Tag Archives: psychic

Sensitivity on Steroids, Part One

Oh, my lovelies. This is an uncomfortable post. A post that I both want and don’t want to write because…well…because…(I’m trailing off here in case it’s not obvious). How do I put this? “Just put it,” says a small voice in my head. “Trust that people will get it–the right people will get it.”

Then, cut back to an image of me absolutely squirming in my seat. Jumping out of my skin. Whirring away into the air like a puff of smoke. Gah!

I don’t want to publish this post because it will expose things, reveal even more of my tender underbelly, the part that I protect savagely, the part of me, ironically, that I can no longer protect by keeping hidden. The part that, due to recent circumstances, now needs to be opened up to the light, exposed…exposed…exposed…not closed off and shoved to the periphery. I have to start talking about this. And, by doing so, I *hope*, the need I have for such fierce protection, such armament, such a strong “Viking” mode that I have chosen to use and express from much of my life (and likely before this life) will soften. I *hope*.

This urge to un-mask and admit what I’m about to let loose into the world makes me nervous. Or, more accurately, it makes my ego extremely nervous. My ego doesn’t want anyone forming an impression of me as one of “those people”. It’s quaking at the thought that people will be afraid of me after reading this or nervous or stymied around me in some way. My ego is afraid that others will think I’m one of those “Sedona freaks” who believes in crystals, Tarot, meditation, and psychic ability. But, the truth is: I am. I am one of those people. I do believe in all of that stuff. I use those tools. I’m learning more everyday about so much of that stuff. I can’t control what others think of me. I need to own this part of who I am. So, I have to fess up. Tell the truth.

<Cut to a soundtrack of my ego screaming.>

Photo compliments of Robert Lukeman and https://unsplash.com/

Photo compliments of Robert Lukeman and
https://unsplash.com/

For the record: I have an almost debilitating social anxiety. I’m an exposed nerve ending. I’m acutely uncomfortable around other people. Always. I’m on edge almost all of the time. I’m exhausted by my interactions with others, not nourished or encouraged or built up. One or two people around me is fine, but anything more than , say, five people and I’m a mess. Inwardly. Outwardly, you’d never know that I was so uncomfortable, so on edge, because I’ve learned how to activate the “auto-pilot” and largely disassociate my way through interactions, parties, crowded sporting events, malls, public-speaking events, conferences, on-site work, airports, yoga classes, and so on. I’ve learned how to fake my way through situations that most others simply take for granted and never sweat. Speaking of sweat, I do it alot when I’m around other people. That’s how you can tell. If I’m sweating profusely, I’m anxious. It’s how I was wired from the get-go. I cannot change it.

A girlfriend of mine (really, more of a loving sister to me. I love you, LaVerne), and I were talking about life one day. We had taken a long motorcycle ride together and stopped in a small Route 66 town for some lunch. We sat waiting for our meals when the topic ventured into the realm of the psychic, which it unnervingly does with me often and is happening with more frequency as the years go on. In the course of this conversation, it occurred to me that my “anxiety” is probably something else. It’s not just “GAD” (general anxiety disorder). It’s deeper.

Que the dramatic music: Duhn, dunh, duhn.

The tiny tendril of a thought began blossoming inside of me and before I could stop it or edit it away, it hit me: my anxiety is probably tied to my heavily (and I mean HEAVILY) suppressed psychic ability. AGH!

There, I said it. In public. I can never take it back. I’ve published this post. It’s in the world. Hoh-shite! RUN! Move away. Disappear. Go live on a deserted island with no Internet. Never be seen or heard from again.

:::Deep breath:::

Truth is: I’m psychic. (Hey, we all are. Yes, even you, the one rolling your eyes). But, apparently, I’m really, really psychic. Or, so I’m told. The problem is: I’m deeply reluctant to be this way. I’ve run from this “sensitivity” for a very long time. I want to say that I’ve run from it all of my life, but I didn’t consciously know that I was like this until relatively recently. I had no solid clue until approximately ten years ago. And, to be honest, I still kind of doubt it. I don’t *quite* believe that I am. Why? because I push it away. I don’t work with it consciously. I don’t do readings on people. I don’t use it. I don’t like it. I run. I’m talking “on-fire-running-away-from-it-as-fast-as-I-can” running. So, I often can’t tell the difference between information that I’m “receiving” and information that originates within my own thought stream and psyche. I cannot differentiate between my stuff and other people’s stuff. It all feels like my stuff.

At any rate, it’s obvious to me now that my deep sensitivity is tied to this, whatever you want to call it: “ability”, “curse”, “gift”. I’m not comfortable with any of it. And, this post is freaking me out. But, it’s too late now.

Most of you know that my sensitivity is OFF THE CHARTS. I am incredibly sensitive. Not in a simpering, weak-willed, collapse-in-on-myself, wallflower way. No. I’m incredibly strong-willed, bold, fierce (when required), and tough. When I say that I’m sensitive, I mean that I feel EVERYFUCKINGTHING around me 24/7. I feel things from the world (planet, universe, cosmos, deep space) on a daily basis that would send most people to the loony-bin in less than two weeks. I feel EVERYTHING. My running joke is that if a moth dies in the Amazon, I feel it. It registers, it washes through me, and it has an effect on me. And, it produces feelings inside of me.

I’ll give you an example: I’m so sensitive that I cannot drive past a livestock truck without full-on tearing up. Yes, actually crying. I mean it. It happens to me nearly every time I see one of those trucks. Why? Because I absolutely feel all of the consternation, terror, sadness, and uncertainty of the animals being transported in the truck. I can even feel the emotions of the animals that were carried in the truck prior to the ones that I’m driving past. I can LITERALLY FEEL THEIR EMOTIONS, their full-on awareness of what is happening, how they know where they are going, and the fact that they are going to die. They KNOW IT. I can feel their deep grief, their worry, their physical pain, their sickness in some cases, and their sense of loss at being away from others with whom they grew close. I feel it all.

This is not me being crazy. It’s not me making it up. It’s not me trying to get attention. It’s not the writer in me writing fiction. No, no, no. IT’S REAL. I know it because it is AWFUL. And, it’s OVERWHELMING for them and for me. So, I cry. Oh, and let me tell you: God forbid I see a tail or an ear poking out of one of the little slats in the truck. That’s enough to make me pull over and outright sob. Not kidding. My level of sensitivity is epic. It scares the shit out of other people and it scares the shit out of me. But, it finally occurred to me that this sensitivity is evidence of my psychic ability. I just never connected the dots until recently.

To Be Continued….

In the interim, are you aware of your psychic abilities (whether latent or in the foreground)? Share your story here. I want to know how you cope with it or if you’ve embraced it and actually use your abilities. I’m eager to hear your journey, friends.

 

Sensitivity Training

How are your senses? Are they sharp, defined, full of feeling, attention-grabbing? Do you feel and know things that you can’t quite explain? Do you sometimes have to close your eyes to control the stimulation coming at you and through you? Are you light-sensitive? Do you feel emotions taking root inside of your body? Are you convinced that sometimes the emotions are not yours, but they are so strong that they become yours, so it doesn’t really matter? For me, it’s all of the above.

sensitivity

I sometimes joke with people about being so sensitive that when a moth dies in the Amazon, I feel it. I really do feel like this. Being me, in this body, in this particular life is like being on hyper-drive all of the time. I feel so deeply that it scares other people. Hell, it often scares me and I’m in here. I’ll give you some examples.

When I first began dating my now husband, we were sitting in the car at a traffic light. There, on the corner was an enormous man who clearly was trying to gauge his ability to get across the street in time before the light changed. I could feel his thoughts, his consternation, his concern. Because of his size, he was very worried. I didn’t blame him; it was a busy street. He had difficulty walking. I could feel all of this from him. But, it went beyond that. I could feel his life-long grief, his vulnerability, his sorrow. I could feel his body. I registered the pain in his back. I could feel the troubled past of this man in my very cells. And, it was an instant-sharp-knife in my heart. I sat there looking at him, getting waves of this information and simultaneously feeling my own heart break into a million pieces for this man. I was choked by it. I simply could not breathe. I couldn’t take it.

In a flash, I closed my eyes, turned away, and started sobbing. Craig looked over at me and immediately asked what was wrong. Through my profuse tears, I explained to him what had just happened and told him how it happens to me all of the time. I explained that it has happened to me in the supermarket before and I’ve had to walk out of the store with a shopping cart full of food sitting there, because I cannot hold the energy, the activity, the feelings. I actually half expected Craig to high-tail it for the hills at about that point, but he didn’t. He was sad for me but also interested in learning more about this phenomenon.

Another example: Sometimes, I’ll be walking through a room and it’s like I walk into a bubble of energy that is so strong it takes my breath away. I instantly start to tear up and suck in my breath. As a Pisces, I am so “on” that my natural reaction to anything, whether it’s sad, happy, energetic, or otherwise is to cry. The tears will start rolling down my cheeks, quickly with little provocation, as I try to sort out what the hell it was that I just walked through. My body? It begins to shake and I get chills from my head to my toes. I feel agitated, antsy, and like I have to move my body very quickly. I rarely figure out what it was that I walked through, by the way. I just don’t understand what it is or why it happens to me.

When a friend thinks of me, I feel a warm little “ping” in the core of my body. I may not know who is doing the thinking, but I feel them. I feel others’ emotions even when not in the same room or state or country. I can feel all of the people whom I love. I mean, I LOVE people so strongly and so tremendously, it’s earth-moving, deep, intense, and have I mentioned, pretty scary sometimes. But, I can feel people thinking about me and creating an opening between us.

The thing is, I have largely fought this sensitivity all of my life. I have fought this level of feeling all of my flippin’ life. It has always scared me to feel as deeply as I do, so I have used my body as a shield against feeling. I have created a large, strong outer shell to buffer the stimulation coming at me. For so many years, I was so “open” and so “on” that I couldn’t contain the emotion, the stimuli, so I’ve used my precious body as a go-between, a pillow to protect my sensitive inner core, a core that felt like it was always about to shatter. And, my body has done such an amazing job of protecting me. She has.

But, this denial of my gifts, this “clamping down” on my sensitivity has come at a huge cost. I have shielded so pervasively that I cannot hear my spirit guides now. I’m having a real problem advancing my spiritual explorations because of my deep-seated fear of “feeling too much” or “knowing too much”. I’ve largely shut down my third eye and made myself dense, heavy, slow, and closed off to my inner, feminine faculties. I have aligned with the male in me and the victorious, the aggressive, the strong. I have harmed my lovely body with overwork, stress, and injuries.

What I didn’t realize (until I was 42 years old) was that I was living with a wide-open etheric body. In a reading, a psychic told me that all of my chakras were wide open, unprotected, and that people were climbing their energy inside of me all day, every day. I was literally a dumping ground for other people’s energetic outpourings. Ah-HA! It made perfect sense! No wonder I always felt like such crap after being in public. No wonder I couldn’t tolerate concerts, the theater, or parties or groups of more than five people; because I was, in essence, a walking nerve ending with all this energy and feeling that did not belong to me. People’s energy would bomb-blast me and I’d be sick for three days afterwards. I would just “crash”. So, no wonder I used my body to guard me and resist all of this. I couldn’t consciously understand what was happening to me and why I always felt like such poop, so, I did my best to shut down and make my body do all of the heavy lifting (pun intended).

Now, I like to think of myself as undergoing sensitivity training. I am actively working to shield myself with various exercises and meditations instead of using my poor body to do it. These exercises create a safe space around me and allow me to go out into public with some measure of comfort. While they aren’t perfect, the exercises do help buffer me. With continued use, I have also begun dipping into the softness inside, the female intuition that, in the past, I tried (unsuccessfully) to eradicate. I’ve begun to safely open myself up to the stimulation around me by choice instead of by default. And, in the last four years, I have managed to accept that this sensitivity of mine is here for a reason and that it means something; it’s useful and precious. I’m now willing to let Source use it (and me) to help other people, but in a healthy manner. And, for the most part, I don’t walk around getting climbed on. If I let someone in, it’s because I want them there. : )