“I used to dislike being sensitive. I thought it made me weak. But take away that single trait, and you take away the very essence of who I am. You take away my conscience, my ability to empathize, my intuition, my creativity, my deep appreciation of the little things, my vivid inner life, my keen awareness of others pain and my passion for it all.” ~Caitlin Jap Unsurprisingly, given my sensitivity, I struggled to fit in when I was growing up in the loud and vibrant 1970s, a decade not known for its subtlety. I was unbearably sensitive and relentlessly teased for crying or overreacting to things. If I didn’t understand something the teacher was trying to tell me, I would start to cry. If friends didn’t want to play with me, I would cry some more. I would obsess over every single thing anyone said to me. Hardly surprising then that I was a lonely and friendless child as everybody must have felt they had to walk on eggshells around me. There were countless anxious school lunchtimes ...