The Mango Smoothie

and the war I had within myself against sensitivity

It feels better to write out thoughts honestly for me to process and get out. To just be with it.

I heard a passage from the Gospel of Thomas recently. It’s one of the disappeared texts from the time of Jesus that talks about our divinity coming from within. The Romans and the Council that edited the bible didn’t love it, or the hidden texts of Mary Magdelene who was rebranded a prostitute.

If you bring forth what is within you, it will save you. If you do not have it within you to bring forth, that which you lack will destroy you.

*gospel of thomas

I’m sharing a tender things that were seemingly mundane and personal, and bit more real time. This happened only couple of weeks ago.

Creative stream of consciousness. Self-reflective and purgative. Being real with what exists as it is. Hard to look at, but better to be honest and see. Then there are choices and actions and new layers of responsibility. But that’s what I’m here for.

A least

I realized lately how much of my life became built around “at least.”

At least we aren’t in the jungle anymore.
At least their dad isn’t screaming, disappearing or throwing things at the boys.
At least I have some help with childcare.
At least homeschool basics happened today.
At least the boys are fed.
At least we have beds and clothes and shoes.
At least they are safe.

And there was gratitude in that. Real gratitude.

But I also realized something else.

I don’t want “at least.”

I want to feel well. Thriving. Fulfilled. At ease with myself. I don’t want the minimum basic requirements for life on this earth to take every ounce of my energy to maintain. Sometimes it feels debilitating to realize how much effort, work, endurance, and pushing it has taken just to arrive at baseline safety.

I’ve been working through emotions and old beliefs around these ideas to see what was under them.

The thing that cracked this open was a mango smoothie.

Such a simple thing.

The textures. The loudness of the blender. The sharp knives. The sliminess, slipperiness and stickiness. The little pieces shooting out onto the counter. The cleanup. The smells layering on top of each other.

Liam had been asking for one and I realized I’d been putting it off because of my physical and mental discomfort around doing it. I didn’t even fully know that I was overwhelmed by those things.

I showed up for it anyway.

But this time I stopped pretending I was okay.

My body started shaking and twitching while I made it. From the outside it probably looked ridiculous, insane or dramatic. But from the inside it felt like decades of holding tension in my body finally being allowed to move with eh discomfort. Old fears of being in the kitchen just being felt.

I realized how much energy I had spent my whole life trying to appear normal. Trying to override sensitivity. Trying to force myself through things that genuinely overwhelmed my nervous system.

And I was horrible to myself about it for most of my life.

Because cooking wasn’t just cooking to me.

Cooking became motherhood. Nourishment. The heart of the home. Safety. Love. Stability. If I struggled with feeding my children, I made it mean something terrible about me. What kind of mother struggles to make a smoothie? Why was something like this so hard for me? Why did noise and texture and chaos affect me this much? Cooking was my failure as a woman, cooking gave me flashbacks trauma.

I carried so much shame around it. I’ve been genuinely embarrassed about how such basic, practical things feel hard to me.

At the same time, this same nervous system is also where my gifts come from. The sensitivity that gets overwhelmed by sound and smell and layered stimulation is also the sensitivity that notices subtle emotional shifts instantly. It’s part of my intuition. My creativity. My pattern recognition. My empathy. My ability to read energy, people, tension, nuance, unspoken things. My ability to be the healer and psychic person that I am.

I spent years trying to become less sensitive without realizing sensitivity itself was never the enemy.

The mirror

Liam was sitting there struggling with homeschool at the same time. ADHD. Dyslexia. Sensory overwhelm. Flipping numbers around and wanting to give up. Feeling enraged and resistant. And I suddenly realized I could see him with compassion but I couldn’t see myself that way.

I’ve been trained for forty years that things are “Simple.” “Basic.” “Just do it Megan.” “Drama queen.” “It’s not that hard.” “God what is wrong with you?”

But what if it actually was hard for my nervous system? What if it was hard on his? I could see him so clearly but myself, less.

Not impossible. Not hopeless. But genuinely difficult.

So instead of pretending, I told him the truth.

I said, “This mango smoothie is hard for me. I get overwhelmed by the noise and the sliminess. There is real part of me that wants to avoid it. But I love you and I want us to eat and drink well. So I’m gonna do my best. Thank you for your patience.”

And then I asked him why he kept showing up for homeschool even when it was hard.

He said, “So I can function in this world and survive my life.”

And I said, “Oh sweet boy, Yes. that. We practice these tasks so things get easier.”

It ended up being the easiest homeschool day we’d had in a long time. Because I got real with myself instead of judged. I saw his struggle with fresh eyes. I saw we weren’t so different.

sweet brilliant, high sensitive liam.

The Little Girl, My Inner Child

That hit me deeply.

I realized how hard I had been on the little girl inside me who hated loud kitchens and sticky hands and echoing noise and layered smells and sudden stimulation. The little girl who wanted quiet and low stimulus and space to breathe. The little girl who learned very early that overwhelm wasn’t acceptable.

I also realized how much of my suicidal ideation began in babyhood and childhood in chaotic homes. There was a moment in meditation where I heard internally, “save me, save me, save me,” over and over while tears streamed down my face, as memories of horror flashed simultaneously through my minds eye. And then another voice: “The stars will guide you home.”

The Difference Between Rescue and Support

I realized that as a baby and small child, wanting someone to save me made sense. I didn’t have mobility. Rights. Agency. Protection. I was dependent on adults around me. I couldn’t get away from the noise and chaos on my own.

But now as an adult, something is changing.

I’m learning the difference between waiting for rescue and allowing support.

Those are not the same thing. I’m rewriting old agreements and vows in real time.

I can ask for help now. I can create environments that fit my nervous system better. I can stop forcing myself into constant overstimulation and then hating myself for reacting to it. I can stop believing that suffering is proof of goodness.

I keep thinking about Alex sleeping outside on the patio under the stars with his little lantern so he can read in peace. About wanting forts and treehouses and separate rooms for the boys where they can work quietly on their projects and regulate themselves. About sacred privacy. About how different each of us are. I want more space for my boys to be able to have their own area that is theirs.

Living on top of each other has had a toll. I realized how important and restorative it was for me to have my own room that I had a respite from the noise and screaming and could get immersed in whatever creative project grabbed my fancy.

Flow Areas + Grow Areas

We all have flow areas (areas that come easy) and grow areas (things that feel difficult, clumsy or take more effort) It’s important I can acknowledge and show grace for both.

I could get a 5 on AP Calc with a 4.2 grade point average, graduate magna cum laude from USC on a full scholarship, pick up dance combinations instantly, and still struggle daily with time management, overwhelm, noise, cooking, and basic repetitive tasks.

For a long time my brain couldn’t make sense that my one level of intelligence didn’t translate to life needs.

For years I hated myself for that. The world told me to get it together, it was so easy (for them)

Stopping the War

I realize the point isn’t becoming perfect at everything. That is unreasonable.

Maybe the point is understanding ourselves honestly enough to build lives with more fit, more compassion, more support, more truth.

The old agreement to suffer silently or need to feel saved feels old now.

The old agreement to want to disappear feels old too.

The healing isn’t becoming less sensitive… it’s finally stopping the war against ourselves for being exactly as sensitive as we are.

learning the gifts of our sensitivity

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