Growing Up Sensitive

by Deb Baker/Hannah Reed

I was overly sensitive as a child. Especially when it came to animals. I wound up with someone else's dose of compassion right along with my own. I cried watching Lassie.  I sobbed during Black Beauty. Call of the Wild (book and movie) practically killed me. Even Flipper could produce tears.

And as I grew up, that aspect of my personality remained the same. Seabiscuit, Fly Away Home, Babe, the list goes on. Whether shedding tears of terror or tears of joy, I can hardly stand all that extra emotion.

And it's embarrassing to be crying during an animated film with my granddaughter next to me.

I take a little comfort from something Anne Lamott wrote in her wonderful book Stitches. "...almost everybody worth his or her salt..had been an overly sensitive child."

I like that. Although...maybe I wasn't "overly" after all. Maybe I was the perfect amount.

And I'm convinced that I'm in good company here at this blog. Am I right?