When I was little, in my teens and through most of my early twenties, I heard from all over that my “sensitivity” was not often a desirable trait. I was “too” sensitive. I was “very” emotional. I was not the person you wanted at your side at a loud party. I preferred one on one conversations to large groups. I needed to spend a lot of time talking about the situation when a tragedy struck. I was too intense, and too serious. There was no hanging loose over here.
Now, I have that son. Only I see what he has going on as an asset, and not a curse. This may have something to do with all the parenting articles I’ve read online, or the surveys I’ve secretly taken on Buzzfeed. Bottom line: being hyper aware of the world around you is not something that I want my kid to ever feel lousy about. Unless of course my ego is involved?
A few weeks back I wrote about how Marcel overcame his fear of crowds, or perhaps even, if I were pushed, his perfection streak to get back on the court and have at it, during a basketball game. I boasted that I knew I needed to step back and watch, not adding any layers of mama drama to the mix, and send his brother in to silently support him by sitting next to him on the bench, when he looked like he might dissolve in tears. Continue reading “Parenting the Sensationally Sensitive child: Or, it’s not all about me this time.”