Author’s Note: Heyo! I started writing this piece in 2021, but it’s taken me a while to finish it. For a long time, I wasn’t sure if I should even share it. I questioned what it meant for me and if I was truly ready to acknowledge and embrace this part of myself. As the title suggests, this poem explores my experiences as a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP), especially when I feel like I’ve made mistakes. For those unfamiliar, HSP refers to individuals with a heightened central nervous system sensitivity to the world around them—be it physical, emotional, or social stimuli. We’re often unfairly labeled “too sensitive.”

A mentor once told me I have high emotional intelligence (EQ), which they called “the gift.” High EQ is the ability to understand, use, and manage emotions positively, both your own and those of others. I believe being an HSP contributed to my high EQ, so there are both positives and negatives to this trait. It’s important to understand that being an HSP is not a mental illness or a disorder; it’s a completely normal, innate trait. If you’re curious to learn more, Psychology Today has some great resources.

5 Minutes Read

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*Reflection Before the Curtain*
I once had strong mental fortitude, but since 2021, my mental health would temporarily declined every few months. These dark thoughts about myself creep in and settle for a week or two before I eventually recover. Being an HSP only adds to the weight. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I tell myself I need to grant myself grace, to accept I’ll never be perfect. I remind myself these thoughts aren’t true, but in those moments, they feel so convincing.

And yet, I don’t treat myself very well in general. The harshest voice in my life has always been my own. Especially after I’ve made mistakes. I overthink everything I do; every word, every glance, every silence. It’s exhausting, the way I replay the interactions I had with someone repeatedly in my head. If I hurt someone or made them uncomfortable, my mind won’t let it go. I keep asking myself: What could I have done differently? Why did it have to happen like that?

I don’t just feel my own emotions, I feel the weight of the people around me, especially those I think I’ve hurt. I can distract myself for a little while with work or school, but my mind always circles back. Even when I’ve apologized or been forgiven. Even when everything settled. It doesn’t matter. My mind keeps punishing me, over and over, for not knowing better. And when those thoughts return, they don’t knock politely. They arrive like this:

*The Curtain Lifts*

My hand moves to tear
my roots, my stems.
I can’t blossom, I can’t hope.
I sever every path to light.
I can never be someone who thrives.
Someone strong?
Someone who belongs?
How could I? I was never meant to survive.

I’m sorry for moving too fast,
scared it’ll never last.
Each time it ends, I blame myself,
for wanting too much, for feeling too deeply,
for being a wound in search of warmth.
Maybe if I loved myself, I could forgive Manting:
who tried too hard,
who struggles to breathe,
who is afraid of abandonment.
Knowing that I don’t have to be perfect,
that my worth isn’t measured
by how little I need.

I memorized every failure, every missed signal,
every almost, but I never learned.
I should’ve been my best,
and maybe I was.
Maybe this brokenness was all I had.
I should’ve known better,
but I still hoped. Will I ever learn?

I know I’m only human.
I know I’m always healing,
but what if I never fully heal?
The gift of an HSP becomes a burden.
Every goodbye echoes for years.
The pain doesn’t stop,
it changes costumes.
I tell myself I don’t deserve happiness.
Love? That’s for someone else.
Not for someone like me.

Because I’m hard to love.
I make it impossible.
When you leave, as you always do,
I call it fate, but I know the truth: it’s me.
Maybe that is all I’m worth,
mastering tragic roles,
bleeding beautifully,
turning emptiness into performance.
If that’s all I am,
then I’ll perfect this once more,
cutting off all hope,
vanishing behind the curtain,
like I was never real.

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So, that’s it. My experience in life being an HSP. It might feel like you have to reach out to me to check if I’m okay (especially if you’re a family or friend), but truly, I mean this with sincerity, I’m okay. I always recover after each time I fall. I typically don’t voice it when it happens because I know this is something I must deal with. And yes, I have gone to therapy before, and it helped. But I can’t always rely on that to assist me in this. I’ll sing, dance, write, listen to good music, eat good food, laugh at something funny, play volleyball, and lean on trust.

By doing that, I’ll be okay. I still have so much to do and so much to live for. I don’t plan on giving that up just because I feel bad or down about myself. I’ve been worse, I’ve survived worse. Does it suck that this happens? Sure, it does, but everyone has their struggles. This is mine. Maybe one day I’ll write about the things I love about myself to contrast with this piece.

Hello, I would appreciate it if you would give me feedback on what you enjoyed and what you didn’t. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to comment or email me too! Thank you.