I come around the corner and walk the last block of concrete before the entrance to the nature preserve. It is morning. Quiet. The light behind the mountains is breathtaking.

I pause my music and step onto the little trail that leads me down to the creek.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

This sound makes me smile, and immediately floods my mind with memories of running in California. The feeling of the crisp air when I would go for a trail run, the soothing, grounding energy of having my feet over a dirt path.

I listen to the crunching sound and also hear the sound of a hawk screech overhead. I hear the faint rustling of the leaves in the trees, noticing how most of them have fallen. I hear the sound of the creek burbling. The water is low and hard to see.

Crossing the bridge over the creek, I step over snow that has collected. A different crunch, crunch, crunch, this time muted with a strange powdery hush.

I walk across, up the stairs, to the leaf covered path. Now my footsteps are hushed, barely a whisper over the wet, crushed leaves. A few minutes later I reach the water’s edge and spend a few minutes in my favorite spot, staring at the water as it moves over a rock, catching hints of the ice that has gathered near the edges of the creek.

Fall is turning to winter.

There aren’t many people around today. No dogs barking or leaf blowers. No one with their cell on speaker phone, talking too loudly. I am always grateful for quiet moments in this sacred space. Nature provides her own landscape of sound— the trickle of the water, the sound of a branch moving as a squirrel runs over it, the peep of a bird nearby.

I become aware of just these sounds, then the sound of my breath. It moves like a gentle wave, steady, almost silent.

Nature sounds are what soothe me.

Experiencing the world as a highly sensitive person isn’t always easy. Sometimes a crowded room or noisy public place can send me into a spiral (see this post on noise sensitivity struggles). But, there’s a flip side— being hyper aware of noises can also be a wondrous gift!

I can tune in to a mix of sounds that often go unnoticed. I feel connected to the earth, the place I'm in, the season, the faint whisperings of life around me. The plants and water and wildlife all have a voice and I am listening with intention. Most people miss out on the beauty and hope that comes from this kind of immersive, up-close experience. Being in nature as a highly sensitive person brings me a deep level of comfort and peace, and the soundscape is an important part of that.

Over the next month, I’ll be sharing micro essays like this one about what it’s like to live as a highly sensitive person (HSP). At different times in my life, I have resisted noise sensitivity, viewing it as a weakness to be avoided at all costs. However, through a journey of self-discovery and acceptance, I've come to understand my sensitivity better, embracing strategies and tools that nourish not just my ears but also my body, mind, and spirit.

Every highly sensitive person and empath has a unique healing journey, and mine has been powerful. I want other HSPs like me to know— you’re not alone. There are other humans out there who get it and who want the best for you. You’re not too sensitive; you are a unique being with so much to offer the world. Now is the time to take your power back and care for yourself.

Your gifts are a strength, and you can learn how to work with them. It takes time, patience, and a willingness to honor yourself. Learning to own it, to own who you are and how you operate, isn’t easy in a world that is increasingly loud, chaotic, and oriented toward non-sensitives, but it’s doable and worth it. As you understand yourself more, and as you express what it’s like to be you in this wild, loud world, you will learn to trust yourself and honor your needs, to take pride in your sensitivity.

My hope is that these short essays help you see yourself with pride, love yourself with grace, and shift the culture away from shaming sensitivity to embracing it.

Not everyone will understand us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t own our sensitivity and be ourselves. Sensitives deserve respect and understanding. Our sensitivity is a gift, not a burden.

Stay tuned for more short stories like this about my own personal experiences, plus resources for sensitives who want to optimize their physical, mental and emotional wellbeing and thrive instead of just survive.

If you’re a sensitive and have a story to share, I’d love to hear from you.

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