Vulnerability, Sensitivity and Sarcasm

VULNERABILITY, SENSITIVITY AND SARCASM

When I was growing up, I was known as the sensitive one in the family. Although my Dad once cried at the sight of Kate Middleton in her wedding dress, and Mum would get irritable if I told her that the sauce at dinner needed more salt, I was always the one who had the most hang ups, and seemed to take everything to heart. I didn't know why my family said I was too sensitive. To me, all these feelings were totally normal and logical ways to react and feel. My little brain couldn't understand what I had done to be called such a thing. And it also couldn't figure out how to stop being called sensitive in the first place.

I was touchy, I was emotional, I was dramatic, I was volatile. I was easily wounded, easily hurt. I was clueless about how to respond and placate situations. I couldn't take a joke. I felt afraid and tentative around people. I became a people pleaser. I brooded for far too long, and over-analysed everything in an attempt to yield some kind of meaning. I perceived everything as a personal attack. An attempt to bring me down. An attempt to inflict pain on me. I was too perceptive to what was around me, and could take offence so easily. Whether it be a look, a word, a tone of voice, an action. I genuinely believed that people were out to get me, and I could never understand why. What had I done that was so wrong, and why wouldn't people leave me alone? Why couldn't I just fade into the background, to that sanctuary on the sidelines? 

My misjudged perception meant that my reactions were always too much, or 'extra', as my friend likes to call me. Everything was too strong. I perceived too much. I felt too much. I reacted too much. And I couldn't seem to find a way to reign it all in. I knew that if I could somehow, then I would probably save myself a lot of stress, worry, energy and time. I would also probably be a much more pleasant person to be around. And I would be so much happier too. I had to do something about it, because the hurting was just too much of a weight to carry. The sadness, the soul-searching, the analysing, the negativity I directed towards myself, the frustration and hurt I felt towards the people around me. It was all too much. And now that I was in my late teens, I realised that the time had come to do something about it. So what did I do? I turned to sarcasm. I turned to humour. I turned to laughter.

Turning to humour was something I had done previously. When I was nine, my best friend left to go to another school. Up till then, I had resigned myself to living under her shadow, always being at her beck and call and mercy, following her rules, and doing what she wanted. I was a loyal follower, and I hated it. And then suddenly she left, and for the first time in my life, I felt this incredible, beautiful, life-changing freedom. I was free to be myself. Free to do what I wanted. Free to make my own choices, talk to who I wanted. Free to find who I was. And one of the first things I used my newfound freedom to exercise, was my ability to make people laugh. 

I took great joy from making people smile and laugh, and making myself into 'the funny one'. I liked the way it brought me closer to people. I liked the way it made people accept me, and want to be around me. I liked how it deflected attention away from everything else. I liked the way it made me feel. I liked how it was something that I could control. So when my time of need came again, I turned to humour once more, with sarcasm being my new weapon of choice. Sarcasm is known for being quite a dry, witty, intelligent and almost empty kind of humour. You have to spot the right opportunities to use it. You have to have the insight to manipulate a situation, and turn it into something that will make someone laugh. You have to know how to control your voice, so that your delivery is almost vacant and emotionless. You have to put a layer over your real feelings and almost lie about them. Or on the converse, you're saying the truth but in such a falsified way that the lines blur, and neither you or the other person really knows what lies at the heart of it all.

And I think that distance, suppression, vacancy, wit, deflection, it makes for the perfect mask to hide and protect a sensitive soul. It's the perfect way to avoid real feelings, avoid hurt, avoid being laughed at, avoid feeling inferior, avoid the truth. It's the perfect way to maintain distance. It's the perfect way to feel in control. It's the perfect way to dodge a bullet. It's the perfect way to make people laugh, whilst also letting them know that you're strong, you're intelligent, you're insightful, you're perceptive, your defences are up, and you're not afraid to bite back. It's the perfect way to diffuse tension and awkwardness. And it's the perfect excuse to run and hide.

So whilst finding sarcasm has been something of a blessing, and it has taught me how to defend myself, laugh at myself, make other people laugh, view the world differently, develop self-esteem and self-confidence, forge stronger relationships, and stop being so damn sensitive, sometimes, I think I've gone too far with it. I've overcompensated, and overstepped the mark. I've started to realise that I'm using my sarcasm as a way to protect myself. I've started to realise how instinctively I use it to dodge those bullets. I've started to realise that sometimes I go to far with it, and I can't stop until I feel superior to the person who makes me feel inferior. It's made me bury my feelings right down into a place where I can't even feel them anymore. It's made me numb, reduce and invalidate my feelings. It's a trick to keep people out. It's made me fear being vulnerable, and even forget how to do it. It's a way to prove myself. A way to hide from the truth. A way to pretend, if only for a moment, that I'm not that sensitive, shy, fearful, worried little girl anymore.

But the truth is, I am that sensitive soul still. I am my father's child after all, and he is the most open, loving, kind, generous and affectionate person you could ever hope to meet. That little girl I used to be has never truly gone away. I still encounter her most days, and she is still such a big part of who I am, what I do, the choices I make. I like to think I've moved so far away from her, and become a completely different person in the process. And it's true that I have learnt how to overcome her limitations, and grow as a person. But at the end of the day, that is still me. I am still that person, even when I like to pretend that I'm not. My sarcasm, and my barricades, and my humour, and my actions, they are compensating for and protecting that fragile, sensitive, loving, tentative core of who I am. 

I still feel the pain. I'm still sensitive. I still take things the wrong way. I still feel too much, react too much. I still hurt when I shouldn't. I still perceive other people too strongly. And I think I've learnt to tell myself that all these things are bad. That I shouldn't be like that. But in there I think lies my mistake. It's true that I did need to toughen up, and grow in maturity and grace. Learn how to listen properly to the words people are saying. Learn how to accept feedback. Learn how to reject cruelty. Learn how to love myself, and feel confident in myself. Learn more about how I am, and who I could be. Learn not to take things so seriously, and see the funny side of things. But I didn't need to change or hide away the person I am at the heart of everything. I didn't need to apologise for being me. 

And now, I've come to realise that actually, maybe I need to start re-discovering that side of me again. That beautiful, loving, emotive, compassionate, sensitive, vulnerable, open, giving conglomeration of positive, tentative and sparkling energy that is rooted so deeply in my soul, my DNA, my heart. It's time to welcome her back. I believe it's finally time to go back home.