As I awoke from surgery, I was keenly aware that I did not have the dreamy, light, euphoric feeling I had coming out of anesthesia ten years earlier. This was different. It felt more like a backhoe had gutted a hole in my core—gut and bowels included. Any movement at all would shift what felt like a pile of rocks, roots, and stems it had only recently excavated or rearranged.
Deeply-held sensitivity has been a strong theme in my lifetime. As a child, I fell off my bike onto the gravel pavement, and my burning knee missed no beat in telling my brain that young skin and pulverized stone don’t mix well. I stared at my knee, squeezing out the bubbling blood as if to validate the searing sting. At the time, I never had the thought, This shouldn’t hurt so much. It just was painful.
Over the decades, I began to despise my deep sensitivity, which always cost me precious time or extra care. In my early 30s, when I was the director of a ministry in a megachurch, a supervisor used to tell me I needed to grow tougher skin. “People will take advantage of you and you will become your own obstacle,” he would say, preaching 1990s leadership lessons at their finest. One day, he decided he would bring me along to a meeting where he confronted a graphic designer who hadn’t delivered in the time frame he had promised. My only instructions were to watch as he modeled his version of tough skin. I did watch. The graphic designer’s blushed face said it all. My boss humiliated him like a shamed child and felt victorious in making his point.
His so-called “lesson” stuck with me. If you grow tougher skin, people listen. If you grow tougher skin, you too can become callous to the look of shame you’ve just inflicted. Not long after this incident, I left staff at this megachurch, holding on to my sensitive heart in the hopes that nothing would erode it. It struck me that without my tender heart, I would not have even seen the graphic designer’s obvious face of humiliation, a skill I was beginning to appreciate.
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve considered myself quite resilient, and yet in no way in need of tougher skin. Instead, I’ve learned I need extra-wide margins, creative structure, long mornings, purring cats, lingering bedtimes, and a few deep relationships with people who provide ample space for me, and I for them. As I grow older, this simple pace has become an anchoring in me and, consequently, how I engage the world as God’s unique light.
Dr. Paul Brand is likely one of the most well-researched doctors of our time in regard to pain. His research on the disease of leprosy reveals much. Leprosy occurs when nerve endings die, leaving an individual unaware of self-harm as he walks on raw wounds which are never felt. Amputation often becomes necessary because, in the absence of pain, a leper could leave him or herself with disfigured limbs, eroded by self-infliction. Brand’s conclusion is that pain is a necessary gift to humankind, allowing us natural signals of our limitations and need for help. We are fragile beings and without sensitivity, we too can easily lose responsiveness, like those damaged nerve endings.
In a world where we are intolerant of others, we often miss the fact that we are not handling our pain very well.
We yell at newscasters and ignore the sting we feel when others dismiss, betray, or abandon us. Rather, we are taught to scream, demand, refuse, or fight—all good things, if we equally embrace the immense pain that leaves us powerless and squeezing out the bubbling blood, as if to validate the searing sting. Reverend Jacqui Lewis says that we are, as Jesus commands, to love others as ourselves, but we’re not loving ourselves well, and therefore are becoming incapable of loving others. Ironically, this begins with feeling our own pain and powerlessness.
I am now at home, recovered from my surgery, one I elected in order to donate my kidney to an acquaintance in desperate need. While I have never had children, I am gently learning to receive the care of God as a Mother caring for me, Her daughter. Ironically, new skin is beginning to form now that the surgery is over. God’s mercy is enough.
Natalie Sum comes alive and sees the face of Jesus when engaging the stories of others. While seeking to become all she was created to be, she thrives by facilitating groups, counseling others, implementing initiatives, and advocating for others who are marginalized. Natalie resides just outside of Chicago with her wife, Amy. They met in 2007 while working for a conservative ministry, and have weathered much in reconciling their sexual orientation and their walk with Jesus. Natalie is currently working on her master’s degree to be a licensed therapist, and has received training certificates in trauma care through The Allender Center. She loves riding her bike, basking in creation, watching movies and developing curriculum. You can learn more at NatalieSumResources.com.
So extraordinarily resonant, Natalie, every line of it. Thank you for sharing this exceptional aspect of your being, even the times you have been mishandled and mistreated. ❤️
I began to acknowledge and (S.L.O.W.L.Y.) embrace my own High Sensitivity after a surgery: my hysterectomy at age 37, which also involved extensive pelvic floor repair from two ordinary-yet-demanding-of-my-sensitive-body pregnancies. As I lay hemorrhaging in my hospital bed the day after, the torrents of self-blame were extraordinary: I was too ashamed to call the nurse because I was convinced I had done something to cause this to happen. I was terrified of being “too needy” yet again.
God provided a “mother’s voice” in the form of a long ago church acquaintance who was a nurse covering a shift in the OR that day. She saw my name on a list and popped into my room to check on me. When I eventually shared what was happening and how I was panicking with self-blame, she became stern and said, “Never EVER let me hear you say that again! There is absolutely no way you could have caused this!” Then she took me gently back to the OR for more repair, and made herself available via texts and calls throughout my recovery. Thus began the journey of seeing and trusting God’s hand in making me the way that I am.
Grateful you are sharing your own journey so that you AND those of us like you can feel seen, understood, and loved. ❤️
Lacey – Thank you for sharing how you resonated with the article. I am so grateful for the nurse acquaintance who came to your room that day, insisting you are worthy of your needs with NO self-blame. May you continue to shed the shame and embrace your beautiful sensitive heart. Blessings!
Natalie
I am so grateful for your tender heart, Natalie, and I’m sorry for the pain you have endured to reclaim it. You have been a safe place for me, and many others. 💖
Thank you, Sue. So very grateful to know you! Love, Natalie
Natalie, I can relate to so much of this! The need for “wide margins”, people who make space for you and you for them…and most of all, the lack of interest in being blind to people’s humiliation and those who think that is an acceptable way to lead.
It is hard work to welcome sensitivity as a gift, and you are so beautifully demonstrating that it is possible. Sending hope for continued healing from your surgery.❤️
Thank you, Janet! We are definitely kindred spirits and I love your open heart for others, as well. I always love hearing from you. Hope you enjoy the Thanksgiving season!
Natalie
This came to me instead of Janet, but I also got your response to me. 💖