Identity – Page 5 – A.M. EDMONSON

Living as an HSP Expat

September 4, 2017January 4, 2018 Audra Edmonson2 Comments

Do you live in a country other than your native land? Do you wish you could, but feel that your sensitivity might hold you back or make the whole experience traumatic? Being an HSP and living abroad does present some unique challenges, but it is also an amazing and totally worthwhile adventure even for us sensitive types! Before I delve into that, I want to take a moment to elaborate on something Elaine Aron says in her book about Highly Sensitive Persons;

The Brain’s Two Systems

One system, the “behavioral activation” system is hooked up to parts of the brain that take in messages from the senses and send out orders to the limbs to get moving. This system [moves] us toward things, especially new ones. When the activation system is operating, we are curious, bold, and impulsive. The other system is called the “behavioral inhibition” system. This system is said to move us away from things… It makes us alert, cautious, and watchful for signs. …This system is hooked up to all parts of the brain…noted to be more active in “inhibited” children.

(My note; Aron gives the inhibition system a new name; the pause-to-check system, and notes that though this system seems stereotypically undesirable, it is vital for survival and that everyone has this. HSPs merely have a more sensitive inhibition system.)

Some [HSPS] might have only an average-strength pause-to-check system but an activation system that is even weaker. This kind of HSP might be very calm, quiet, and content with a simple life.

Another kind of HSP could potentially have an even stronger pause-to-check system but an activation system that is also very strong – just not quite as strong. This kind of HSP would be both curious and very cautious, bold yet anxious, easily bored yet easily overaroused. The optimal level of arousal is a narrow range. (My note; Arousal here meaning stimulation to the nervous system by sounds, sights, social interaction, work, stressors, etc.) One could say there is a constant power struggle between the advisor (pause-to-check) and the impulsive, expansive warrior within the person.”

Aron goes on to ask a series of questions; “What type are you? Is it easy for you to be content with a quiet life? Or are the two branches that govern you in constant conflict? That is, do you always want to be trying new things even if you know that afterward you will be exhausted?”*

I’m this way. I love novelty. I desire to get out there and see new things; experience life. That’s why I love to travel. But there’s always been this tension within me, and I realized after reading Aron’s book that it was because I had both a strong activator and a strong inhibitor. I was always bold yet anxious.

I’ve moved abroad twice in my life (talk about bold), once with a friend and once alone. But it was challenging when literally everything around me was stimulating to my nervous system. I couldn’t rest my eyes or ears anywhere around me. There was nothing familiar or safe.

As an HSP, how did I handle that? I’m going to share with you some tips if you’re an HSP looking to travel long-term or move abroad. It may not work for you, as each HSP is unique, but hopefully, these ideas will put you on a path to adjusting well wherever you go.

Research the Country

I did a huge amount of research about Taiwan and Korea prior to moving. I read books about the culture, language, stories, blogs from other teachers who lived and worked there and watched documentaries and Youtube videos. (Eatyourkimchi is the best for Korea and, more recently, Japan.) I even looked up the area I’d be moving to in Google Earth and virtually walked around the neighborhoods. It was incredible! But more than the fun factor, seeing it – the differences in building types, car designs, road layouts – helped me acclimate before I ever moved. Sure, it’s wonderful and exciting to see how different cultures live, but as an HSP, you have to adjust slowly or the shock could be devastating.

Keep a Low Profile at Work

My first semester at school I hardly spoke up. I wasn’t a total newbie at teaching, but I was new at my work, new to the culture, new to the team, new to everything. My ideas wouldn’t have fit at the time.

I listened at meetings. I listened to the other teachers, to their problems and solutions, their ideas and complaints, and absorbed it all quietly. Only after my first few months did I start offering my own suggestions, and by then I’d built enough of a reputation as being reliable and efficient that people listened to me. This advice is good for anyone entering a new workplace, but it was essential to me as an HSP. I couldn’t have handled taking on the extra responsibilities I have now. I lead committees, head events, organize camps, and do a whole host of other jobs besides teaching. My first semester, as a new teacher and new expat, I needed to survive. And that meant doing only what I could handle at work. I don’t like to advocate the bare minimum, but it’s hard enough adjusting to a move overseas and a new job even for extroverts. Hang back at first while you get your bearings, and then start to be more adventurous.

Practice Intense Self-Care

I qualify self-care here because when I think of self-care, I tend to think of bubble baths and pedicures and those small, luxurious, unnecessary to survival but fun things that adults do. For HSPs, those things are nice, but often what we need is something more. We need quiet, dark places to rest. We need a home that feels welcoming and safe to return to every day. Some of us need our books or art or whatever it is we love around us.

The first weeks in a new country are the hardest. You’re adjusting to it all, and everything that should be easy is new and scary. Grocery shopping, figuring out bills and trash, getting a phone and internet; it’s all different, and if there’s a language barrier, even harder to access.

If you know what to expect, even if what you can expect is tough, it helps. Try to build familiarity with your area as soon as you can, which will mean pushing yourself out of your comfort zones for a while. You need to pound the streets, getting used to the sights and smells and sounds of the place. My grocery store down the road feels safe now because it’s familiar. Same with the local cafe and convenience store. There might be better ones just as close, but since those are where I went during my first months, they’ve stayed in my zone. Small things are also a huge help when you’re adjusting. Find a drink from home, or a drink or snack you love that you can return to again and again to get that feeling of familiarity.

Find Your Tribe

After you settle in and have found some safe places, find a tribe. It might take longer to do this, but that’s natural.

For me, this was D&D. I had never actually played in the US, but the people I met in Korea were like me; nerdy, introverted, witty. For you, it might be joining a writing club, or a jogging or photography club. One guy I know goes to soccer games every weekend and volunteer coaches. Another friend volunteers at homes for orphans and with North Korean refugees. Find a church, a club, a gym, something you can go to to find like-minded people. Even for introverts, it’s nice to have somewhere and someone to help you feel integrated into the new world.

Make a House (or Apartment) a Home

If you don’t intend to live overseas forever, it can be hard to make your latest abode feel like yours. Especially in Asian countries, the apartments provided by the schools tend to be small. Really small if you’re single. When I first moved into my new place, I felt like I had reverted to a dorm. It was much smaller than my old apartment. We’re talking one room, kitchenette type. I resisted putting anything on the walls for ages. I just couldn’t make myself do it. I knew I wouldn’t stay in that place, even if I did stay in Korea. But after a year, I decided to try and decorate.

It really does make a difference. Adding in my own touches makes my small apartment feel more welcoming, and more like me. I look around and see things I like. I see my imprint, which makes it more comforting.

There are tons of ways you can spruce up a tiny living space, even on a budget. Pinterest, of course, has millions of ideas. My solutions? Paper flowers, printed quotes, floral themed kitchen supplies, cute mugs, and a really pretty wall calendar. Simple, small touches.

Connect With Other HSPs

It was important for me not to feel too weird and out there as an HSP. I’m sure some of my friends are, but I had no one who identified as one besides me until I went online.

This is more general advice for HSPs than for expats specifically, but it’s doubly important when you need comfort overseas. Finding other HSPs helps in many ways. If you’re new to the idea, knowing how many others like you are out there helps the disingenuous feelings that sometimes come when you discover something new about yourself.

It’s also nice to reach out and say, “Help!” when you’re not sure what’s going on and connect to someone who’s gone through something similar.

Fandoms are also a nice way to stay involved with people who share your interests. They might not all be HSPs, but being able to geek out together is precious. 🙂

Are you an HSP living overseas? Was it easy or difficult to get adjusted? I look forward to hearing from you!

*P.S. If you think you are an HSP, or you might know one, I encourage you to read Elaine Aron’s book The Highly Sensitive Person. Reading this passage without the background and further information might give it a false connotation.

Hello, I’m a Multipotentialite: Discovery Series

August 10, 2017February 27, 2018 Audra Edmonson2 Comments

I am a Multipotentialite, MP for short (Military Police, Member of Parliament, Multipotentialite, all basically the same thing…).

I was going to start off this post talking again about how uncomfortable I am adding all these labels to myself, as if trying to apologize for my uniqueness. As if trying to explain away the part where I’m justifying all my odd behavior.

That’s a terrible thing to do, especially when part of the purpose of the discovery is becoming MORE comfortable with me.

Here we go then.

What is an MP? This is the simple definition given by MP hero, Emilie Wapnick, on her site Puttylike.

A multipotentialite is someone with many interests and creative pursuits.

(If you want to read more or think you are one, head to her website. Seriously, I could spend hours there.)

An MP has many interests, and those can be far ranging and disparate. They don’t have to match or verge on any scale.

There are different kinds of MPs. Some pursue one passion for a while, then completely switch to another, while some pursue many at the same time and some switch between these two paths.

I learned I was an MP when I heard Emilie’s TED talk. It was serendipitous. I wasn’t looking for it. In fact, I think I was so bored I resorted to TED to pass the time. But when I heard her describe Multipotentiality, my brain sat up and took notice. Yes! I cried. Yes YES! This is me!

All my life I have felt like there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Something ingrained in me that was just…off. I could never settle on any one passion or hobby. When I was young, I was very artistic and hands-on. I did knitting, jewelry-making, needlepoint, quilting, doll-making, woodworking, and any other kind of handiwork. I basically lived at Hobby Lobby.

As I got older, my interests expanded to be more academic as well as artistic; I got into 2D mediums like drawing, started reading about science, linguistics, history, politics, and scoured every shelf of the nonfiction section in my library.

From there, it has continued to expand. Self-help, comic art, philosophy, feminism, spirituality, herbalism, holistic living, Asian culture, team building, the psychology of creativity, dream meanings, and so on.

Right now, I would put my biggest passions as writing, blogging, self-discovery, and multipotentiality itself (exploring what it means).

That’s a huge list. You can see how frustrating it was to bounce back and forth and think each new “thing” was “the thing” that I was meant to do with the rest of my life. I kept thinking I needed to settle down and find my “soulmate” of a career. Never mind that I never believed in romantic soulmates either…

When I never could settle, when my passion inevitably wavered after a month or six months, I felt like an utter failure. A short period of bluesy depression would fall upon me. Until the next passion hit, and I was off again, convinced that I had finally found it. And thus, the cycle would repeat. I thought I was a flake. I thought I lacked grit. I thought it was just laziness.

Now I know it’s not. Now I know that in reality, I’ve been embracing and living out my life as a multipotentialite. A scanner. A renaissance woman. I learn what I need to, and I move on. I enjoy this life. It’s not like having all these interests has ever stressed me out. On the contrary, I love that I can talk about raising horses, WWII politics, quantum theory, language families, and whatever else. It makes life a heck of a lot more interesting.

I could never thank Emilie enough for opening my eyes. It has given me new direction in life as I try to understand how to leverage my strengths and varying passions for a new kind of career. It has also given me comfort. I don’t hate myself every time my interest in something wanes. I don’t feel guilty for letting something go, even when I’ve spent tons of money on it. I don’t feel like I have to justify myself when people say, “Weren’t you going to do/be this?” Most of all, I don’t feel pressured to settle on one thing, an idea that made me feel suffocated.

I want to share more about this. I want to talk about it until WP has to impose a new word limit on posts. I want to hear about your stories. I want to spread them all, and let the hidden MPs know it’s okay to be you. I want the world to accept us, accept our way of life and thinking, and make it a little easier to live our way.

My next post about Multipotentialits will be about how I’m seeking an Umbrella – a general theme or idea that links my passions together. And when I have it, I can think about a business that will use them.

It’s an exciting life, and I’m grateful to be excited again!

Signature

Excerpts from my journal; Early June 2017

August 7, 2017July 31, 2017 Audra Edmonson4 Comments

June 1

I have no clocks because I don’t like to be reminded of the passage of time. I don’t remember what the book was called, but something I read once talked about how we took power away from God when we made clocks and set them up as our new idols, forever worshipping the efficient use of time. Killing time, spending time, allocating time; all new ideas that turned time into currency, to be bought and sold, and, most condemning of all, wasted. The notion that we could waste the seconds, that they somehow should be wrung out for all they are worth, is not ingrained in the human psyche. Rather, it was invented along with clocks. The ticks, so arbitrary in reality, march our lives along to a beat, and woe to the one who steps out of line to admire the view. He will be crushed beneath the march of the future.

So I don’t keep clocks. The ticking drove me mad. I can’t sleep when I hear ticking, thinking of all the time I’m not sleeping, not using well, but lying awake as the hours tick by. You could drive me insane quite easily if you stuck me in a room with a clock. So I don’t keep them.

Going along the highway and being able to absorb the ads and billboards is like having your finger on the pulse of the culture. When I’m in a bus riding down the Korean highway system, I don’t have my finger there. I can’t feel it. Usually. Today I was able to (probably) correctly translate a phone company billboard. It said something like “Customers are family too.” It’s the kind of inane, cliche thing billboards usually say. It was weird, because in that moment something shifted in my perspective. All the mystery and attractiveness of foreign life flickered, shuttered, began to fall. The mystery is being shaken slowly down, until life in Korea becomes as commonplace and media-saturated as America was.

June 4

As soon as I sat down all my words dried up. The words that had percolated with the coffee while I was washing the dishes, that swirled and seemed ready to drip down my fingers, slid back up with gale force speed as soon as my digits headed for the keyboard. Is it because I forgot to close the cupboard doors?

Getting lost is not something to romanticize. Getting lost is scary and dangerous. What if you ask the wrong type of person? What if no one knows? What if no one will try to speak your language and you end up staying out all night? Getting lost is scary.

Who stopped by during the night to gurgle and wake me up, and drop me off a feeling of desolation? This is why I shouldn’t read about deserts first thing in the morning. I get all dried up.

And there is a bubbling sensation in my left shin. Like something has been blocked. Maybe I just need to exercise, or maybe I walked too much. It’s hard to say.

My body is only a vehicle for my head, after all.

I dreamed of a sunburn and blistered skin last night. I looked it up today to see what it meant. Dreammoods.com said “To dream that you have a sunburn indicates that there is an emotional situation or problem that you can no longer avoid. Some urgent matter is literally burning through to your soul and demanding your immediate attention.” Well that’s true. I have an external and an internal problem. Externally I am worried I might be deported. There is talk, and lots of teachers at some Canadian schools have been. So there’s that. Mostly I am afraid of dealing with a lot of stuff. Not the actual event itself. I would live, and it would be amazing writing material.

Then there is the matter of if I were, what to do with my life. That is always an internal situation, but this threat makes it seem more real, more immediate, thrust the question into the forefront of my brain. That frontal cortex so famous for making us rational beings. Anyway it was a burning question yesterday, so my brain turned it into a weird sunburn on my back and pus-filled blisters on my chest. I tried to go deeper into meaning but blisters didn’t turn up anything useful.

I listened to a sermon about Joseph and dreams today. I wondered if any of my dreams are like his, showing me my future. Or are they just my brain turning problems into pretty metaphors and the result of too much pork?

June 6

I just ordered pizza online. This is a huge moment in my expat life. I have never EVER ordered food by myself to be delivered. I have had friends call for me, and have gone to pick up food oodles of times, but this is my first time doing it all alone. I am stupidly nervous and proud. What if they ask me something in Korean? It will be okay. I am telling myself it will be okay.

They said they will deliver around 3:24. Seems oddly precise.

Travel writing. What is it? The definition I just found on Google says it is writing in which the author describes places they have visited and their experiences while traveling. Or something. Am I a travel writer? No. I don’t really travel. I just happen to live in a foreign country. But I do not travel around and have experiences on purpose. They happen more or less by accident. Just as interesting.

Take, for instance, that fear that many people have that when they are out and about everyone is watching them. If you’re a foreigner in Korea, that’s not just idle paranoia, but a fact of life. You either perpetually hate it or end up resigned to it.

June 8

This morning on my way to work I dropped my trash off. I hate taking out my trash. For one thing, I’m always scared my landlord will come and yell at me that I’m doing it wrong. For another, I have to walk by the convenience store and other shops there, and it’s weird to do something as personal and gross as taking out the trash so publicly. Like anyone sitting outside the convenience store has to watch stanky trash go by. Way to ruin the ice cream and chatting, yo.

At one point, I hated taking the trash out so much I had about six bags on my balcony, and had to take them out all at once on a weekend. I decided never again, and have since just taken them out like a danged adult in the mornings. Paying the bills is another danged adult thing I dread. It’s easy, really. We pay at that same convenience store, and there’s a nice young kid who does it in the morning. But I have to do it before work, and usually I’m just not up for anyone saying anything to me at all. I wish he didn’t speak English, because then the exchange could be in silence. Much like going to the cafe down the road.

June 9

Amazing how quickly a mood can go from great to terrible in the space of five minutes. Just give me three thousand questions from five kids and that’ll do it.

Today is Friday. Thank God It’s Friday. On the one hand, it’s really nice having a consistent daily schedule. On the other hand, it sucks feeling like you only get to live on the weekends and for about 3 minutes every night.

I bought a new ergonomic bag for my trip to New Zealand. It’s just as silly as it sounds. It has a billion pockets and zips in such a way that doesn’t let hooligans MUG ME. Come at me, bro! My zippers are body side and protected. It’s really only for the one trip, and maybe camping if I ever go. B said I should wear it in Seoul. That’s a laugh and a half. You don’t dare be unfashionable in that city.

June 11

I am writing in the early morning, around 10am, and it feels good. It feels flowing and natural. 6am might be too early, but 9 or 10 feels just right. Coffee in me, juice at hand, food in my belly.

Keep it locked up tight, the worries. Don’t borrow from tomorrow.

“This is being a writer. This is being a real writer. Forging ahead. Figuring it out. Working with zero budget and borrowed minutes from an already-busy life. Not knowing if you’ll get that dream agent, or if your book will ever be a bestseller, but sitting down in front of the page anyway to make the sentence in front of you the most beautiful sentence that it can be.” – Lauren Sapala

This amazing quote will help me forever. Thanks, Lauren!

June 12

Today is going pretty well. I have a lot of extra time since we’re doing nothing but testing this week in LA. I should have lots of time to write and read. I could also be working on Summer Camp stuff. Oh yeah.

Well anyway.

Let’s see how creativity goes at school. I might read a book. I might write a new story. I might do none of those things. But whatever I do, I want to do it nicely and gratefully and not worry or stress out too much.

This week does feel a bit like a copout week. Like even the classes without a test feel like they should be lax, easy, not real, where I can sit and just relax.

I just sent off my reports cards. It felt pretty anticlimactic. There wasn’t the feeling of intense pressure to get it done. That’s down to my incredible planning skills. I had as much of it done as I could do a couple weeks ago, and added in what I got when I got it. No hurry, no worry. Of course some of the teachers were late getting their grades to us, but we expect it by now, so we can plan in their lack of planning.

June 13

Last night was strange. My dreams were intense, but I can only remember part of one. At one point I woke up slick with sweat. Actually dripping. I don’t know if it was from the heat or some brief illness. Either way, I had to strip, and so then woke up cold around five. Interesting night. I feel okay now though. I did my meditation as soon as I could and listened to part of a TED talk from Ann Lamott. I’m really getting into TED. They’re bursts of inspiration for life.

I also found out I’m a multipotentialite, which is a word I love. Emilie Wapnick is my new hero. I’m excited to delve into that topic and explore more. I keep finding out that I’m not as weird or crazy or flightly or spastic or lost as I thought, but just very very different.

I kind of don’t like that though. I’m getting tired of finding out I’m super different than the world. I’m going to have a list after my name of all the reasons why I don’t fit in and am NOT LIKE YOU. INFJ. HSP. MP. When will it end? And I hate that this is a concern but I feel like I’m trying really hard to justify myself, and no one is going to take it seriously. Oh my gosh, they will say, you have so many things special about you. You must be the most unique snowflake to ever sputter and fall from the sky.

About My Journal Excerpts

June 26, 2017June 24, 2017 Audra Edmonson3 Comments

I’ve run the “Excerpts From My Journal” bit for a few weeks now, and I wanted to pause a moment to explain them.

As a writer and an INFJ, it’s strange, but journaling has never come easy for me. I kept journals off and on for years when I was younger, but never consistently. For years at a time, I didn’t keep them at all. As I got older and consciously tried to, I found that typing was better, so all of my journals since high school are typed.

I’ve lost some of those pages. At various points, I’ve gone back and read certain things and deleted them. I just couldn’t face them or wanted to make sure that shame was never brought to light. Whatever the case, there are some things in my life that were documented that are now lost.

I’m not even sure why I think it’s so vital to have journals. So many people talk about using them later for writing prompts, or for posterity’s sake, or to show your kids or whatever.

None of those reasons really made sense to me. In fact, the reasons why I kept journals at all escaped me until just recently when I read Joan Didion’s essay on journals. It was one of those times when I read something and said, “Yes. Yes!,” out loud as I read. I do that sometimes. Her reasons struck a chord. They’re the reasons I write.

(I have butchered the essay terribly, taking out lines that strictly relate to feelings about the journaling itself, but that is not how essays are meant to be read. I encourage you to read the full essay at the link below.* And ask yourself, if you journal, why.)

“I sometimes delude myself about why I keep a notebook, imagine that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed. See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going through the motions of doing what I am supposed to do, which is write – on that bankrupt morning I will simply open my notebook and there it will all be, a forgotten account with accumulated interest…

…I imagine, in other words, that the notebook is about other people. But of course it is not…

…Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.

It is a difficult point to admit. We are brought up in the ethic that others, any others, all others, are by definition more interesting than ourselves; taught to be diffident, just this side of self-effacing. (“You’re the least important person in the room and don’t forget it,” Jessica Mitford’s governess would hiss in her ear on the advent of any social occasion; I copied that into my notebook because it is only recently that I have been able to enter a room without hearing some such phrase in my inner ear.) Only the very young and the very old may recount their dreams at breakfast, dwell upon self, interrupt with memories of beach picnics and favorite Liberty lawn dresses and the rainbow trout in a creek near Colorado Springs. The rest of us are expected, rightly, to affect absorption in other people’s favorite dresses, other people’s trout. And so we do. But our notebooks give us away, for however dutifully we record what we see around us, the common denominator of all we see is always, transparently, shamelessly, the implacable “I.” We are not talking here about the kind of notebook that is patently for public consumption, a structural conceit for binding together a series of graceful pensees; we are talking about something
private, about bits of the mind’s string too short to use, an indiscriminate and erratic assemblage with meaning only for its maker. And sometimes even the maker has difficulty with the meaning…

I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be; one of them, a seventeen-year-old, presents little threat, although it would be of some interest to me to know again what it feels like to sit on a river levee drinking vodka-and-orange-juice and listening to Les Paul and Mary Ford and their echoes sing “How High the Moon” on the car radio. (You see I still have the scenes, but I no longer perceive myself among those present, no longer could even improvise the dialogue.) The other one, a twenty-three-year-old, bothers me more. She was always a good deal of trouble, and I suspect she will reappear when I least want to see her, skirts too long, shy to the point of aggravation, always the injured party, full of recriminations and little hurts and stories I do not want to hear again, at once saddening me and angering me with her vulnerability and ignorance, an apparition all the more insistent for being so long banished. It is a good idea, then, to keep in touch, and I suppose that keeping in touch is what notebooks are all about. And we are all on our own when it comes to keeping those lines open to ourselves: your
notebook will never help me, nor mine you.”

In the end, journaling is an inherently selfish act. And for me, one that keeps me grounded as well, by reminding me forcibly who I used to be. If that is the sole aim, then Didion is right: “your notebook will never help me, nor mine you.” But I think a journal can also be a bridge, and that’s one point where I diverge from her thoughts. If I write truly what I feel when I do things, as truly as I can, even if the events themselves get muddled by time and perspective, and if you also happen to feel the same way in a similar circumstance, then we establish a common link, and finding commonality is good. It helps us feel not so alone, and vindicated, and seen.

I have a friend who is British-Nigerian, and she told me that in Nigerian, when you greet someone, you say, “I see you.” It means much more than to just notice. You are looking at someone. They exist for you. Seeing is important, and finding threads of commonality help us feel seen.

So I write journals for me. Solely for me. But I share them for you. To see you. To show anyone in a similar position to mine (expat, woman, INFJ, HSP, empath, teacher) that I have experienced things as you have.

Even if you don’t find a bridge, I hope you find understanding. And I hope everyone keeps a journal.

*On Keeping a Notebook – Joan Didion

Hello, I’m an INFJ/HSP: Discovery Series

May 29, 2017February 27, 2018 Audra Edmonson5 Comments

“INFJs are distinguished by both their complexity of character and the unusual range and depth of their talents. Strongly humanitarian in outlook, INFJs tend to be idealists, and because of their J preference for closure and completion, they are generally “doers” as well as dreamers. This rare combination of vision and practicality often results in INFJs taking a disproportionate amount of responsibility in the various causes to which so many of them seem to be drawn.

“INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people — a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts…”

–Human Metrics*

“Sensory processing sensitivity (SPS), a personality trait, a high measure of which defines a highly sensitive person (HSP), has been described as having hypersensitivity to external stimuli, a greater depth of cognitive processing, and high emotional reactivity.”

–Wiki**

Hi, everyone. My name is Audra and I’m an INFJ/HSP.

I found out I was an INFJ about 5 or 6 years ago, and I can remember the exact moment I read Elaine Aron and discovered I was also an HSP, about 3 years ago.

My inner life changed in hugely dramatic ways both those times, and it has continued to shape the way I live and the way I write, and even more, the way I feel about writing.

Living as an INFJ/HSP, which I will call “empath” for ease, is not easy. I had a total breakdown when I found out I was one. Feelings of intense relief, that I was not crazy, or weak, or nearly as alone as I thought, were coupled with anger that I would have to suffer. Because it felt like the world was designed for those not like me, and I would have to adjust. I had always figured that, but hearing that it wasn’t fixable, shouldn’t be fixed, but was in fact a gift, angered me. Why me? It’s a question I’m sure every empath has asked at some point. Why us? Why are we chosen to feel for the world? Why do we have to go through this intense trip when others seem to have it so much lighter? Why can’t we surf along the waves instead of drowning under the water?

Coming out of the closet as an empath is scary. I’m revealing that I am this squishy marshmallow creature, and that’s scary. Because I still resist. I still like to pretend I am not what I am.

In fact, through high school I tested as INTJ, that cool customer who is so calculating and logical and gets things done ON TIME and EFFICIENTLY. Anything to do with sappy, useless feelings I tossed aside. I insisted I hated pink for years too. And probably fluffy things. And I was clever enough to pick answers I knew would get me the result I wanted. I knew what I wanted to be – the boss.

Perhaps somewhere in my life someone said that being sensitive was bad. I don’t recall. I don’t have any memories of other people telling me to toughen up or get over it. It was only ever me who told me that. In my room, hiding from conflict, I berated what I saw as my enfeebled and childish reactions to every tiny thing. I will be stronger when I am older, I thought. I earnestly believed that my sensitivity was something I would and should outgrow. And when it did not happen, I think some inner panic started that took a few years to let go of. Not until the movement accepting introverts and then, slowly, sensitivity began did I start a soul search to help myself out.

So then I retook the test and was honest for the first time. Or I read about INFJs and couldn’t believe someone had painted a picture of me. Or perhaps I got tired of lying that I didn’t like pink. Whatever the case, I found it out.

I was happy with that identity. Finding out I was an HSP was a bit harder to deal with. When I’m sick or tired or otherwise drained, noises and lights physically hurt. It means I have to be a bit more conscious of myself so I don’t turn into a raging, shut-down emotionless machine as a reaction to too much exposure.

Admitting that I am an empath is tough. So I have to thank Lauren Sapala and this post for helping me do it. Even the phrase in the title, “I thought I was sick or crazy,” let me know I had found one of my tribe. Her story echoes mine in many ways. I feel lucky that I was able to discover the reasons for myself earlier than she did, and in a world already a bit more comfortable with introversion as a whole, but our stories are still frighteningly similar. The physical reactions, the self-doubt, the wondering and hoping if one day adult life would toughen me up into a normal person.

I especially love the part in her post about the definition of empath. One reason I’ve always shied away from that word is its mystic, New Age-y connotations, which is code for “not real and not valid.” Perhaps that’s part of the reason I was so resistant to letting myself be an INFJ and HSP. Too close to ESP, which had no place in my logical, rational, hard-boiled upbringing.

All I want to do today is say I am an empath. There’s a lot to say on the subject later. I want to talk about what it means for me as a writer and what it means for me as an expat.

But for now, my name is Audra, and I’m an empath.

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*Here are more sites dedicated to the INFJ personality.

https://www.16personalities.com/infj-personality

http://www.personalitypage.com/INFJ.html

**Wikipedia had the simplest definition, but definitely check out Elaine Aron’s site for more detailed information.