I used to believe that I was my thoughts. I really believed that everything happened well because I had analyzed and planned and prepared. I didn’t even know that I was doing this. I didn’t know there was any more to me than my thoughts.
I also used to believe that there was something seriously wrong with me, so thinking about how to fix myself was my main pastime.
All my life people told me, “You’re too sensitive,” “so intense,” “you’re just so emotional.”
I told this to myself, and plenty of other people told it to me too, both directly and indirectly.
I didn’t know how to live. I had an analysis of life rather than an experience of life when I was with others. When alone, my life was deep and vivid and rich. I felt it all. Little did I know then, no one knowshow to live. We do it.
It only felt safe to feel it all alone. I’d get sideswiped by inexplicable emotion at inconvenient times. So, I just tried to keep it all under wraps, keep it all under conscious control.
I didn’t trust myself at all. I didn’t trust my body. I didn’t trust anything other than my thoughts. My body was so unpredictable and confusing, this sensitivity was so out of control.
Then, when I was twenty-five and married, after just graduating with my Master’s degree as a marriage and family therapist, I couldn’t do it anymore. It all fell apart. I realized that there was more to me, and the life I was living was a fake, a construction based on my thoughts.
I got divorced. I quit my job. I moved. I dropped it all. Realizing how much of my life was a lie and how directly I could connect with and trust my body made me see that I couldn’t keep living that life. It was a beautiful break down.
It was then that I started studying hypnosis in depth and I came in direct contact with my subconscious.
It was a funny paradox that it was so hard for me to relax because it was hard for me to let things be easy. I thought that every thing took a lot of effort.
I couldn’t believe that I could have such immediate and powerful results from a seemingly simple process of listening to my sensations and using them to give my body what it wanted.
Many times what my body wanted surprised me, or seemed hilarious. My subconscious seemed like this alien that was living in me; it was not the “me” that I identified with, yet it seemed to be living in me, generating these images and emotions and ideas that “I” did not create.
And this was the time that I learned about the genetic trait of sensory sensitivity.
I found the work of psychologist and researcher Dr. Elaine Aron about the “Highly Sensitive Person” (HSP). It was the culmination of much personal study I had done on genetic sensitivity.
I had found out about being genetically sensitive to gluten (protein in wheat), genetically more susceptible to rumination (analyzing), and many other clues that pointed to me having a very different physical makeup related to loads of autoimmune disorders I experienced.
Finding this work on HSPs brought it all together. Understanding that I had a more highly sensitive nervous system that I was born with really helped it all click into place.
I learned that life is easier than I think it is. Thinking about life is hard. But life already is. It’s already happening. That’s easy.
I discovered that highly sensitive people seem to develop backwards compared to traditional theories. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs states that in order to develop as people, we must meet certain needs in a certain order, starting with physiological needs.
Well, I find that HSPs actually start at the top with transcendence needs and work down to the physiological needs last.

As a highly sensitive person, I am starting out with all this raw sensation at the transcendent level. It is up to me to self-actualize it and bring it into my body to feel it there, then bring it to thought and belief, and on down the levels to get a physiological manifestation.
And, it is so easy to just stay at the top, to stay in my head with it.
What a revelation to realize that there is nothing “wrong” with me, and all my thinking. It’s just the way I am built. And, I just hadn’t gone far enough with what I was sensing. I don’t start out at the physiological level, and I am not meant to!
In all my personal work and my work with highly sensitive clients, I have learned a few tricks at working better with sensitivity that I want to share with you. And, even if you are not genetically highly sensitive with a sensory sensitive nervous system, you are sensitive.
All human beings can sense, it just may not be what you start with if you are not highly sensitive.
What is sensitivity?
Sensitivity is your ability to pick up on sensory information with your nervous system. It is neutral. It’s like a sensitive microphone; it picks up on subtle sounds. Not good or bad.
What kinds of sensory things can you pick up on?
Your sensitive nervous system can pick up on other people’s emotions, the weather, lighting, sounds, smells, and more. I think of the human body like a vessel for receiving information, and your nervous system is your antennae bringing in that information. You can then process it in your body with your thoughts, feelings, emotions, and actions.
Why do we so often think of sensitivity as weakness?
We often think of sensitivity as weakness for three main reasons: it is out of our logical control, it makes us vulnerable, and we don’t know what to do with it, which means that we suppress and judge it—so it has manifested in weakness.
What can I do now to start to experience my sensitivity with greater strength?
Understand the difference between a sensation and an emotion.
A sensation is neutral sensory information in your body (butterflies in stomach, tension in shoulders, pit in stomach). An emotion is a personal response to a sensation (I personally feel scared about this).
Allow yourself to feel your sensations neutrally and engage with them.
For example, “I feel my body shaking right now, and that is okay. I can shake.” Rather than judging it by saying, “Why am I shaky right now? What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t be nervous now!”
Remind your self that you are a participant in life, not just an observer.
I liken this to being on the chessboard of life rather than just looking at it from above. Allow yourself to notice what you feel in response to the position you are in. There are actual energetic dynamics that you will feel based on where you are physically in your life. Ask yourself “What would feel better right now?” and then just let that come to you.
You really can trust yourself; your body knows more than you think. Your nervous system is getting a lot. Trust it. Trust is a practice. It’s a work out. Start where you are and take a step in the direction of trusting your body and what it is telling you.
That is how you strengthen the connection with your body. The present is here for you to unwrap in each surprising moment.




Our seven-year-old son told us he was gay
A child coming out is now likely to be supported, polls show. One mom’s story
Being a parent is an exercise in expecting the unexpected. And yet, despite years of experience, I’m still floored by my quiet, thoughtful and incredibly self-possessed son. The best example—to date, at least—happened on a regular weekday evening. My husband, my son and I were sitting around the dining room table and, like usual, I was trying my hardest to draw out some juicy details about their day. With these two, it’s always a bit of a one-sided Ping-Pong match: I lob a question over the net, and they spike incredibly succinct answers right past me.
“How was your day?”
“Fine.”
“Did you do anything fun?”
“Yep.”
After a few such attempts, I just gave up.
That was the moment our seven-year-old son came out. He took a bite of chicken and announced, in his matter-of-fact way, “I hope you know I’m gay.”
It was one of those epic parenting moments the handbook definitely does not cover. Thankfully, my mouth was full of chicken, which gave me a few panicked seconds to conjure the kind of response that could possibly convey the feelings of overwhelming love, worry and protectiveness rushing over me. I fervently wished there was someone with more experience—or, better yet, a degree in child psychology—who I could consult before responding. But no such luck: There wasn’t a single expert hiding under the table.
So I looked at my husband, took a deep breath and mustered a, “We love you no matter what, and your feelings might change as you get older and that’s OK, too.” I think I also threw in something about how he could talk to us about absolutely anything and should let us know if he had questions, or was worried, uncomfortable or curious. Lucas’s response: A shrug of the shoulders and an “OK.”
Cleanup, bath time and bedtime stories that night happened in a blur—a thousand thoughts buzzed through my brain while just as many emotions crashed over me: Could he really know at this age? Any bully is going to have to contend with me. He’ll be OK—thankfully, we live in a wonderfully diverse city. Well, those bullies better watch out. Will I be able to support him effectively? What do I do next? When Lucas was finally tucked in, I headed back downstairs, flopped dramatically onto the sofa and let out the biggest exhale of my life. I looked at my husband and said, “Wow,” expecting a full-on debrief. My husband, a go-with-the-flow, laid-back guy who never seems to get rattled, was just as low-key as his son. His reaction: A shoulder shrug and a blasé “Yep.”
After that, the topic didn’t resurface for a while. No one was avoiding it; we just weren’t talking about it, in the same way you don’t talk about being straight with other seven-year-olds. Whenever Lucas wasn’t eating or sleeping or at school, he was buried neck-deep in Lego—most of our conversations were about what part we needed to look for next. He was that typical little boy who gets excited by trains, thinks mud is an accessory and wrestles with anyone who is willing (or half-asleep).
THE CANADA PROJECT
And then he turned nine. Fourth grade was wrapping up, and I knew there had been some boy- and girl-crush talk at school: “What girls do you like?” “Which girls do you think are cute?” He was his usual quiet self, maybe a bit quieter, but I wasn’t too concerned. He didn’t seem overly sad or worried. But then one night before bed, as I was washing the dishes, he silently appeared beside me. I asked what was up, but he just stood there in his cute little monster truck pyjamas. It wasn’t until I put down the dishcloth and looked him in the eye that he started to talk. In a flood of words, he told me he wanted to tell his friends that he was gay—it felt like he was keeping a secret from them, and when he thought about it too much, it made him feel sick.
My heart ached, and I wished I could rewind to the time when kisses and cuddles fixed absolutely everything. The protective part of me was hesitant and wanted to discourage him from coming out. I worried about bullying, of course, and also that his friends might not react favourably. They were nine years old! Their conversations were about farting and video games! But I also couldn’t imagine asking him to be anything less than his fabulous self, and it didn’t feel right to suggest he hide who he was from the people he felt closest to.
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After some soul-searching and many late-night talks with my husband, we decided to first tell the parents of his closest friends so they could be ready to answer any questions. It seemed like a small way to protect him, the least we could do. I expected drama. I expected tears. But it was almost a non-event. The responses from his friends ranged from, “So?” to “Who are you gay with?”
Not much was said after that. Playdates and sleepovers continued as usual—nothing changed except perhaps their language. They stopped assuming everyone in the world was straight. When they talked about “crushes,” it became, “Who do you like?” A slight modification, but pretty awesome and maybe, dare I say, even life-changing. It still blows my mind that this event in our lives caused a shift in other people’s lives as well.
The biggest change, however, was in Lucas himself. It was like someone had kicked the party into high gear: He was suddenly dancing and singing—all the time. My quiet boy started living life in full-colour, topped with a glitter-bomb of happiness. It was like I was suddenly raising a sparkly rainbow unicorn. He was more confident and outgoing, and you couldn’t shut him up. His teachers noticed it, and his marks improved significantly in grade five. There’s been no looking back since.

I still have worries—I imagine I always will—but there are fewer now, because I can see him becoming more resilient every day, wearing his new-found confidence like a superhero cape. And in fact, this self-assurance is what has helped when he has experienced some bullying. Being comfortable in his own skin has shielded him from the everyday meanness of elementary school. So when another student said something to him like, “Well, at least I’m not gay!” during a disagreement, he wasn’t fazed. Sitting in the principal’s office with Lucas afterward, I thought about how I can’t protect him from unkind words. Chances are, high school will be even more of a minefield. But I am hoping to be surprised. I’m hoping to be overwhelmed by the amazing people he meets. And I’m hoping he tells me about his first crush, kiss or boyfriend.
On our walk home from the school that day, I started to launch into my pep talk about what an amazing kid he is and how proud I am, but he stopped me before I could truly get going. “I’m good, Mom,” he said. “Really.” I let out another one of those big parental exhales and smiled, because I knew he was and I know he always will be.