I just finished
reading Little Women to G and Z. That
book is way longer than I remembered - and – seriously?! - emotionally
grueling. As had happened throughout Little
Women, but on an even more snot-filled, ugly-crying level, I began to lose
it as I tried to read those last pages aloud. The closing bit, where Marmee
says, even after all the poverty and hardship, and even though her daughter
Beth died (sorry if I am giving
anything away here), “Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I can never wish
you a greater happiness than this!” And she says this simply because they are all together...I can’t even type it without
sobbing.
As I read to her,
as she often does, Z observed my emotional reaction and asked, “Mom, is it
touching?”
Honey, to me, just about
EVERYTHING is touching.
You can just look
at my red, blotchy, slimy face – or your brother’s: Yes. It’s touching. When a
bird lets another bird go ahead of it at the birdfeeder? Touching. Something on
the radio about helping people? We will probably at a minimum get misty-eyed. When
there’s a video of a baby seal? Touching. Human interest piece in People magazine at the dentist? All
those interspecies friendship books? Elderly people holding hands? Yes.
Anything to do with animals, life, death, romance, family, and so forth is fair
game for being touching.
At the same time,
on my own, I’ve been dipping into The Highly
Sensitive Person, in which I was *stunned* to read that 42% of people
describe themselves as “not sensitive at all.” And here I’d always thought
everybody was just better at managing their feelings and reactions than I was –
because there was something wrong with me.
Something weak, or ignorant, or lame; a lack in me which rendered me less adept
than the majority of people...People who didn’t seem to cry or laugh quite as
readily, people for whom interacting with others, for example, seemed to be
much more clear cut, less laden with strong, overwhelming feelings, and MUCH
less daunting...
I’d assumed
everybody was “like me” and that it was my “fault” for being unable to “master”
my feelings and reactions. Now I see another healing, liberating spectrum! I
wouldn’t quite put my Z in the “not sensitive at all” category, but on a
sensitivity spectrum we clearly occupy different spaces. And this holds true
for her sensory processing as well: she’s impervious to hunger, noise, lack of
sleep, etc. in a way that’s inconceivable to the SPD-ers* in the family.
In Figure I, I’ve
charted approximations of our family sensitivity levels relative to one another
(P=Pardner, Z=my daughter, G=my son, F=me). This is obviously simplifying and
generalizing, but it also clearly indicates a Full Spectrum of sensitivities
just within one family.
Figure I – Touching
Chart: From Squishing-Touching to Not Touching
Knowing that others
have different sorts and levels of sensitivity, doesn’t mean we ourselves
necessarily should attempt to change our own feelings and reactions – even if
we are able (?). But that knowledge opens our eyes to possibilities of
different perspectives - and perspective, as I tell my philosophy students, is
the key to a lot. It’s marvelous to
see how we all shine in different ways. It’s intriguing for me to imagine the
experience of not sobbing at the drop of a hat; for Z, learning about things
that are “touching” is inspiring her to find her own tender spots.
Guess the Full
Spectrums will keep learning from each other.
We just started By the Shores of Silver Lake. You know,
the Laura Ingalls Wilder where Mary goes blind and Jack, their loyal, loving
dog dies? It’s going to be you-know-what.
Love,
Full Spectrum Mama
* SPD-ers: people
with sensory processing differences
Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!
