Sensitive People and "the Coming Collapse"
A gentle guide to surviving and thriving as humanity has an emotional breakdown.
“I like the cover," he said. "Don't Panic. It's the first helpful or intelligible thing anybody's said to me all day.”
You deserve a break. My Valentine’s post looked so heavy that a bunch of you didn’t even open it, and many of those who did found themselves weeping. Until the last minute I had “Sorry” in the subtitle and then thought Ros, don’t apologise for posting something that feels absolutely necessary.
Some of us need a good cry. Apparently, I did, too. So that post was for we weepers, we lovers of catharsis. But yes, it might all be a bit heavy with our current political backdrop. I get it. I am here with dessert, a cosy dressing gown, and a glass of your favourite tipple.
And a little measure of hope, because as Nick Cave said, “hope is a supreme gesture of love, a radical and audacious duty.”1
A lot of those drawn to what I’m writing are HSPs. Halal Snack Pack, Ros, you sure about that? No, friend, Highly Sensitive Person. We are reckoned to be around one fifth of the human population, so a sizeable minority. The world is not built around our needs. And right now, with tension and division ramping up, with change coming hard and fast? It can feel overwhelming.
But we sensitives are not at a disadvantage. In fact, I believe we are the future. And I’m not the only one thinking this way. See, for example, The Coming Collapse: Sensitivity Will Determine Survival. The headline is anxiety-inducing. But the message is reassuring to those of us who know ourselves to be sensitive. It’s worth reading the whole (science-backed) post, but it’s locked behind a paywall, so I’ll summarise it.
In the natural world, sensitivity is an asset. An individual with nuanced, interconnected perspective has a greater chance of surviving uncertain times. Human civilisations have been built around rigid systems that demand conformity. Systems that highly sensitive individuals find it hard to navigate (schools, the workplace). As Lilian Skinner writes,
sensitivity, when properly integrated, leads to better leadership, deeper social stability, and a more cohesive group… And yet, our modern civilization refuses to acknowledge this truth, systematically dismantling those most capable of guiding us forward.
Systematically dismantled is how some of us have experienced the early decades of our lives. If you are reading this, you are, at a minimum, rebuilding.
And suddenly, here we are, in a newly unpredictable world deliberately pushed to the edge of chaos by those who believe in a wealth-first model of survival of the fittest. But truly, who is best poised to navigate these times, if we keep ourselves anchored to what matters? We, the sensitive.
What matters? The quiet voice beneath the noise that whispers the answer. The instinctual knowing. Listening to your gut. It is time to make that second nature because, let me tell you, your gut (which you might call the ‘non-thinking’ brain — with its 500 million+ neurons — is a lot more attuned to your immediate geographical and temporal surroundings than the News is.
Now is the time to get habitual about The Pause and Listen. Not listening to your thoughts (shut them out for a moment) but to what your body is telling you before you decide which road to walk down, metaphorically or literally. You will feel a gentle yes (a hint of relaxed spaciousness) or no (something tighter, more pinched). Before you send that email. Before you agree to meet. Exercise this muscle, and it becomes more and more useful.
However, let’s say we walk down the street where something “bad” happens. Even if it happens to us. That doesn’t mean we made a “mistake”. Everything is working for our growth if we allow this to be true.
I don’t know if you noticed my absence from your inbox last week. Our inboxes are crushed, and weeks roll around fast in Apocalypse Central so maybe not. But something happened last week that knocked me sideways for a bit, and though this post was half written, I couldn’t find the energy to finish it.
What knocked me sideways? Thanks for asking. I’m involved in some charitable work. More than one small organisation has a call on my time. I had a Zoom meeting with the trustees of one of them last Tuesday night. And only ten minutes in, one of the trustees had a total rage-fuelled meltdown.
At me.
Over and over again, my full name was in their mouth, as though I wasn’t even in the virtual room. Accusations that took my breath away. That I had been rude. That I’d bullied her.
I was astonished. Because the day where this was supposed to have happened, months ago, I’d been nothing of the sort. I’d been kind, and careful, despite being enormously tired at the end of a difficult week. All the rudeness and aggression had been the other way. My accuser, in fact, had shouted at me that day. And so unexpectedly and unreasonably that it took me several seconds to realise I was the one being shouted at. I put it down to them being stressed, and didn’t hold it against them. Later I sought them out to say they’d done a good job in difficult circumstances.
Now, I was the baddie? Being publicly slandered in front of people I respect?
The attack rendered me speechless, and tearful. I switched off my camera and mic and stayed in the meeting for the next two hours in a holding pattern of shock. Yes, behind my blacked-out screen I tapped, and cried, but I couldn’t really tend to my wounds while still attending to what was being said (which I still cared to be a part of).
I left the call feeling destroyed.
I don’t look for “silver linings” because that leaves the cloud in place. I dissolve the cloud. That night, I drank too much Amaretto, but the next morning, when I had the energy, I set out on the hunt for full sunshine by investigating what old wound her attack had opened up. What was so powerful it had rendered me speechless?
It wasn’t long before tapping gave me the insight I was after: an aspect of the Mother Wound called “Good Girl is Accused of Being A Bad Girl”. Hell, I’ve written about the first moment it was formed, the Carrot on the Piano! You think you’ve cleared something, and then another aspect surfaces.
Nothing is more helpful to me than discovering where there’s still healing to be done. So I said a brief thank you to my attacker (to the ether, not in actuality) and set about mending another layer of the wound. How successful I have been will be measured only in whether another “Good girl accused of being bad” moment surfaces in the future. Total clearance means nothing more comes. But often, the lift drops another floor, and next time you go deeper. Never mind. This is the work.
I hadn’t quite completed it, in fact, because I’d gone straight to “thank you, I’ll fix that.” And part of me wasn’t ready for “thank you.” Part of me was fucking angry. That part woke me up with an extremely painful bladder in the small hours of Thursday morning; a pain which was not relieved by going to the loo. Eighteen years of learning to listen to my body let me know right away what this means. I was PISSED OFF. (Or as my American buddies say, PISSED). I had gone straight to gratitude, skipping the anger… and anger doesn’t like to be skipped. Anger needs attention too.
So I did my anger tapping, cleared that, the physical pain subsided, and I went back to sleep.
If Wednesday had been a Recovery Day (both emotionally and from the physical effects of the alcohol I used as First Aid), Thursday was swallowed by another outcome of the Tuesday attack, this one positive. Horrified to watch me being verbally torn apart, one of the Trustees had the idea to do something nice for me.
This nice thing I can’t yet talk about but it MIGHT involve a one-off celebrity-driven performance of my stage version of The Marlowe Papers later this year. So Thursday was spent entirely in Scrivener, putting the 2016 version into UK Stage Script format (we’d been lazy in the Fringe) and tightening up some of the lines as I went. What joy to be immersed in that world again, with these characters I still love so profoundly. That was Thursday. It took me to 9.30pm with not much of a break.
On Friday, I was emotionally and creatively spent. Some admin had piled up. I tried to come back to this piece, but something felt off. There was still more to process. And though I didn’t know it, more to the story.
If you read my Valentine’s piece, you’ll know it ends with me removing the “rusty pull-pin” that has kept my writing career just short of stellar: the pact I made with myself, when I was fourteen, not to thrive.
Let me report that in the two weeks since I pulled that pin, things are moving apace. And the healing of this “Bad Girl” wound is a necessary part of the puzzle. The level of readership I hope for comes, very often, with a smattering of attack. Past experience shows that whenever that has happened, I go back into hiding. And this time, it’s important that I don’t.
So I believe Tuesday’s accusations happend as a direct consequence of saying goodbye to Rusty Pull-Pin. If you’re a gamer, you’ll understand it as prep for the next level of the game, so your character doesn’t immediately get killed and lose all their items.
The person who shouted at me asked for a one-to-one meeting. This happened on Monday of this week. She apologised and revealed that she was totally unaware of what she was saying in that outburst. She was in a fugue state. The words were rushing through her. She returned to conscious awareness unaware of what she’d said.
Which is very interesting: I had this once before, someone saying words to me they were not conscious of. At the time, I’d been stuck for three months on The Marlowe Papers. The word that came through my dear husband (a word he didn’t even know was a character’s surname) was the key to completing the book.
So for sure, I am getting some serious next-level help. In fact, I can build this into the whole picture of recent events: the message “Quitter” the very minute I decided to give up being a novelist, to remind me that I have invisible support, the Trimphone Crow telling me “Incoming message” and then the symbolic representation of my dreams, a re E-type convertible, driving down my road towards me.
Days after, I pulled out the Rusty Pull-Pin and immediately started getting messages (actual ones, emails!) that things are moving. From my agent, and from an audio drama producer. Here on Substack: a famous novelist subscribed to How to Evolve (waves shyly hello), a famous comedian restacked a Note, and there was a surge in subscribers as several Notes got liked into the high hundreds.
So this roar of channelled rage gouging all the way to my core to let me know what still hurts was just part of the pattern. I’m excited to see what happens next.
When I started writing this piece, none of this personal stuff was due to be a part of it. After all, it hadn’t happened yet. But now I see how it all ties in.
Sensitive people get wounded more often than other people. Our skins are thinner. For much of my life, this fact was disabling. But once I had the means of rapid and effective healing at my fingertips (quite literally), everything changed. 2
My motivation at first was pure survival. Not to be sunk by emotions which had felt like a curse my whole life. It was bliss to start clearing the immediate pain, then the pain of old memories. Within weeks, the people closest to me were experiencing a very different person. Calmer, clearer, more stable. The clarity of thinking, in particular, was revolutionary.
The inventor of EFT, Gary Craig, speaks of emotional disturbance as static. And I love that metaphor, especially when I think of the old TV sets. When the picture broke up, a good smack on the set top would sort it out. And that’s me, an old TV, smacking my own set top to straighten the electrical kink.
But here’s the unexpected side-effect. The more I tapped, the more I increased my sensitivity. And this is why I’m recommending EFT, especially to people who are already highly sensitive and struggling.
Sounds like madness, right? INCREASE your sensitivity with this shit going on? Yes. Because this shit isn’t getting better any time soon and guess what, you are not magically going to get less sensitive. The only way out is through. And the better equipped you are for going through, the more likely you will not only survive but thrive.
Remember The Meek Will Inherit the Earth?
Jesus wasn’t fucking around. A lot of very wise words came out of that man’s mouth, a man, let’s remember who didn’t treat women as below him. Including women the Bible tells us were prostitutes, though there’s conflicting info on that: we don’t like a woman, we call her a whore, amirite? A lot of wise words before a bunch of frankly much less enlightened men wrapped them up in patriarchal nonsense. Like the apostle Paul’s “Submit to your husband” bullshit.
Who are The Meek? My HSP friends, it’s us. Or us once we’ve cleared out our basements, if you know what I mean. We are the ones best equipped to navigate these uncertain times. So long as we centre ourselves. So long as we Pause and Listen. So long as we clear our accumulated damage so that we can, at last — just like the thing that’s been making all those silver linings — Rise and Shine.
A ‘like’ is only a click, but it helps enormously. It raises the profile of this piece. If this writing has value to you, remember that your ‘like’ has value to me. Thank you for the gift!
Writing Home Challengers!
Big love to you; please forgive me for resting this challenge for a week while I catch my breath. Next Friday’s post will have your writing challenge attached at the bottom, below the paywall. This last fortnight has been a little bit full-on as you can tell!
Post-It Notes
This week I have, at the request of others with my best interests at heart:
Written (at last!) my non-fiction book proposal for my memoir.
Re-written my non-fiction book proposal for the Marlowe biography
Created three workshops for corporate settings
Done some serious research on solar panels
Over to You
Don’t feel you have to answer all of these questions. You can pick the most salient!
Do you count yourself a Highly Sensitive Person?
Do you count yourself a Halal Snack Pack?
How do you feel about words like “Apocalypse” and phrases like “Coming Collapse”
Has anyone ever been an unconscious conduit in your presence?
Do you still want an otter T-shirt? Are you an otter artist?
Do you work in a proper job and want me to come and run a workshop at your workplace on any of the following subjects: 1) Fearless Speaking and Speaking Up 2) Managing Emotions in the Workplace 3) Breaking Through Personal Barriers. If so, DM me!
Do you like sushi?
Is it all too much?
If you don’t already read Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files, I thoroughly recommend subscribing. He writes profoundly well, from suffering, with wisdom and love, about creativity, bereavement, and the world as we find it. https://www.theredhandfiles.com/
1. No
2. Possibly, if it’s gluten-free as well as halal.
3. Not keen!
4. Not as far as I know unless children’s temper tantrums count.
5. I’m an otter fan, though I’m neither an otter nor an artist.
6. No- I’m in the aging crone stage of life.
7. Yes (however see answer 2).
8. Not yet but it may be soon.
I always thought I probably fell into the HSP category, but after reading the information in the link you shared, I’m certain. Terrific, thought-provoking piece as always, Ros.