I yank my arm back from the stove with a yelp. “Ow!” A thin pink line slips across my forearm. Sliding muffins into the oven, I’d gotten a little too close. I seek the sink and run cold water on the heat. A few tears flow too.
As I stand there, I think back over words spoken that slashed across my heart just like the heat of the oven. That place within me still feels tender. I berate myself, “Why am I so sensitive?”
I glance back at my arm and suddenly I’m thankful for sensitivity. Without it, the burn would have been much worse. And without the sensitivity of my heart, a relationship I value could have been more deeply damaged too.
Never apologize for your sensitivity.
But don’t abuse it either. Being burned didn’t mean I should kick the dog or destroy the stove. It didn’t give me the right to light a match and go after the next person who crossed my path so they could have a little smoke in their day too.
We need to let ourselves cry, feel the anger, recognize that we’ve been burned. It’s the way we keep ourselves alive to all that’s around us. First we feel, then we heal.
I hold a muffin in my hand. Its soothing warmth reaches all the way to my fingertips, to somewhere deep inside.