As a writer who has worked in Hollywood, I often hear people offering this advice: “You need a tough skin in order to make it in this business.” A “tough skin” is supposed to ward off the bad feelings that go along with rejection, which is what I live with on a daily basis. Anyone doing anything that stretches beyond a comfort zone is prone to hear it in their line of work. Some people say it to absolve themselves of responsibility for saying things that hurt people. Some people say it because they heard someone else say it, and never really thought about what it means. There are plenty of scenarios that are tough to deal with, but I reject “tough skin” as solution, along with the notion that I need to be anything different than who I authentically am.

I have the opposite of tough skin, literally and figuratively. My skin is as vulnerable as the squishy, unsheathed underbelly of a turtle. Every lady-scented body wash stings. Every clothing tag prickles. Sounds are often too loud. Lights are often too bright. Emotions are overwhelming. I am, by definition, and in every way, a highly sensitive person. Some days are more challenging than others, but I embrace my sensitivities, because they are valuable assets.

Being highly sensitive means that I am always tuned in. I pick up on nuances of speech and facial expressions that others miss. I’ve been a quiet observer of people my whole life, and I’ve gained insights which help me write about topics which are difficult to express. I am intuitive and often anticipate the needs of others. My relationships are intimate.

I write for highly sensitive reasons. I believe in the power of stories to heal culture, and I believe we live in a culture that desperately needs healing. We need people with insight who feel things deeply to help point the way toward a sense of interconnectedness and spiritual wholeness. My sensitive nature is an invitation to others to share their vulnerabilities, too. When we are collectively vulnerable, we are collectively seen, heard, and understood.

A tough skin can’t do any of that. All a tough skin can do is repel. There’s nothing brave about tough skin. You know what’s brave? Feeling heartbroken and choosing to try again.

There are few people who are actually good at having tough skin. The rest of us are faking it. Narcissists and psychopaths literally cannot feel empathy, and they wreak havoc on everyone else in their wake. It’s true that their lack of feeling helps them to persevere in the face of rejection, which is often why they succeed. The question I pose here is this: why are we pointing to “tough skin” as a solution when the only ones who benefit are narcissists?

Instead of trying to be more tough, I propose we all try being more authentic. Feel your feelings, even the hard ones. When something hurts, acknowledge it. Do what you can to nurture yourself. Have some compassion for your own humanity. Hold space for your own beating heart. Believe that the world has room for you, and refuse the notion that you can’t be accommodated as you are.

Rejection is inevitable, but let’s stop catering to mindsets that reward narcissistic behaviors. As a culture, we need more empathy, not less. We need more fleshy, porous, squishy turtle bellies, not hard plastic surfaces. Highly sensitive people carry solutions that might just save us all. Let’s make some sensory-friendly room to receive them.



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