The world was not built for the sensitive. It’s too loud, too bright, too sharp at the edges. For years, I treated my own sensitivity like a faulty setting — a glitch in the system I needed to mute, to armor over, to “toughen up” against.
I was trying to run a sleek, efficient corporation on a soul that was fundamentally an overgrown and slightly damp garden. Prone to unexpected blooms and very sensitive to frost.
Then I realized: my sensitivity wasn’t a bug. It was the entire operating system. And maybe it’s my Pisces Moon talkin’, but I think I cracked the code.
My soft skills are actually my hardest assets
They call it “soft.” I call it my high-resolution data collection suite. While everyone else is browsing the world in standard definition, I’m receiving a 4K feed of everything.
That wince you tried to hide when they said your name? The specific way the afternoon light slants through a dusty window and makes you feel both lonely and hopeful? The overwhelming, crushing weight of a grocery store on a Saturday? Yeah, I got that.
What the world dismisses as “overstimulation” is just my raw material. It all comes in the glorious, the painful, the sublime, the utterly mundane, and my job is to curate it, refine it, and hand it back to you as a feeling you recognize.
The supply chain
I don’t just see a couple arguing over coffee. I see the way her thumb is rubbing the chipped handle of her mug. The three seconds of silence are heavier than the shouting. The tiny, desperate hope in the way he reaches for the sugar at the same time she does. That’s not eavesdropping. That’s market research for the human heart.
To write a believable wound, you have to remember how the air feels on a scraped knee. To describe longing, you have to let it sit in your own chest, unfulfilled. My willingness to feel the “bad” feelings deeply is the only guarantee that the “good” ones I write will be authentic.
My retreats, my hibernations, my mysterious “offline” days that no one really cares about? That’s not hiding. That’s processing the backlog. It’s in the quiet that feelings get sorted into narrative, and the sensory input becomes prose.
Bottom line
I won’t be “building a thicker skin.” My thin skin is the entire point. It’s the permeable membrane that lets the world in. This tender, observant, easily-overwhelmed heart isn’t a liability on my balance sheet. It’s my flagship product, my R&D, and my delivery mechanism all in one.
The world needs its blunt instruments and its armored tanks. But it also needs its translators. Its interpreters of glances and subtle shifts in the weather. It needs people who can turn a feeling into a phrase that makes someone else say, Yes. That. I thought I was the only one.
And let me tell you, that is a premium service.
— Montse
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