Sensitive? Stop trying to “toughen up” and start setting boundaries like this.
Many recovering people-pleasers are deeply thinking, deeply feeling people. Sensitive people.
Some are easily overstimulated.
Some need more time alone than most people.
Some need a lot of space to rest and recoup after a busy day.
Whether we’re highly sensitive people (like 20% of the population) or not, many of us have been told “you’re too sensitive” throughout our lives.
Even if we haven’t been told those words explicitly, many of us feel too sensitive as we struggle to cope with our never-enough, productivity-focused, too-big-too-fast culture.
As one of these sensitive souls, I remember what my life looked like before I began honoring my sensitivities with boundaries. I over-extended myself socially, never took enough time to recharge, and felt like a failure when others’ dark moods flooded my days like ink into a pool of water.
But then, slowly, I began setting boundaries to honor my sensitivities instead of (unsuccessfully) trying to shrink my sensitivities to fit within an unsustainable lifestyle.
And that’s when everything changed for me.
Here’s what happened. Here’s how I did it. And here’s how you can, too.
(Learn how to stop taking on responsibility for others’ emotions at my on-demand workshop, Emotional Boundaries: The Art of (Loving) Detachment. Get it here.)
The truth is, I learned to honor my sensitivities the hard way: after all of my efforts to erase them miserably failed.
I was forced to accept that trying to override your sensitivities with willpower doesn’t actually work.
I would push past my tiredness to stay at the party—but then I’d be miserable and curmudgeonly at the party.
I would do my best to feel unaffected by others’ bad moods—but after hours of gritting my teeth in their presence, I would escape home with a migraine for a four-hour nap.
I would try to schedule “as many plans as my friends did” and have a “normal social calendar”—but after a few days of hubbub I’d burn out, and be forced to cancel the aspirational plans I’d made.
(Of course, there were things I also did to make my sensitivity more bearable for me. I learned emotional regulation and distress tolerance skills. I learned how to set emotional boundaries to feel less responsible for others’ emotions All of these things helped, but they didn’t erase my sensitivity completely.)
Eventually, I was forced to acknowledge that I couldn’t “heal” myself from my sensitivity.
And suddenly, I realized that it wasn’t my sensitivity that made me suffer: it was ignoring my sensitivity and trying to pretend it didn’t exist that made me suffer.
Instead of trying to erase my sensitivity, I could embrace it and design my life to nurture it.
My efforts began on a Thursday.
A friend from Nashville texted me: “Hey Hailey! I’m going to be in Seattle for five days in June. Was wondering if I could crash on your couch for the visit?”
Normally, I would have immediately replied in the affirmative (with multiple exclamation points). I’m sympathetic to the high cost of lodging and I like being someone my friends can rely on for a place to stay.
However: I remembered multiple friends’ visits that left me depleted, burnt out, and literally physically ill. I I need a place to be alone and recharge after social engagements—so part of my new commitment was having a “two nights max” limit on how long folks could stay with me.
Nervous, I replied: “Can’t wait to see you! And totally happy to host you for two nights of your stay. Let me know which two you’d like to stay here :)”
And that was that. She was receptive, luckily. And I didn’t have a five-day visit to dread.
Still reeling with amazement that I could somehow just set these limits in my life, I realized another way I’d been neglecting my sensitivity: pretending to be unaffected by others’ barbed jokes.
I have a few friends who make sarcastic jokes at others’ expense. They do it to everyone—the people they love included—and I know it’s nothing personal.
Other friends of mine find joy in this type of humor, trading lightly-barbed jokes back and forth with ease. But not me: cutting jokes hurt, even if they were said in jest.
Before, I tried not to let it bother me. I would put on a smile and laugh along—but inside, I’d be hurting. Over time, resentment began to build within me, and I noticed that in their presence I would hold myself tightly, bracing for the next sarcastic joke.
And so I began to say to these friends: “Hey, I know you’re joking, but that type of joke actually hurts my feelings. Could you avoid making them in the future?”
Simple. Clear. Honest. Some friends were wonderfully receptive to my feedback. Others cajoled me with the “you’re too sensitive” refrain. The latter are the ones I’ve learned to set firmer boundaries with over time.
One more example to hammer home the point:
When I began to honor my sensitivities, I realized that, aside from time with my partner or dearest friends, I felt comfortable scheduling two social events per week on my calendar. When I planned more than that, I tended to feel pressed for time.
One Friday, a friend reached out and asked if I could “do brunch tomorrow. “
Historically, I would have said yes without thinking—and then spent my weekend rushing from plan to plan, not fully enjoying any of them.
Now, though, I was practicing honoring my limits—so when I checked my calendar and realized that my next three weeks were stacked, I didn’t try to make it fit. I didn’t squeeze it in before my coffee date or smush it between two work commitments.
I said: “I can’t wait to spend time with you! The next three weeks are looking pretty busy for me, but how about brunch on the 14th?”
She texted back agreeing, though she seemed disappointed at the length of the delay. Part of me felt guilty for not making myself available sooner—but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to show up as a fully engaged, fully present friend if I was over-booked and over-tired.
And that’s when it hit me: other people benefit when we set boundaries that honor our sensitivities, too.
When I’m over-stimulated, over-tired, or overwhelmed, I am NOT fun to be around. I’m not!! I’m distracted, so I don’t retain what people say—I’m short-tempered and easily agitated—and worst of all, I feel resentful towards the people I’m with, because all I want is to be alone.
When we set this sort of boundary, at first others may feel bummed that we’re not quite as available or flexible as we were before. But I believe they will experience us as better friends, better family members, and better partners when we’re taking care of ourselves.
And the truth is, sure: Some people really might not get it. They might think we’re being “snowflakes” or “too sensitive”—but those judgments are coming from their own experiences of the sensory world—not ours. They don’t know, physically or emotionally, what’s it like to live as we do. And if we receive this sort of pushback regularly, we may have to discern if these relationships are a good and healthy fit for us.
I’ve had friends guilt-trip me for leaving early—people mistake my boundaries as a sign that I don’t care about them—and people judge me as “a party pooper,” “not fun anymore,” or “rigid.” But honestly, their judgments don’t hold a candle to the fact that my life feels more balanced and calm than it has since I can remember.
If you’re reading this as a sensitive soul, I just want to say:
If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed, burnt-out, or frustrated after trying to erase your sensitivities—consider that maybe it’s trying to erase them that’s causing you suffering.
What would it be like if you honored them instead?
The shifts don’t need to be massive. When you’re prone to over-stimulation, even the smallest, simplest shifts can really, radically change your daily experience. What would it be like to make small shifts to:
How often you make plans
The type of plans you make (coffee date, joint activity, bar hop, sleepover)
When you spend quality time with people (morning, afternoon, night)
How often you host people in your space and for how long
The types of conversations you’re open to having (heavy, light, processing, venting)
Remember: It’s our responsibility to set the boundaries we need to feel safe, protected, and well.
Just because others don’t need them doesn’t mean they’re not completely valid and necessary for us.