Why “Don’t be so sensitive!” is a dangerous phrase
Author’s note: A few years ago, I drafted a memoir documenting my life as a sensitive person, and the way I believe that has led to a number of chronic conditions. This is a brief chapter from that memoir, which remains unpublished.
When I was a kid, I had reddish hair, the color of redwood bark or a red squirrel, though it has since faded to a golden brown. At the time, my hair color was the thing that made me different, and a cluster of classmates liked to tease me about it. Out on the blacktop at lunchtime, the leader would point at me and laugh.
“Look at her! She’s got red hair!” In retrospect, red hair doesn’t seem like a teasable offense. But at the time, their behavior only made me feel more alone and ashamed. I would start to cry. And then the boys would tease me for crying. “Ha-ha! Her eyes are leaking!” I would slink behind the portable classroom buildings while they ran off to rattle someone else’s cage.
I told my mom about these lunchtime horrors, but she was little help. “Don’t react,” she would say. “Ignore them. They just want attention.” But I was sensitive. I couldn’t not cry; I didn’t know how not to get upset about something that hurt so much. Young as I was, deep down I understood that having friends and a solid social standing was a survival skill — and I was in serious danger of not…
