Emotional Osmosis.
Scientists define osmosis as the movement of solvents (e.g. water) through a semipermeable membrane, until they’re spread out equally on either side. We also use osmosis as a metaphor, as in, “she picked up chess almost immediately, as if through osmosis.” Osmosis is generally a good thing, an equalizing force, an easy flow of molecules and ideas. But what if you’re absorbing everything? What if your membrane is so permeable, that it allows toxins in with the water?
This is the case, metaphorically speaking, for people like me - otherwise known as Highly Sensitive People. According to Dr. Aron, Highly Sensitive People (or HSPs), “process everything around them much more.” We take it ALL in - the good with the bad - which means our buckets quickly fill to the BRIM. Picture it: the TV is on, that one bulb in the kitchen is flickering again, my breasts are achy from weaning, and J is singing… aka it’s 4:30. M, “click CLICK pop, chicka-click POP,” (he loves to make beats with his mouth). Me, “SHUT-UP,” or at least that’s what I want to say. What I really say is nothing, but inside my blood is boiling. I want to run upstairs, but I’m supposed to participate in “family time”. So I start to problem solve. I look around… “maybe if I just pick up these toys it’ll look a little calmer”. Then I go to turn off that flickering light… and, as if on cue, “Mama, can you…”. Sigh.
This scene repeats over and over again because I, like many HSPs, am painfully aware of every single stimulus in my home. And as it turns out, a home with two young children and a clutter-blind spouse has a LOT of stimuli. It’s worse when my mental bucket is already sloshing with work stress or general anxiety. In those moments it doesn’t take much to cause overflow. Butter splattered on the stove, socks thrown in the hallway, the toy microphone encouraging me to “Let it Go”... these things create the same discomfort that nails on a chalkboard might for a non-HSP. My eyes squint, my muscles tighten, and I can’t do anything until the screeching stops.
But here’s where it gets interesting. Let’s turn back to our scene for a moment. J has just asked her millionth question at just the wrong moment. I try to sound calm and collected while taking a moment to regulate. “Just give me a minute Sweetheart, I’ve got to finish something,” I say in my best sing-song voice. And yet, J hears some sort of edge. My tone isn’t overtly irritated, and I’m certain that most onlookers would hear nothing out of the ordinary. But not J, because she too is a HSP. From infancy, J has been extremely sensitive to noise and to the emotions of others. As it turns out, an HSP’s need to “pick up what you’re putting down” is both literal and figurative [pun intended]. Nowadays, her sensitivity pairs with the natural self-centeredness of early childhood to create the belief that it’s all about her. Not only does she notice that I’m off, but she thinks it's her fault. So now we can add “J crying” to my current list of stimuli.
J has an extremely-permeable emotional membrane. When her loved ones are happy, that happiness is amplified in her. But when any of us is struggling, she insists on helping us carry that struggle. She is incapable of turning a blind eye. Last week I found her sitting on the stairs mumbling to herself. I eventually learned that Grammy had gotten a little short with her. J was mumbling about whether or not to bring up this frustration with Grammy because, “she’s already stressed out and I don’t want to worry her.” J is 4 and Grammy had said nothing about being particularly stressed out. As her mother, this degree of empathy feels both beautiful and worrisome. I want my daughter to see her acute awareness as a gift, but also to protect her from regulating adult-size emotions in her child-size body. I was once that child, and in the absence of emotional boundaries I put entire states between me and my family.
So, J and I are practicing new coping strategies. I’m learning to vocalize when I’m overwhelmed, and model taking time to calm my nerves. J is growing her emotional vocabulary so we can acknowledge what she’s feeling, and put down what isn’t hers. Together, we are learning reverse-osmosis.
