The curse of dialling up

 Sensitivity 

"You’re a sensitive tool!"; was not the accolade I expected, but I’ll take it! I did laugh, and still do.

The problem with English is that meaning is often fluid, vague and circumstantial. The same word, sensitivity say, can mean weak, fragile, vulnerable and painful. In French, by contrast, interchangeability is less easy. You say one thing, you will not mean three others. 

I’ll be the first to say I’m sensitive, it was a running joke while I was at school, and appeared on every report. Then it was used to describe my failure. My inability to not cry while being taunted, denigrated and rubbished. If only it had been the students.

Today I use sensitivity very differently to describe a heightened sense of pain. Having been kicked on the same spot for decades, if embarrassed, I know it’s a response not a failing. Had I not been abused, I no doubt would be more able to mask my hurt?

So tool? I hear you cry. As researcher, I spent years dialling up my ability to see certain things. This sensitivity was hugely useful when thinking about the culture and language in different spaces. Feeling the vibe, seeing the architecture, the decoration, and hearing the storytelling, are essential to the capture and the analysis of space in a place. Being able, then, of contrasting and comparing one with other spaces. Initially very difficult, slowly technical know-how allowed finesse, if not mastery! 

My sensitivity to ableism was honed. From "I have no idea why I feel safer here!” I became able to articulate more succinctly exactly why the conversation and environment enabled a sense of belonging. Sadly, this increasingly made me aware of what didn’t help, what made me fearful or angry. The sensitive-tool is now a vigilante being, able to spot a whiff of injustice at 100 meters - or via zoom.

I’m struggling to desensitise! It’s difficult to unsee, unhear, and unfeel. So I’m aware how unpleasant my perspective may be to others… pointing out sexism,racism, homophobia, ageism equally rattles privilege, it’s uncomfortable! I feel I'm shrieking, and I feel increasingly vulnerable - in the Brown sense.

In addition, I’ve noticed a very real decline in my ability to shut-the-f-up. It’s not that I feel more angry, sad, or hurt; so much as I do not have the energy to silence my feelings. The juice needed to employ the emotional labour involved is scant, getting scanter. My body can no longer contain its movement, as CP ticks escape, so too do my words. 

Too honest? Yes probably! But my sensitivity would be attenuated in a world less violent towards those of us most familiar with hate - in all its subtle forms.