Dear Sensitive Child,
I need you to know something.
I’m not sure my actions have always spoken this, because I’m so far from being the most patient mother in the world, so I think I need to say this out loud. Because you need to know this, KNOW KNOW this, like you know your own name, like you know your shoe size, like you know the color of your hair.
I want this phrase to be on repeat in your head as you grow older, as you encounter people who don’t get you, as you realize you might be a little bit different, as you realize not everyone reacts to things the same way you do, as you begin to question things like the excellence of God’s handiwork and your awesomeness.
You are not too much.
You are not too much for me, or your dad, or your friends, or the world.
And if anyone ever makes you feel like you are too much, walk away. Those people are not your people.
God made you. And he made you sensitive. He made you feel things, deeply, for a reason, for His purpose. You were made with forethought, for something greater than I can even anticipate, because of the compassion and empathy those deep feelings breed.
Sometimes those feelings might feel like they’re too much. And sometimes they are. We’re working on recognizing that, when you need to calm down in a quiet place. We’re working on self-control, because big feelings minus self-control usually ends up looking like bad decisions. You know this. You’re getting better at this.
But even if those feelings are too much, that does not mean you are.
My heart aches for you sometimes, because I know some things are just going to be harder for you. Big crowds, loud noises, loss of routine, heat, cold, change, they are challenging for you, which constrains your world a little bit.
But you know what I think about hard? It’s so good. You will be stronger because of it; that’s what it does, it works you out and strengthens you.
I won’t lie, these first six years as your mother have been hard. But over and over again, they have led me back to my Heavenly Father, brought me to my knees in prayer, asking for wisdom and grace. You, and the knowledge that I can’t do this on my own, have brought me closer to God, and I think that’s what the hard does, if you let it.
My greatest struggle will be letting you go. I feel a protectiveness over you, a need to shield you from the harshness and the ugliness around us. I think for now, that’s healthy, to an extent. But eventually, I’ll have to let you fully experience both the marvelous light and the suffocating darkness that exists on this side of heaven.
Your sensitivity is like a superpower—you can use it to do incredible things, to change lives, to change this very world, and I’m not just saying that. I believe that in you. But just like every superhero, there will be dark powers trying to stop you, trying to keep you from rescuing those who need rescuing.
It will be so easy to wallow in the dark corners and let it coat your tender soul until that sensitivity turns into cynicism. So promise me you’ll find solace in the light. Promise me you’ll rest in God’s goodness.
I’m sitting on the edge of my seat watching you. I have no idea what God has in store for that deep soul of yours, but I can’t wait to find out.
I thank Him every day for making you sensitive, because you have made me more sensitive—something I desperately needed.
I love you, every inch of you, inside and out, and always will.