07/04/2026
Truth be told, it’s felt like a curse - or as close as I could get to one.
To be this sensitive.
A body that never quite settles.
A system that’s always listening, always watching, always feeling.
Chronically unwell.
Afraid of what rises out of nowhere.
Confused by sensations no one else seems to notice, let alone understand.
A mystery that never quite gets solved.
And maybe the hardest part -
Being alone inside of it.
No language for it.
No mirror for it.
No one who can quite meet you in the place where it’s all happening.
But then…
How would I feel the weather turning before the sky ever shifts?
How would I taste illness in someone before it speaks through their body?
How would I read what’s unspoken
if I couldn’t feel what lives beneath the words?
How would I know when something isn’t right —
even when everything looks fine?
How would I sense the moment to leave…
or the moment to stay and root deeper?
How would I feel intention before it’s ever revealed?
How would I hear the land?
The quiet language of things most people were taught to ignore.
The way the trees hold memory.
The way the wind carries change.
The way the black cockatoos call the rain in before it arrives.
Maybe it was never a curse.
But it’s a body that refused to go numb
in a world that survives by disconnecting.
Maybe it’s a system tuned too finely
for environments that couldn’t hold it.
Maybe it was never that something was wrong with me…
Just that I was feeling things
most people spend their whole lives trying not to.
And I’m still learning the difference
between what’s mine
and what I’ve been carrying for everyone else.
Still learning that sensitivity without safety feels like suffering.
Still learning that this…
this thing I once feared…
is also the very thing that lets me touch the world
in a way that is intimate, alive, and deeply real & that most will never get to.
And maybe this is my way of belonging to the web of sentient….and right now that feels much more like a gift.
