got bogged down after thinking it was a little too self-indulgent.

The other day I was reading an article about having the right amount of "excitement" in my life, which led me to another article about the issues of "boredom" which got me to thinking about my own life and reminiscing about myself as a boy and youth... and who this highly sensitive youth really was.

One of the things I realized was that one of the ways I always seemed like an oddball among my peers was that I really was never interested in doing "exciting" things. And that was true of me, from a very young age. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that "exciting things" simply didn't feel "exciting" to me; I didn't want to be any part of them, I wanted to do "safe and comforting" things. Or maybe it was more a case of the feeling we call "exciting" not actually feeling good/positive the way it does for many people.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I didn't want to "do" things-- I just found almost all forms of (what I perceived to be) "risky" behavior to be stupid. I don't have all that many memories from being six or younger, but I do remember that I would almost always engage in "critical analysis" of things, back then. If someone said "let go do 'something'," I would  not only want to feel assured that this "something" have a high likelihood of a pleasant outcome, but I wanted to feel confident that any "collateral damage" resulting from the possibility of failure was minimal.

That's "fancy speak" for not engaging in risky things, and not being impulsive.

So when some of the other neighborhood kids would come along and say "let's jump over the fence, steal some apples and beat on the window so the neighbor's dog starts barking, and then run away really fast!" I was never onboard with it. And even if I hesitantly agreed to go along, I'd be so beset by anxiety that I had no possibility of enjoying the experience. All I could "see" was the potential trouble at the other end... there would be the neighbor's anger at us, then the phone call to my parents, followed by a lecture from my mom, then a different kind of lecture from my dad.

My mother's primary form of punishment was that she would sit me down and spend about an hour (at least that's what it felt like!) lecturing me about what it meant to be "good" and "obedient," and what shame I was bringing on the family with my actions, and how I must be ashamed of my ways... and she had a manner of forcing me to sit through an age of droning on about the same thing said 30 different ways. There were no beatings, no "time out," no grounding... just my mother talking, and asking sharp questions about once a minute-- which I'd better have the answer to-- or the lecture would just be prolonged because I "hadn't been paying attention."

Once my mom was done with me, odds were I'd be handed off to my father. His lecturing style was a bit more direct and threatening. His favorite thing to point out was that "parents of boys who disobey them end up with little choice but to call the police and have said disobedient little boys put in jail where they belong and can only have bread and water until they come to realize that they should behave properly." It was a fairly effective punishment tool-- the idea of going to prison scared me, and it really didn't occur to me that it was "a story" he told... till I was almost in my teens.

Yes, I was extremely gullible, as a child. In many ways, I still am.

Anyway, I literally did think like this, as a small boy and teenager, and my "risk-reward analyses" never came out in favor of "excitement." It's a way of thinking that has never left me. Some thirty years later, I learned about High Sensitivity... and deeply related to something Elaine Aron once said about HSPs being like the "cautious deer" observed among wild deer populations.

Of course, I didn't just think this way about "illicit" excitement-- I also thought this way about "endorsed" excitement, from riding rollercoasters to jumping in the water from a high springboard. If it looked like it could "go wrong" or "be painful" I wanted no part of it. I was never a candidate for "Stupid Human Tricks."

I have often been told that my reticence is fear-based. Whereas there might be a slight truth to that, there's more at play here. So-called exciting activities don't feel good. I feel "jangled" for an extremely long time, afterwards. Shaky, out of sorts. Like the shot of adrenaline we get in response to an "exciting event" stays with me for many hours, where it dissipates in minutes for most people. It's not a "good feeling" when I'm still "jittery" from the "thrill" of riding the rollercoaster... six hours "after the fact." Giving rise to the question of whether my avoidance of "excitement" is genuinely fear, or merely reasonable life management....

But here's an odd thing, as I wind this up: At the same time as being excitement avoidant, I was always very open to doing things that most others-- including my childhood peers-- rejected because they were "extremely/too difficult." From an early age, I excelled at accomplishing things many wouldn't even attempt, let alone succeed at. Need a giant tree cut down, and all you have is a steak knife? Give it to me, I'll get it done. Car has broken down at the summer cabin and someone needs to ride twenty miles on their bicycle to the store for milk and bread, and then twenty miles back? No problem, I'll go.

This strange marriage of extreme caution and extreme stick-to-it-iveness defined me until I became an adult... and remains with me, although in a milder form than 30+ years ago.

A past therapist once psychoanalyzed this as being a reflection of my self-perceived shortcomings at "outwitting" people made up for by "outlasting" them, instead.

Not sure I buy that. But it sounded plausible, at the time...

In retrospect, I feel increasingly sure that my pervasive childhood and teenage nickname "grandpa" was more earned as a result of my retiring nature and careful approach to life than from my mother's penchant for dressing her young son in clothes befitting a 60-year old. I used to blame being treated as a "weirdo" and "misfit" on my "grandpa pants" but I'm not so sure, anymore...

Caution and risk aversion is-- of course-- not in the nature of all HSPs, nor is a tightly controlled impulsivity. However, my years of introspection and self-inquiry tell me that in my case, it's more a reflection of my HSP nature, as opposed to "learned fears." Even when I was an infant in my crib, I had little interest in bright shiny objects, "noisemakers" and general interaction. From the anecdotal evidence I've gathered over the years, it wasn't that I was afraid, just that I seemed not interested.

That's my story, and I am sticking to it!

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Talk Back! What was your relationship with "excitement," as a kid and youngster? How is it, today? Have you-- and do you-- generally have a different perception than other people as to what "excitement" feels like? Do you consider yourself risk-averse? Share your experience-- leave a comment!

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Reflection: HSPs, childhood and how early lessons shape our adult lives

We are off to Seattle, today, to see "The Hobbit."

I feel somewhat ambivalent about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong, the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy was a great movie event, and I thoroughly enjoyed it-- blood, gore and violence notwithstanding. Seems like a lot of people think "The Hobbit" series will be a much greater and "more important" set of movies than LOTR. Beats me.

When I was a teen growing up in Spain, it seemed like half the world around me was reading Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. I just never got into it. I am not even sure how I "missed" it, so I got to reflecting a little bit on that, this morning.

I quickly came to realize that I grew up in a household where reading was absolutely encouraged, but meant I was weaned on Alastair MacLean and John LeCarre and other "spy vs. spy" action stories. James Bond was probably the closest thing to "fantasy" and "mystical" anyone considered reading, in my world. Occasionally, I'd be treated to a historical novel-- basically a "history book" with "characters" inserted to make the reading more... interesting.

In most aspects of my pre-adult life, I had little to no opportunity to explore "my own" sense of intrigue and interest... only the version of life that was superimposed on my existence by my parents and the adults around me, which included the books I read. It was an environment in which "children don't have opinions." I clearly remember that comic books were "banned" at our house-- I got repeated lectures on how they were "stupid" and lacked any kind of worthwhile content... and were basically "for people who are too dumb to read real books."

I think my father genuinely believed I'd turn into an idiot, if I read comic books...

During much of my childhood, everyone was "into" trading cards-- there were "space" trading cards, cars, nature, airplanes, sports and much. The "issue" I grew up with-- which caused trading cards to be a total "no-no" for years-- was that trading cards came in packs of gum. And gum-- being part of the candy "family"-- was also "banned" at our house. I eventually managed to make a tenuous agreement with my mom that as long as I bought the trading card/gum packs with my own money (from mowing lawns in summer and shoveling snowy driveways in winter) AND I agreed to open the packets in front of her so she could take the gum and dispose of it-- it was OK... even though she thought it was "stupid, and I would soon get tired of wasting my money."

Whether it's a natural part of being an HSP or not, I never argued with my parents... I just shrugged and went along with whatever was served up to me. Whether being "compliant" is part of a temperament type, or part of being an HSP, or something we are taught-- or some of each-- I don't know. But I do recognize that my "survival strategy" had a lot to do with wanting to keep my stimulation levels very low-- of course, as a child I had no idea that the reason I was so "excitable" was because HSPs are simply wired that way.

In her books about the HSP trait, Elaine Aron points out that highly sensitive children typically don't need to be yelled at, lectured to and/or controlled the way many other children do. The HS child typically learns easily, and doesn't need "beatings" to get the message. Nor do they typically need repeated lectures, reminding (and shaming) them over and over to drive home the point about some "trespass" of theirs.

What is not discussed very often is the effects a "highly controlled" (but not necessarily abusive) upbringing for a highly sensitive child can havem with respect to who they turn into, once they become adults. Specifically because HSPs tend to learn their lessons easily, childhood habits can be difficult to unlearn... regardless of whether they are "still serving" us, as adults.

In my own case, my very structured and controlled childhood helped turn me into a young adult who was always "waiting to take direction" from others. I have no doubt that my parents genuinely wanted "what was best for me," but they gave me their interpretation of that in a way that never involved my having my own opinions-- in fact, it often felt pointless for me to have opinions... unless said opinions/preferences happened to be what my parents wanted me to want.

As I continued to evolve into adulthood, those early lessons led me towards increasing solitude. When I sit here now and look back 25-30 years, I can see how I gradually learned to "have my own tastes and opinions"... BUT I fell into a pattern of only choosing what I wanted, and doing what I wanted, when I was alone. If there were other people around? I just went in whatever direction they wanted to go. Sometimes that would set up some awkward moments for me, especially in the company of those I considered friends, when they suddenly say something like "How come you never told me you were interested in _____ (fill in the blank)?" and I'd find myself trying to explain I hadn't "mentioned" a favorite pastime they perhaps also were interested in. Back then, I didn't really "get" that friendships existed and grew strong because of sharing, and my tendency to keep everything to myself was directly correlated with my difficulty in making-- and keeping-- friends; in and of itself a challenge many HSPs face.

In the latter part of the 1990s, I started learning everything I could about this "highly sensitive" trait of ours, as a result of which I got to know dozens-- and eventually 100s-- of HSPs through email and forums and workshops, and I really came to see the "effective" way in which childhood lessons imprint deeply on HSPs. I also came to see that my very "controlled" childhood was by no means a unique experience, among my sensitive peers.

Of course, I'd already been in therapy for a number of years, but had struggled with certain issues-- one of them being the ability to "just let it go," with respect to old patterns and behaviors I'd been taught were "right," when I was younger.

OK, so that wasn't precisely what my therapist had recommended-- but the gist of those words clearly lay as the core message below dozens of hours of analysis. I'm not for a moment suggesting that HSPs shouldn't learn to let go of the past and of habits that no longer (or never did) serve them... just that our path to reaching the "point of letting go" is often a little different, because we have "embedded" the lessons from the past far more deeply than most people do.

Another thing Elaine Aron often shares in her workshops and presentations is the fact that HSPs who grew up in chaotic and/or non-supportive homes tend to be more deeply affected and "harmed" by the experience than the greater population. Of course, the UPside is that those HSPs who grew up in loving and supportive homes are generally more powerful and well-adjusted people than their non-Sensitive counterparts. In other words, being highly sensitive works both ways.

So what's the message here?

To parents of HS children, to learn what they can-- and what it truly means-- to have a highly sensitive child. What you do for that child-- NOW-- will have more impact on their long-term functioning as a human being than you could possibly know.

To my fellow HSPs who struggle with "reacting to life" in ways that are clearly based on dysfunctional lessons from childhood... recognize that "letting go" may require you to chart your own path to healing. There may not be a standard "fix it method" you can get from a therapist or a self-help book. It's also a difficult thing to break out of a pattern of "dwelling on the negative." However, that must be done, if we are to truly leave our pasts behind. But here's the good news: as HSPs-- we have something going for us in that respect: Because we experience everything more deeply, and take those experiences to heart more readily... we also experience HEALING more deeply and profoundly.

To myself, the message is that I did have very judging and controlling parents who didn't encourage me to have my own thoughts and opinions. That's a fact, which I can put in a neat little "box" and store away. My parents are dead, however. Beyond that, life is full of judging and controlling people, and I will have to deal with them, sometimes. They are not my parents. I am not dependent on them for my survival. I have a right to my own opinions and convictions... AND a right to choose who I spend my time and energy on.

And yes, it's JUST "that simple."

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Talk back! Are there childhood lessons that clearly have controlled your life-- in ways that don't serve you well-- as an adult? Are you consciously aware of when you are "responding to a memory," rather than to the ACTUAL situation in front of you? Is it difficult for you to "let go" of old behavior patterns? Have you found any particularly helpful ways to move on? Share your experiences-- please leave a comment!

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Perceptions and Reality: Childhood, Part One

How did the world perceive you as a child? What do you remember of the feedback you got from the world around you, when you were young-- family, friends, schoolmates? And how did that feedback match up with-- or clash with-- your perception of yourself?

As HSPs, one of the things we tend to do is absorb the feedback from around us and then internalize it in the most negative light possible. Moreover, because we are emotionally sensitive we will get our feelings hurt over comments that were not hurtful, and may even have been positive and constructive feedback. And after years of brooding and stewing on something, we can easily slip into a "victim role" over things/words we once upon a time internalized as negative, when in fact they were merely neutral.

As part of the ongoing examination of Who We Are, I'm going to go through a few exercises and explorations in going backwards to the source of our past and present self-perception. I encourage you to do your own "look back."

Now, in examining the roots of what makes you uniquely YOU and how you felt during early life, I encourage you to avoid taking the "Oh, I felt SO misunderstood, boo-hoo-hoo" path here... let's face it, every child/teenager-- from the mondo geek to the cheerleader-- feels misunderstood and out of step with the world. Feeling "misunderstood" is an annoying and nebulous term, at best... right up there with "being nice." What does it actually mean?

For a moment, I will just list a few single words that seemed to characterize what the outside world saw in me and commented on, when I was a kid. These might be words hear in conversation, or from friends, or even in "accusations" during moments of frustration:

Shy
Quiet
Polite
Aloof
Distant
Daydreaming
Cautious
Serious
Detached
Silent
Watching
Compliant
Fearful
Retiring

Perhaps some of these words resonate with you-- they are fairly common among HSPs. Make a list of your own-- don't try to analyze deeper meaning and intent, just jot down the words. I have avoided "sensitive," because it's rather obvious and goes without saying.

Are these words "bad?" Moreover, are they true?

What we have here is merely a list of words that are reflections of what other people saw in me-- objective, or otherwise.

It can be a useful-- and often revealing-- exercise to consider (without assigning "judgment" or "negative meanings") how people got these perceptions... so make your own list, and walk through it. The point here, is to take these words we perhaps carry around as "negative" (which can turn us into victims) and instead look at them objectively and "own" them. Again, try to avoid words and phrases that mostly reflect self-pity and feeling victimized.

Let me start at the top. "Shy." Was I shy? I was certainly hesitant around people and especially around strangers... I could often "feel" their energy, and it mostly felt very rough and invasive.

But let's dig a little deeper. What is shyness? Shyness is-- for the most part-- learned through conditioning and experience, and involves a certain degree of anxiety about the prospect of interacting with people, especially strangers. But I wasn't exactly shy. I actually kind of liked people, when I was little. Apparent Shyness is a term that refers to-- obviously-- people who "appear" shy. It is often used to describe introverts, because they don't tend to be very social. Introverts (like myself) are not by definition "shy." Introverts are merely people who derive most of their inner energy recharge from solitude and introspection...(hence "intro," meaning turning inwards) while extraverts are people who gain most of their energy from interaction with other people and from socializing. Both of these are core temperament traits, and neither "good" or "bad," nor "right" or "wrong."

As a child, how did I experience what others perceived as-- and labeled-- shyness? Recent research on introverts and extraverts suggests that either preference is derived from how our brain's "reward system" responds to situations. As a child, I was aware that being around other people-- especially in larger groups-- left me feeling exhausted. Being in a group activity of some kind simply didn't "feel good," the way it would "feel good" for an extraverted person... whose brain reward system would-- in fact-- be stimulated by the interaction.

Of course, having this information doesn't excuse me from social interaction... it merely "describes" why it holds less attraction for me than for other people... and helps me understand that I do not have some kind of "phobia" holding me back. It also helps me accept that the people who called me "too shy" (and perhaps hurt my feelings or made me feel "less than") were perhaps merely ignorant about the meaning of shy, or failed to understand that a person could be emotionally healthy without being like them.

As I go down my list of words, I realize that few-- if any-- of them are actually negative, by themselves. It is only my own interpretation that at one time made them negative.

More in the next installment...