I loved watching Sailor Moon as a kid, but I hated Sailor Moon herself, the teenage girl who had the title of Sailor Moon (Usagi or Serena depending on which version you watched).
I couldn’t stand her.
This wasn’t due to her multiple bad decisions throughout the show, her selfishness or her overall immaturity. Rather, it was because Sailor Moon was a crybaby and I hated that about her.
Hate’s a strong word, but in 2013, that was the best descriptor to encapsulate the feelings I had towards this protagonist.
In a sense, I saw myself in her character and couldn’t handle practically looking into my mirrored reflection every time I tuned in to watch the series on YouTube.
I hated Sailor Moon and the fact that she was a crybaby, because I, too, was a crybaby.
Honestly, I still am, but my attitude toward sensitivity has drastically changed since then.
Being sensitive is on a spectrum just like any other thing is. There is a point where one is ultra-sensitive and another where someone just doesn’t ever feel a thing. These are two extremes that are not advisable for anyone to breach into.
Yet, for some time, this is exactly what I wanted to do.
Why would I not?
All around me, in my circle of family and friends, I was constantly advised to get “thicker skin.” I needed to be stronger, I couldn’t be so receptive to my feelings and I needed to not take things so personally.
Looking back, I completely understand the intentions behind those words. At that time, I rarely stood up for myself, and I let my feelings dictate my life. My sensitivity scale was teetering toward the “ultra-sensitive” end of the spectrum. There was even an instance in middle school when I cried because someone had crushed my Golden Oreo cookies. The cookies remained edible, but the mere action of crushing them brought me to ugly, snot-filled tears.
So, I reached the “ultra-sensitive” part of the spectrum, which is something I would not wish on my worst enemy (okay, maybe I would).
It was an embarrassing part of my life, but I don’t regret it because that’s how you learn, you learn from your mistakes.
As a result of learned behaviors from several mistrials with ultra-sensitivity, I was not as much of a crybaby as I used to be, at least not in public.
I didn’t cry at every mishap that occurred in my life. Instead, I would breathe in and push my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stall the tears.
“I am really doing a good job at this whole having thick skin thing!”
I was not doing a good job.
I was probably doing the worst job because I just bottled everything up. I realized that wasn’t the best alternative.
Then, I told myself that I would cry when I actually have to and try my best not to when possible. That way, I wasn’t holding every tear back but rather letting some slip past.
When I implemented this new technique, I felt like this was the best period in my life regarding being sensitive. I wasn’t emotionless. I still empathized with others, but I was no longer a constantly teary mess.
However, many people I knew did not share the same opinion concerning this “new me.” In their worldview, I was still too sensitive, I still took things much too personally and my skin was not thick enough, not just yet.
Like a mantra, my mother would drill into me, “You have to be strong, mama.”
And I am, at times, and there are other times when I am not. As a Black woman though, the action of being “strong” is not simply being “strong at times,” but rather a permanent expectation etched into your fate.
I was nonconsensually coronated with the title of being a “strong Black woman.”
To be strong is to not be weak.
To be weak is to show emotions and tears — which is what I do, with a conditional frequency.
Why is it such a transgression to be emotional at times?
Why is it such a transgression for me to be emotional at times?
I’ve rejected the weight of the burden carried over from the “strong Black woman” label.
I’ll be strong when I have to and weak when I want to because allowing myself to be vulnerable will not mean the end of the world.
One of the strengths, though, of my sensitivity was my emotional responses to the feelings of others. I feel— it is just what I do.
When I wanted to reject my nature and change to fit into societal molds, I was seen as too emotional or not emotive enough, too nice or too matter-of-fact.
Regardless of the changes I try to make with myself, no one will truly be satisfied, which is why the sole opinion that should matter is my own.
I am no longer ultra-sensitive, nor am I cold-hearted. I am just me.
As all things are on a spectrum, balance is needed. If there are ultra-sensitives, we need cold-hearted individuals and others who are equidistant to the two.
Feeling for others, being kind and having the ability to empathize should be celebrated, not vilified.
So, go on and be sensitive, that’s completely okay.
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