As a student I had a particularly odd job for about a week. The local meat works was assessing how strong smells might impact their neighbours. I, along with others, sat in a room with three tubes in front of me. Each tube contained flowing air. The scientists released a small concentration of smell through one of the tubes and we had to smell all three tubes over and over again as they increased the concentration until we could detect the smell. At that point we lodged our choice.
When we applied for the roles, they assessed us to see how sensitive our smell was. Those who couldn’t smell were excluded from the trial, so were the super-sensitive ones. I was on the sensitive end of average, but within a reasonable range. Due to time constraints, I got to be a part of the trial. As I was busy smelling foul smells, I wondered how much of a blessing this job actually was.
Smell sensitivity is not usually something that I consider when getting to know a person. When they have a head-cold their sensitivity drops, but what was their baseline? Unless they have a reason to measure it, they probably don’t know either. Their sense of smell is just normal for them. Smell is not something we can see, so we don’t tend to measure it.
We measure vision, hearing, touch and taste more often. Where someone lacks tastebuds, they eat for fuel. Nuances of a dining experience don’t garner the same reactions from this diner as someone who can taste. They can identify textures and heat, but not the pairings of flavours to delight their senses. At the other end of the spectrum, other diners can identify individual components of a meal and talk endlessly on the effects of different cooking technics or the addition of herbs and spices.
We might not ask someone how sensitive their tastebuds are, but we work it out pretty quickly as we share meals together and figure out each other’s preferences. Taste has more of an impact on our interactions than smell, but it’s still fairly inconsequential to anyone else.
Continue on to sight, sound and touch and we ramp up the levels of impact on our day to day. If someone can’t see or hear particularly well, there are devices available to increase their sensitivity. If someone has a particularly honed sense, we think – superpower! There was a guy living close to us who heard conversations on the wind from the nearby bridge. That’s intimidating. I was semi-relieved when he sold up and moved on. In the dark, we might sense where an object is and stop just before we hit it, then again, we might not. We all have differing levels of sensitivity.
That’s just a look at our physical senses. We sense things in other ways too. We might walk into a room and sense the atmosphere. We might have a sense of someone’s character. We might sense danger. Although unseen, these sensations are just as real. They also vary from person to person. Just because you walk into a room and sense nothing doesn’t mean that your friend has the same sensitivity. Perhaps you walk into the room and get hit with an emotion or an impression. Not everyone gets that.
When we talk about becoming unoffendable, we must realise that our experience is unique to us. Not everyone notices the details. Not everyone even has the capacity to realise what they’re doing. Sure, some do, but when you realise that others are muddling through trying to manage their own situation, it helps us adjust our expectations.
If you carry offence, you’ll probably become more sensitive than you were before. But your starting point was unique to you. Much like the sense of taste, your sensitivity might be hidden upon first meeting, but as you share and interact with others, they develop a picture of how sensitivity shapes you. If you carry offence, even if you are not offended with the person before you, your perspective will colour the way that you interact. Someone who carries a lot of offence carries it like a neon sign.
I’m not suggesting that someone with little sensitivity starts getting offended – there are better ways to increase your sensitivity – like noticing the effect you have on others as you interact. What does their body language do when you’re around? Relax? Tense up? What else can you notice? Perhaps you might ask them why – if you’re genuinely willing to listen to their response out of curiosity rather than judgement.
Super-sensitivity requires maturity to manage well. If you are super-sensitive and think that everything is aimed at you, you will be easily offended. In that case, super-sensitivity may be something that needs correcting. Forgiveness, letting things go, may help you to move back along the sensitivity scale to a healthier and more manageable level.
Then again, someone with super-sensitivity paired with maturity might carry acute discernment. Handled well, this can be an amazing superpower. Sensitivity in itself is not a bad thing, but the inability to manage it is damaging to relationships and your own health. Just like a baby superhero, sensitivity creates carnage when the bearer doesn’t know how to contain it.
When you sense something, it’s not always about you. I was away this week and on the last day didn’t feel great. I was quieter, more withdrawn. Did that mean that I was cross with anyone? No. Could they have taken it personally? Perhaps.
For someone who senses the room, they can think that the atmosphere reflects them. They’re so used to sensing different emotions that they begin to think of themselves as emotional. It might help them to realise that they are acting as a barometer when they enter that room. The emotion doesn’t belong to them and they don’t have to own it. When we sense an atmosphere or interpret someone’s expression and we don’t realise that it’s external, we get sucked in the same direction. We walk into a room where people are celebrating, we lean toward celebration. Where people are mourning, we lean toward mourning. It is easy to swim with the current; go with the flow.
A sensitive person’s emotions might be all over the place. But how would it look for them to observe the emotion without taking it on as their own? Again, this will present different challenges for different people. If your personality tends towards thinking and logic, you might be able to distance yourself from the atmosphere with greater ease than someone who primarily operates from feelings. It is doable. It is a skill to practise.
When we recognise the atmosphere, it is possible to change it. Where a room feels stingy, we can be generous. Where a room feels judgmental, we can listen to someone with empathy and acceptance. Where a room feels stifling, we can be a breath of fresh air. This is the gift of the superpower of mature sensitivity and discernment.
We all carry a unique baseline of sensitivity. Wherever we start, there is room to hone it, practise applying it in a healthy way, and use it to enhance our relationships rather than damage them.
Just like my smelling position, we might assess someone’s level of sensitivity and exclude them – being more comfortable with the average. How much better might it be to become a part of their story and walk with them on the path to maturity?
Excluding sensitive or insensitive people might make us feel comfortable, but separating ourselves robs us of what they offer. I often marvel at the people around me. I am blessed with many sensitive friends. I learn so much from our interactions and conversations. I have grown because of their insights.
Being included sometimes has its low points – just like my job required smelling unpleasant aromas. Sometimes growth and healthy interactions involve tricky bits as we practise how to respond well and what to carry versus what to let go. Don’t let the reactions of others distract you from your own growth.
How would you describe your sensitivity? What about the people you spend your time with? How could you journey together on the path to maturity?
