
Ever since I was a child, I felt different — like I didn’t belong anywhere. Sometimes I even wondered if something was wrong with me or if part of my mind was missing, because the way I experienced the world felt so unusual.
Most of the time, I felt like an alien waiting for my spaceship to pick me up and rescue me from this strange planet.
Struggling to Fit In
In social settings, I often pretended to be interested in topics that bored me. I felt like I had to hide the real me — a part of myself I didn’t fully understand and sometimes even felt ashamed of. That constant pretending was exhausting.
It’s not that I couldn’t hold a conversation. I could. But “fitting in” felt more like a strategic project than a natural experience. Socializing often left me drained, not uplifted.
That’s why I preferred being alone in “my world,” where I didn’t have to explain myself or conform. I could relax, reflect, and explore the thoughts that fascinated me — thoughts I rarely shared with others.
The Search for Meaning
In my private world, I pondered life’s biggest questions: Why do people suffer? Why does a world supposedly created by love contain so much pain and injustice? Why do children starve while others have more than they need?
I wondered why strangers confided in me without being asked, even at loud parties where I’d rather be reading a book or enjoying a quiet evening with coffee. Why could I feel their emotional pain as if it were my own, even when they didn’t say a word?
Why did social gatherings exhaust me more than any physical workout, leaving me desperate for solitude afterward? Why did criticism sting so deeply, even when I knew it wasn’t personal?
My body seemed like an antenna, constantly picking up energy — good and bad — from everyone around me. One moment I’d be calm and happy, and the next, overcome with anxiety or drained for no apparent reason.
I wanted to understand why I felt driven to help others even when it cost me my own well-being. Why did I long to discuss deeper truths, while most people seemed content with the surface of life?
Searching in the Wrong Places
Who could I talk to about all this? In the small, traditional community where I lived, there was no one. Once, in a moment of desperation, I shared some of my thoughts with a local priest. His uncomfortable reaction told me everything I needed to know.
Back then, I didn’t know I was an empath. I had never heard of high sensitivity or understood that it was a natural personality trait — not a flaw. I just thought something was wrong with me.
A New Understanding
Everything changed when I discovered writings on high sensitivity, especially the works of Orin & DaBen. Learning that sensitivity was a personality trait, not a disorder, felt like a breath of fresh air. I finally realized that being sensitive wasn’t something to hide or fix — it was a gift.
Step by step, I stopped pretending. I learned how to manage my energy, set boundaries, and honor my sensitivity. I came to see it not as a burden but as a source of deep insight and connection.
Embracing Who I Am
Today, I accept my sensitivity fully. I no longer feel guilty for saying “no” or prioritizing my well-being. I’ve let go of the need to “save” everyone around me, understanding that each person has their own path.
I still can’t believe how much time I spent suppressing my true self, trying to fit into a world where I never felt at home. But I’m grateful that I eventually embraced who I am. My sensitivity allows me to experience life’s beauty and depth in ways I wouldn’t trade for anything.
And for that, I am profoundly thankful.