When I was young, I would always sleep with a sheet covering me. I thought if someone tried to stab me while I slept, the protective sheet would save me from the knife. Somehow this made sense in my childish mind. Still not sure why I thought a family member wanted to kill me? Or maybe it was an imaginary intruder? I would also make sure my closet door was closed after checking inside for criminals. Did I think the killers would respect the etiquette of a closed closet door? These faulty protective measures would evolve in time to more advanced faulty measures. I would wear layers of clothing to create a barrier between me and my attacker. When I got older I realized the threat was within. I wasn’t able to effectively mask my vulnerability. When you hurt my feelings I felt I couldn’t survive. Every slight was an assault that diminished me. It was not your fault. You never meant to make me cry. I had to make a choice to be less fragile, and not so easily destroyed by a thoughtless comment. I used to wear my socks inside out because the ridge inside the sock hurt me. One day I realized if I was going to survive this life I would have to raise my tolerance for pain. Just that small shift changed everything. I will always be sensitive but I can bring it down a notch. I wear my socks the normal way now. I just needed to raise my emotional bar a little higher. I choose to stop letting my sensitivity define, and limit my ability to allow life in. If you make me cry, I celebrate those tears. They are a beautiful gift that proves how wonderfully present and alive I can be.