I'm on Fire and I'm Trying Not to Show It

Could I really be a Highly Sensitive Person?

My 2-year-old daughter let out a piercing shriek. “The sun is too bright!” she shouted, begging me to take her back inside. 

Before you have children, you imagine what your life with this child will be like. Many of my daydreams involved frolicking in meadows, wading in streams, and getting scratched up building forts in the woods, so her distress about the bright sun, strong winds, loud noises, “weird” sensations, or the sound of the toilet flushing being “too loud!” were confounding and, frankly, cramping my crunchy granola mom style. 

I think for any parent, it is hard to know the line between normal human variation and a “problem,” and I think that line might be harder for doctor parents. In this case, my young daughter’s reactions were so strong, I started to wonder, Is something wrong?

I didn’t think she was autistic, but was curious if she might have a sensory processing disorder. Luckily, my sister is an occupational therapist and was able to set me up with a screening tool. My daughter fell well within the bell-curve of normal human variation, so I realized I was overreacting about her responses being a problem, but I still asked myself, Why are her reactions so big to what I consider to be minor stimuli?

I don’t remember how I discovered  Elaine Aron, Ph.D’s book, The Highly Sensitive Child, but it opened my eyes. I had never encountered the concept of a highly sensitive person, but about 15 to 20 percent of people meet the criteria of being Highly Sensitive People (HSP).

Some traits of HSPs include: 

• Feeling overwhelmed by bright lights, loud noises, coarse fabrics, or strong smells

• Getting flustered by having a lot to do in a short amount of time

• Feeling the need to avoid violent movies or TV shows

• Needing to withdraw to a calm, private space during busy days

• Having a rich and complex inner life

• Savoring pleasant, delicate tastes, scents, sounds, or works of art

In this book, Dr. Aron, a clinical research psychologist, notes that this highly sensitive distribution (about 1 in 5 of us) is consistent across cultures and is thought to have an evolutionary purpose. Having these more sensitive, cautious people as part of a community protects the collective, as these sensitive individuals tune into their surroundings and ask, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

She also notes how harmful and belittling it is to tell someone who is sensitive to something that you are not, that it’s “Not that loud,” “not that uncomfortable,” “not a big deal,” or “you’re overreacting.” I rarely, if ever, said things like that out loud, but I’m sure my nonverbal communication basically said it for me when I was really wanting to play outside and my daughter was resisting my best laid plans. Dr. Aron’s book helped me recognize that our differences are legitimate variations between people, which I should respect. 

Dr. Aron also suggested that there may be a genetic component to being an HSP, so I found myself wondering, “where the heck did that come from?” My husband, while introverted, is quite mellow and highly adaptable, so I didn’t think he was a highly sensitive person, and I was loud, novelty-seeking, and an extrovert. From Dr. Aron’s description, I didn’t fit the bill. Eventually, I realized that my Dad is also an HSP, and fair or not, I take credit for introducing my parents to HSPs, which led to changes in my Mom’s vacuuming and hair-drying practices, as she was able to understand how irritating those loud noises might be to her highly sensitive husband. 

As time went by, I continued to notice the unique gifts that my Dad and daughter have because they are HSPs. My daughter can read a room like nobody’s business. She reads body language like a wizard, and expects that you can do the same. She sees a family member feeling strong emotions and crawls up in their lap. My Dad is the best person to take on a kayaking trip (though I’m certain he’ll never let me do that again) because he knows every bird call and can spot every cool animal near the river. 

I had never considered the possibility of myself actually being an HSP until I read this article from

Courtney Martin

’s newsletter, The Examined Family. In it, she writes: 

“At some point, perhaps at a very young age, I decided that emotions were overwhelming and often inconvenient so it was best if I didn’t register my own too fully. Life—this little girl philosophy went—would be more manageable, more fixable, less scary, if I detected other people’s emotions (or so I thought)* and used them as signals for how to respond, but didn’t let my own feeling confuse the cardinal directions.” 

I saw myself in what she wrote, so I was surprised when the next line said, “The fact that I was highly sensitive made this approach attractive.” That blew my mind. Could I, too, be a highly sensitive person? So, I asked

John Wolfstone

, who I’ve been working with in a therapist-ish capacity over the last couple years. His response: “Oh, you’re definitely a highly sensitive person.” Really?!? I thought to myself. Could this be? 

Since I first read The Highly Sensitive Child about 5 years ago, I have started paying a lot more attention to how my body responds physically and emotionally throughout my days. After this new information, I paid a little closer attention. I was at a child’s birthday party a few weeks ago, and the feeling in my solar plexus was one that signaled to me that if it were socially acceptable, I would run screaming from the room, then lock myself in a dark silent closet (or in my fantasy a cozy little cave with a fire) for at least an hour or two. The next day, in a crowded museum, I had a similar feeling of physical discomfort. 

Was this simply the power of suggestion? Or had my body been sending me these signals all along, and I was just “powering through”? I am still not totally sure of the answer, but as I look back, I notice more tendencies. I am normally an ambler when I go for a walk, 3 miles per hour is really pushing it, but put me in a crowded airport, and I could win an Olympic gold medal for speed-walking. As a kid, the strong perfume of the lady in front of me in church was nearly debilitating. The continuous ding of an unanswered call-light or patient monitor at work makes me want to punch someone or something. Even back in the days when I didn’t see that many patients at work, I would still be exhausted at the end of the day. Looking back, I suspect that may have been related to the fluorescent lights and unnecessary beeps and dings. It’s also possible, these things just suck for everyone. I honestly don’t know that I am “special” in this regard. 

If I am, in fact, an HSP, it casts my struggles working in an ER in a whole new light. Part of the reason that I work at the small hospital I do is because working as a supervising physician at a trauma center, where I was training residents and treating patients broke my brain into teeny, tiny pieces. I felt like I was barely able to function. There were so many things happening, patients requiring immediate care, learners needing your immediate input, continuous noises pinging, beeping, or shouting,  bright fluorescent lights shining, and literally constant interruptions—not to mention the intense emotions and energy of managing chaos and catastrophe all day long. 

Even in my small hospital though, working in an ER has to be one of the most overwhelming jobs for a highly sensitive person, as there are: 

• Bright lights

• Continuous noises

• A lot to do in a short time

• No guaranteed breaks and no privacy

• No one else who can do your job

• Many intense emotional situations

• Many people in distress because of pain

• Nearly continuous interruptions

Like I said, I’m still not sure if I am a highly sensitive person, or if I’m just farther toward the sensitive side of the spectrum for “regular” people. When I first read Dr. Aron’s book, I took the Highly Sensitive Person Screening test and scored 3/27. Recently, when taking into account my physical reaction to stimuli, I scored 14/27, which would be considered a highly sensitive person. I was journaling recently, and I found myself wondering if this sensitivity might be part of why I struggle to listen as well as I might like to. I wonder if I get overwhelmed by the emotions or energy of other people, then distract myself to deal with it. Again, I honestly don’t know. I also could just be a bad listener; no excuse for it. 

I am finding this exploration interesting though. I am now feeling my way through an identity that might have been mine all along, when for decades I thought I was the opposite of that. 

Interestingly, after this reflection on listening, the benefits of what Martha Beck calls, “wordlessness” have been popping up everywhere. This week, fellow ER doctor and talking enthusiast,

Bess Stillman

shared her experience with involuntary silence after a vocal cord surgery. 

“This week, I’ve thought a lot about what speaking has cost my voice, but also what it’s cost me.  Not only wondering who I’d have been without the limitations it placed on me, but what haven’t I heard while I was busy making sound? People are terrible at listening, and yet listening is as important a skill when trying to connect, if not more so, than making yourself heard. Maybe the “me” I speak into being from here forward doesn’t need to say so much to assert her place.”

I think that’s true for me as well. I hope to build my listening skills to listen better to those around me, but also to God, the earth, my body, and my soul. What will I hear now that I’m not making sound?