Finding My Freedom as a Highly Sensitive Person.
“When you stand and share your story in an empowering way, your story will heal you, and your story will heal somebody else.” ~ Iyanla Vanzant
From birth to present day, my soul has cataloged every compliment, given to me; every smile. Every slight, every insult, every fight.
I’ve been called fat, and ugly, annoying, stupid, too quiet, too sensitive. The day a fellow fifth-grade classmate called me worthless was the first time anybody outside of my home had seen me cry.
I prayed for the courage to end my life. The world was too harsh for me, But something told me No.
I wanted to fit into the cookie-cutter mold that everybody expected of me.
I wanted it so badly.
I just wanted to be normal.
I wanted to be left alone.
But I was always too this or too that.
Too loud, too quiet.
Never trying hard enough yet, at the same time, too smart for my own good.
Always way too sensitive.
I was pushed and pulled in so many opposing directions that I completely shut down. I retreated into myself and vowed never to feel anything at all.
I became hard, bitter and cold towards the world and everyone in it. The bullying continued and depression set in. I felt only anger and shame at such a tender age, all for the crime of trying to be me.
I felt like no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t please anybody.
I hated myself for not being able to change.
I was just too sensitive.
My first relationship turned psychologically and sexually abusive. It lasted two years.
In that time, I fell ill and was hospitalized on and off. My immune system was attacking itself, I was fainting daily, and my body was covered in inexplicable bruises. For a time, doctors thought I had leukaemia.
The following two years, I experienced suicide threats, threats on my own life, stalking, and other forms of harassment at the hand of my ex.
I needed someone to know what was going on. I decided to trust one person in my family — the wrong person. I fell victim to incestuous abuse, and suffered another year of pain layered on top of the first mess.
The stronghold of shame, guilt, and self-hate I had built into my very core festered. I had nightmares, flashbacks, and panic attacks. Having reached my breaking point, I moved back in with my parents, seeking support and a fresh start.
In that time, I was pushed over the edge. Every ounce of pain and humiliation I’d experienced erupted from me with no chance of slowing down or stopping.
I shouted and cried and let it all pour out of me, admitting things to my mother and father that for years I’d dare not admit to myself.
At the end of it all, I felt exhausted. I felt weak, like there was nothing left of me. I felt completely depleted of any life force I could possibly have had left.
I had hit an all-time low.
I felt worse than when either of my abusers had done their worst. I felt worse than the nights I prayed for the courage to end my own life. I prayed that I could just fall asleep and never wake up. To be done with this world.
But the healing process had begun.
When I reached my ultimate breaking point, all of the walls and barriers I had put up to keep the world out came crumbling down around me. I had no choice but to face all of the truths that I had feared most.
And since that day when my life turned upside down, I have been learning. Learning about the world, learning about life, learning about people, learning about myself.
I am forever coming to new and beautiful understandings.
My most recent — as well as my favorite discovery so far — is that I am not too sensitive. I am simply a Highly Sensitive Person.
I am exactly who I am supposed to be.
Highly sensitive people are extremely intuitive and loving. We’re in tune with nature and animals, energy and emotions, and the rhythmic cycles of the Earth and Skies.
We are (but not limited to) the dreamers, the teachers, the healers, the visionaries. We, like the Indigo Children, are the ones that are changing this world for the better.
I feel like I’ve finally been given permission to be Me. I finally feel free.
As a young girl, I prayed for permission to die. But the Universe told me No.
For I am an Indigo Child.
Victoria Connell was born on the enchanting Island of Newfoundland, Canada. She is married to reading, writing, and a loving husband. A nature lover, tea aficionado, and bonafide bibliophile, Victoria is a writer, and student of psychology, science, and theology.