I remember sitting at the edge of my bed, heart racing over something so small—he had dismissed me again. A simple request, met with mockery. I heard myself say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a big deal.”
But it was a big deal. I just didn’t know how to say that without being labeled “too sensitive.”
It took me years to understand that being sensitive isn’t a flaw—it’s information. It’s how your body tells you when something’s not right. When something’s unsafe. When someone doesn’t respect you.
That day, something in me shifted. I didn’t speak up to him—I wasn’t ready yet. But I sat with myself and said: “You don’t have to apologize for how you feel.”
And that was the beginning. The start of speaking more gently to myself. The beginning of saying, “This hurts,” without shame.
Now, I speak up. I still tremble sometimes, but I speak. And when someone tells me I’m being dramatic or emotional, I don’t shrink—I remember that my feelings are my compass. They’re not a weakness. They’re my wisdom.
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