Growing up, people walked on eggshells around me.

Calling me a sensitive child would probably be an understatement. One small remark would lead to a full-on tantrum and outburst. Unfortunately, there aren’t many childhood stories that didn’t end with me in tears. I was a walking waterfall. No one knew how to handle this firecracker delicately, so unbeknownst to me, I was dubbed as “Miss Emotions”.

I hated it.

I didn’t know how to manage my emotions and it started to affect my relationships. I had some friends at school and youth ministry, but they kept me at a distance. You know that feeling where you’re part of something but you don’t quite belong? Yeah, I was just at the edge of the circle trying to squeeze myself inside but no one wanted to be the one who made her cry again.

I started to resent myself. I couldn’t help but feel like the ocean. I felt scary as its ever-changing tides. I drowned anyone who ever dared come close to the overwhelming highs and lows of my emotions. I didn’t know if I would ever “get better” from my sensitivity. I was at a loss. 

I spent countless nights angry at God. Why did He make me this way? Why couldn’t I be like everyone else? Why couldn’t He take away my sensitivity and my inability to manage my emotions? Why did He permit me to be an outcast for years? 

As years passed, I learned healthy ways to cope. I buried myself in self-help and fantasy novels. I found that I loved to write. My bookshelf is filled with annotated books and tear-stained journals spanning from my early elementary years to my late twenties. I took a leap and tried counseling for a few years too. I made new supportive friends who held my hand as I poured my heart and they accepted me for who I am. 

With the encouragement of my support circle, I decided I wanted to take the driver’s seat of accepting myself and embracing my sensitivity. Enter St. Therese.

If you’re anything like me, you’d probably only know of St. Therese for her infamous roses, sweet flower-y nature, and unattainable status as one of the four female Doctors of the Church. I didn’t know how I could possibly relate to a Saint like her. What did she know about sensitivity? I had no interest in pursuing a relationship with her. But the French saint wanted to be my friend. 

St. Therese became my “saint stalker”. She followed me everywhere for months. From the walls of various parishes, in passing during discussions and spiritual direction, to random websites while I researched for talks, she was persistent. I gave up and picked up her autobiography.

As I read A Story of a Soul, I felt such utmost comfort reading about Therese’s childhood. She was also a sensitive child who had trouble managing her emotions. Her family was exasperated trying to get her to stop crying. She couldn’t help it. Her mom had passed away and her sister Pauline had left for the convent at Lisieux. She knew what it felt like to be “too much” too!

My favorite story was her encounter with Our Lady of the Smile. St. Therese was suffering greatly, and after she knelt down to pray, Mama Mary appeared to her and helped soothe her emotional turmoil. She experienced a great sense of peace and comfort.

Below is how she recounted her experience in her book:

“All of a sudden the Blessed Virgin appeared beautiful to me, so beautiful that never had I seen anything so attractive; her face was suffused with an ineffable benevolence and tenderness, but what penetrated to the very depths of my soul was the “ravishing smile of the Blessed Virgin.” At that instant, all my pain disappeared and two large tears glistened on my eyelashes, and flowed down my cheeks silently, but they were tears of unmixed joy.”

Befriending St. Therese felt like a Godsend. The saints had always intimidated me so I didn’t know what it was like to form a relationship with one until Therese approached me. I felt so much peace knowing that I wasn’t alone in my suffering. She understood me. 

If St. Therese could embrace her sensitivity with such grace, what is stopping me from doing the same thing? If she could become a saint, why couldn’t I? 

My first step of accepting my sensitivity was to repair my relationship with God. I had longed for answers, wondering why He had made me this way. I realize now that it wasn’t a mistake. He had intentionally crafted every sense of my being. Nothing was an accident – even my sensitivity. It wasn’t a burden or a curse, but a gift. 

Embracing my sensitivity allowed me to mature in my faith by allowing me to lean into vulnerability, trust in God’s plan, and love more deeply. It wasn’t something that needed to be fixed, but led me closer to Him. Instead of running from my feelings, I’ve learned to let them lead me to prayer, compassion, and a stronger connection with God. I won’t lie and say that I’ve completely overcome my sensitivity. Some days are easier than others. It is a journey to unlearn the lies that I had believed about myself, but I have hope that with God’s guidance and Therese’s friendship, I am on the right track. 

My friend, if you have also struggled with your sensitivity, I would like to share a quote that my friend Camille shared with me years ago (in which neither of us can remember exactly where it came from). I pray that it may help you in your journey.

“I asked God why He made me too sensitive, and He promised me that it wasn’t a mistake. He told me He purposely made me delicate, not so that I could shatter easily, not so that I could be frail, not so that I could be told I’m ‘too soft’ whenever someone tries to touch me. It was so I could know of the gentle beauty in living. And in my tenderness, I can love in a way the world may not know of yet. My compassion has the power to speak raging waves to calmness and I can appreciate the little things He created that go unnoticed. There is something special in being fragile, and it has nothing to do with weakness, and everything to do with strength. Being sensitive is a gift, He answered, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”