Senior column: Audrey Blaine

Audrey Blaine, visual managing editor| April 13, 2022

Marianthe Meyer

Little by little, I’m starting to see my sensitivity as a vessel for empathy and love instead of labeling myself as weak.

College: Belmont University

Major: Sociology

Recently, my therapist recommended I read a book called “The Highly Sensitive Person” by Elaine Aron. “It sounds like you,” she said. I gave her a lovely eye roll in return.

But I read it anyway. Because I wanted answers — answers to why big crowds feel so claustrophobic, why a subtle rude remark cuts so deep, why I cry so much. Why why why. I’ve spent most of the school year with my internal battery in low power mode, jealous of how my peers can handle our chaotic seniority. Senior year was supposed to be fun, with pep rallies, school dances and anticipation of the future. To me it feels overstimulating.

I don’t typically pick up self-help books, but I hit a point during senior year where I was open to anything. How glorious it would be to morph into someone unfazed by a bit of turbulence now and then.

But Aron’s book didn’t completely change my life. It instead challenged my perception of myself.

Yes, it confirmed that I’m an extreme example of the “highly-sensitive-person.” Not only is my brain extremely emotional, but my body has a lower pain tolerance and even a weaker immune system. And I can keep up with my anxiety medication, meditate or blab about it all I want, but it’s not “fixable.” Ugh, right?

Sweet Ms. Aron politely asks that bully in my head — the one that degrades me for my softness — to get the hell out. 

This means I have to view my stupid sensitivity as good. Valuable, even. Because the world benefits the majority: the loud, the ambitious and those able to suck it up and endure the noise, high school and beyond. But Aron tells us sensitive folk to stop coloring our delicateness with contempt.

I’m trying to listen to her. I’m trying to say “no,” surround myself in calm spaces and keep up with therapy sessions. Little by little, I’m starting to see my sensitivity as a vessel for empathy and love instead of labeling myself as weak. “Highly-sensitive” is not a synonym for feeble. My name quite literally translates to “strength.”