Is everyone recovered from Thanksgiving already? No? Well, too bad I guess, because it’s time for everybody’s favorite marathon: eight weeks of aggressive advertising, in-your-face holiday prep, and loudly proclaimed good cheer. Are you good cheered yet? Are you? You need to good cheer harder.

Look, I believe the holidays are special and magical. I love (parts of) the holidays. Growing up, there was nothing more enchanting than watching our house transform with lights and decorations, and almost bursting with anticipation for the big day itself.

And cookies. There was definitely nothing more enchanting than cookies.

As an adult, I love seeing people be kind to each other, and putting up the tree. But, dear God in the manger, why does the holiday season need to be so extra?

I guess the high-pressure, multi-sensory holiday onslaught must hit the spot for some people — or at least, I guess marketers think so. But, for me, I’d prefer a calmer holiday season. The hustle and bustle doesn’t enhance the magic; it robs it, like a Grinch creeping through the homes of the Whos down in Whoville.

And there’s a reason I feel that way. It’s because, like roughly 1 in 5 people, I’m a highly sensitive person.

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Being highly sensitive means I was born with a nervous system that processes everything very deeply, from my thoughts and feelings to what I take in from the world around me. (Here’s how to tell if you are one, by the way.)

In general, being highly sensitive is a blessing — but not in loud, overstimulating, highly emotional situations.

Which, apparently, includes almost every minute of November and December.

Don’t believe me? Let’s look at the lineup.

“The holidays are holistic medicine for the human soul. But careful with the dosage, please.”

The 6 Ingredients of Holiday Season Overload

1. The fever pitch starts two months too early

First things first: I want to leave Halloween out of this, because it’s actually one of the more manageable holidays in my opinion. It puts my creative streak on full display. Something about making my own slightly-sardonic costume from scratch is far, far too satisfying to ever fall out of love with.

But Halloween does bear honorable mention because, apparently, it is now part of the Christmas Industrial Complex. I could barely find a skull or ceramic pumpkin all October long, because they were already crowded out by quaint little snow-covered model houses and miniature Christmas trees. Get your spook on in August, I guess?

And that’s the first step in the holidays being A. Bit. Too. Much. Anything fun (like the holidays) tends to be highly stimulating; anything joyful tends to be emotionally charged. My sensitive system can handle either of these things in small amounts, but when it goes on for three (or more?) nonstop months? That’s about the time my phobia of leaving the house kicks in.

To be clear, I know some people love playing Christmas carols in August and setting up their tree as soon as the calendar strikes November. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that — you do you.

What’s overwhelming is that all the stores, commercials and radio stations start in early, too. And they do this for no reason other than making more profit. The result is that department stores become a sensory/emotional megaphone, one that actually incentives me to avoid going shopping (nice work, marketers!). This doesn’t just last for a few special weeks, but for months at a time.

Which brings me to….

2. The holidays have become disconnected from the actual seasons

The ever-earlier start to the holidays doesn’t just wear me out. It also creates a disconnect between season and seasonality. Which is to say: Santa’s fur-lined coat is darling in December, but ghoulish in 70-degree September.

I know, I know, there are people in many parts of the world who have no sympathy on this one, because they’ve been doing Christmas under palm trees their whole lives. But I grew up seeing a beautiful symmetry between the seasons of the earth and our holiday traditions.

Halloween and its skeletons show up when the world is first darkening and seeming to die away. Thanksgiving arrives after the last of the harvest, when the fields are hard with frost. Rudolph and fur-suited Santa roll in on a sleigh, a type of vehicle that literally cannot function unless the world is covered in snow.

They fit, right? And I think anyone can appreciate the magic of a season that comes for only a short and special time.

But, as an HSP, I connect it to something deeper: I notice that the decking of trees with lights, the birth of a new hope for mankind, the lighting of a miraculous menorah, and a dozen other let-there-be-light traditions from around the world all happen when it’s, you know, very very dark. And the emphasis on good cheer, kindness, and giving each other gifts, why, that shows up just as seasonal depression really bares its claws. It’s almost like our species intuitively knows what we need and when we need it, and we make our traditions support that.

In that sense, the holidays are holistic medicine for the human soul. But careful with the dosage, please.

The marketers, of course, don’t care. If they can get a purchase at the tail-end of summer, or at least get their brands in front of you to sink into your unconscious, why should they care what your soul needs or why. Cash or credit, ma’am?

Speaking of which…

3. The things I used to hold in my heart are now just a sales gimmick

I know a writer who once had probably the coolest job in the world. He got to be Santa — not at the mall, but at an imaginary North Pole. He worked with a company where kids would send in their Santa letters, and Santa would actually write back. He literally wrote the words that they would receive from Mr. Claus himself (and sometimes a side note from Rudolph or the Missus). Sometimes, he said, he teared up as he wrote it.

I gotta admit, that’s pretty darn magical.

But there’s also the weird cost to these productions. Not just in dollars — you can believe the parents shelled out for this magical experience — but in our expectations. Every single part of the holiday miracle is now commoditized. You can buy apps, clothes, seasonal flavored lattes, home décor, funny sweaters you’ll wear one time, Menorah socks, lawn inflatables, rooftop Santa sleighs, oversized mangers, event tickets… need I go on?

No single one of these items is wrong on its own (okay, this pepperoni statue of Santa might be). But add them all up, and you have an experience where everything just feels “yuck.” Maybe so-called “normal” people don’t notice this, but as a highly sensitive person who picks up on the “vibe” of a situation, I notice when things are fake. No one wants to find out their boyfriend or bestie is only around because they’re getting paid; I feel the same way about holiday magic.

And that’s the thing, the magic is not there because you pay for it. The more it’s commercialized, the less the magic is there at all. I guess I wish we could all just calm down with the marketing gimmicks and the screamy-splashy Xmas sales. The less dopamine hits I get in a mall, the happier I am.

But at least we’re all nice to each other, right? Oh, wait — 

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4. It’s… oddly divisive, I guess?

I’m not gonna comment on the Merry Christmas Wars, except to say: A little empathy would go a long way, on all sides. And we HSPs excel at empathy.

Personally, I’m very sensitive to how people react to my words. As a result, my policy is to try to be conscious of the holidays that other people celebrate, wish them well in a way that will matter to them, and not assume they celebrate the same things I do. My other policy is that I sometimes slip up, and please don’t yell at me.

Why? Because the holiday season is supposed to be people coming together. It’s supposed to be goodwill to all humankind. It’s an excuse to be nice in a frankly not-very-nice world.

So, when I’m given two buttons to push, one labeled BE GRACIOUS and the other labeled THROW A FIT ABOUT HOW SOMEONE PHRASED THEIR NICE THING THEY SAID, I am deeply upset that people hesitate to push the right one.

And that’s true no matter what your preferred greeting may be.

5. The family situation (Moooooom, STAHP!)

I love my family. Most of them. A lot of the time. If I’m well-rested.

Which is kind of the point. For anyone, highly sensitive or not, I think family obligations are often a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it’s important that there are occasions that bring us together with loved ones; on the other, they often involve sibling rivalry, parental henpecking, opposing child-rearing styles, and the almighty Uncomfortable Political Convo (UPC).

The UPC is my least favorite part of any holiday gathering. That’s because, as a highly sensitive person, I check the following boxes:

• We’re highly aware of other people’s anger (or discomfort)
• We hate upsetting people
• Yelling makes us anxious to the point of nausea
• We don’t just “move on” when the arguing stops
• “Good-natured debates” are often neither of those things, and we can see right through it
• We thrive on harmony and, like a fragile flower, rougher conditions make us wilt

As a result, I absolutely Do Not Want to Be Around for the political outrage — especially this year. In my family, it often starts as indirect comments meant as bait or, worse, underhanded slights. When I hear these, I no longer wait until I’m ready to cry: I just leave the room (and I’ll take my plate, if need be). If my family ask me to stay, I’ve learned to say this:

“I want to stay too, but I don’t feel well when political debates start. Can we agree to table that topic until after dinner, and I’ll give you space for it?”

That will usually shut people up and, if not, I’ve found that turkey and podcasts are a perfect combination.

6. Everyone’s expectations are just A. Little. Too. High.

For me, this is what ties it all together. I could probably get through the whole morass of everything above if we just didn’t take ourselves too seriously. If we went into the holidays with a light heart, a light touch, rather than so much invested in it.

But that’s not how I see people doing the holidays. (And, yeah, I’m guilty of this, too.)

Instead, everywhere around me, people are piling pressure and demands and needs upon the holidays, absolutely insisting that everything be just so: the look, the events, the schedule, the gifts, even what people say and do. I honestly believe that if we invented a weather control device, we’d use it to get Christmas “just so” before we used it to solve world hunger. That gives me sadface, you guys!

And it’s this part of the holidays — the high expectations — that I have to admit is a joint effort. I do it to myself as much as anyone does it to me. I think we all do. And it’s this part that I think is hardest for many HSPs.

I remember a time when I was eight years old. I made the mistake of spending some of my gift money on something for myself — it was small — and not just gifts for others. My mom figured it out, and I started crying. I knew I had been “selfish.” I figured I should be ashamed.

My mom gave me a hug. She didn’t tell me I was greedy. She told me, “We all make mistakes.” Later, we baked cookies and I made sure to include some with all my gifts to my friends. The holidays had been fixed.

Highly sensitive people: We don’t have to do the holidays the way everyone else does them. We don’t have to put the pressure on ourselves and others. We don’t have to live up to those expectations ourselves, either.

When the holidays are overwhelming, give someone a hug. Tell them they’re okay. And for the love of Saturnalia, bring them some gosh-darn cookies.

You might like:

• 8 Things All Highly Sensitive People Need to Survive the Holidays
• Dear World, Your Trendy Restaurants Are My Personal Hell. Love, an HSP
• These 21 Things Stress Out Highly Sensitive People the Most

The post 6 Reasons the Holidays Stress Highly Sensitive People Out appeared first on Sensitive Refuge.

We need to talk about these restaurants you like.

I know it’s fun to try new places. Like that bustling new lunch counter where the cooks yell out the orders, and 40 people hover in line waiting for your seat. Or the trendy brewpub in an all-concrete space, which reflects and magnifies sound, where the Trivia host cranks his microphone to Ke$ha-concert volume. Or the “cozy” traditional restaurant which seems to be in a competition for how tightly they can pack tables together, with lights so bright they could sideline at an airport.

I guess all that stimulation must be exciting for some people. But for me, it’s overwhelming. Because here’s the thing: I’m a highly sensitive person.

That means I’m one of the 1 in 5 people whose nervous system processes everything much, much more deeply. That’s true of feelings, thoughts, details, and physical sensations.

So when others are experiencing things at a volume of 5, I’m experiencing them at a 10. And in these loud, busy, jam-packed spaces… I’m off the top of the dial.

What Happened to Cozy, Quiet Restaurants?

It wasn’t always this way. As a kid, I remember restaurants being quiet places of cozy booths and semi-private nooks, with indirect lighting. Now, it seems like every new restaurant is racing to be the brightest, the crowded-est, the most HEY LOOK AT ME place they can be. Not just with gimmicks; with the very way they’re built. 

Today, even my “less” sensitive friends can find these spaces overwhelming. And for the highly sensitive people in the world, it can feel impossible. I can barely even walk into these places without a dizzy feeling; forget about enjoying a meal.

What changed, you ask? Here are six things that ruin the restaurant experience for anyone sensitive — that are now industry-standard. 

6 Ways Restaurants Have Been ‘Ruined’ for HSPs

1. An “Open” Design

By now we all know that open floor plans are a disaster in office buildings. Somehow, other industries haven’t gotten the memo. Yes, I’ve heard the claim that “open” spaces are supposed to foster conversation and interaction. But the way you get people to enjoy conversation is not by putting them in a barn.

The way you foster conversation is by getting people together with other people they enjoy. And that’s mostly not something restaurants can control. So instead of trying to make “engaging” spaces, restaurants should focus on giving us somewhere to eat where we can hear each other talk… without yelling. 

People relax more when they have a sense of privacy — even if it’s just an illusion created by a quieter, more intimate space. And HSPs in particular cannot handle overstimulating spaces.

2. An Open Kitchen

Name three things every commercial kitchen must have. If you’re stumped, I’ll help: harsh white lighting, equipment so loud the staff need to yell, and an exhaust fan powered by a SpaceX rocket engine. 

But I guess no one told that to whoever started the trend of kitchens that are open to the dining space. To be clear, I’m not talking about cozy diner counters with a couple of grills, or food trucks or any other special case. I mean plain ol’ restaurants who had the option of having a wall between the kitchen and the guests, and drunkenly tore it down.

This kind of layout guarantees a baseline noise level of 85.9 decibels on average (enough to damage hearing); some pretty gnarly smells; and, not infrequently, smoke. All of which are bad for anyone, but especially HSPs.

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3. The Rush

I’ve been to Spain and Italy, and I aspire to one day eat like them — in other words, taking about three hours to have a simple meal with friends. They know how to pace themselves, an art that I (at least with food) have yet to master. 

But something about these trendy restaurants swings waaaaaaay too far in the opposite direction. As soon as you’re seated, almost before you’re in the chair, they want to know your drink order. (Um, can I look at the drink list first?) You’ll see your server again in two minutes flat, and they’ll be ready to take your food order, too.

As a highly sensitive person, my brain doesn’t work that way. I’m set up to process things carefully, thoroughly, and deeply. I wish I could use that power only when it mattered, but the truth is, it kicks in before I even sit down. I’m still taking in the décor — and the energy of the people around me — while the waiter is pretending not to be flustered that I haven’t opened the menu yet.

Sadly, this is inevitable given how the restaurant industry works. Unlike Europe, where servers are generally paid a living wage, U.S. servers need to earn tips as fast as possible or they go home underpaid. That’s a cunning move on the part of restaurant owners, since they too earn more if they can turn tables over faster — although I’d argue that I’d spend more if I could enjoy the space for a couple of hours. 

4. The Seating Situation 

In Ye Olden Days, restaurants had things like big, cushioned booths and upholstery everywhere (which, by the way, also helps dampen sound). Today, it seems that the “in” thing is to put out metal stools or a wood bench and call it an aesthetic. That’s great — I love the factory vibe, that’s exactly what I want to think of while I eat — but here’s a tip from anyone who’s ever sat on a log: Not everything that looks cool also feels cozy.

And, I guess, for some people, this isn’t a problem? I mean, I’ve seen people play soccer on a sprained ankle; I’ve seen people take ice baths; I’ve even seen people act calm after getting stung by a frickin’ scorpion. (Not the emergency room kind, don’t worry.) So, obviously there are people out there who can tune out discomfort way better than I can. But my highly sensitive system doesn’t work that way — I notice almost every physical sensation — and if my butt is hurting, it’s hard for me to even follow the conversation, let alone savor the chef’s strong plate.

5. The Devil’s Own Air Conditioning

Before my fellow HSPs rebel on me, let me just say: I love air conditioning. Yes, I am sensitive to heat; yes, I get heat stroke easily; yes, even slightly too-warm days leave me fatigued. 

But, you guys, what is with this restaurant AC?

Generally speaking, the way summer works is you wear lighter, cooler clothing. That’s what’s comfortable outdoors and that’s what’s fashionable. But if the AC inside somewhere is set to negative 6 jillion, it means you’re shivering. In summer. And someone is paying to make it happen. 

And my system seems to react very quickly to changes in temperature. I don’t get to enjoy AC long before I start to get uncomfortable, at least if it’s set down too low. Am I the only HSP who brings a sweater to restaurants in July?

6. The Sheer Mass of People 

In truth, I think I could handle a lot of these stimuli if I just had some room to breathe. But, when you consider the stuff above, it all adds up to one thing: people. 

Tighter-packed seating means more people per square foot. 

An open design means you see, and hear, all of them. 

And fast table turnover means even more people coming and going throughout your meal. 

Crowds aren’t easy for highly sensitive people. You can be at the most amazing event in the world, but if you’re surrounded by people who are moving, talking, doing — all of them at once and all around you — your system overloads.

For me, it means I get cranky, which I hate. I also get a brain fog. Other HSPs get exhausted, or have anxiety or even panic on the inside.

Yet there’s something in our culture right now that says more people = more better. That doesn’t add up to me. Most of life’s pleasures involve intimacy and savoring and specialness; there is nothing inherently pleasant about being a nobody in the middle of a thousand voices. Maybe if it were a rave or a beach party I’d understand, but while eating?

Maybe it’s just me. But maybe it’s not. If any restaurateurs want to make a pile of money, I’ll be over here with 20 percent of the population waiting to eat somewhere soothing. 

You might like:

• 8 Reasons Open Offices Are Absolute Hell for Sensitive People
• Why Do Highly Sensitive People Hate Busy Schedules and Feeling Rushed?
• The 21 Things That Stress Out Highly Sensitive People the Most

The post Dear World, Your Trendy Restaurants Are My Personal Hell. Love, an HSP appeared first on Sensitive Refuge.

I’m a highly sensitive person (HSP), and to be completely honest, I have a hard time living with other people.

It wasn’t just them, and it wasn’t just because we were cooped up on a snow day. I’ve had lots of roommates over the years, most of them great, and lived with partners and even family. And I’ve realized that, because I’m highly sensitive, sharing that space is really hard on me.

I don’t think I’m the only HSP who feels this way. Let’s take a look at why living with other people can be hard for HSPs, and four ways you can make it easier.

Why Sharing a Home Can Be Hard for HSPs

Let me get this out of the way: sharing a home can be tough for anyone. If it’s a roommate, you have to work out who does which chores, how clean is “clean,” how much noise is okay, and a million other negotiations. And if it’s a romantic partner, well, let’s just say there’s a reason that moving in together is a big milestone in a relationship.

But those are the problems everyone faces. For highly sensitive people, who are far more influenced by their environment, there’s a whole set of extra issues. Here’s why.

HSPs are born with a nervous system that processes sensory input — and all other kinds of information — very deeply. Even just on a physical level, that means we experience the world as “louder” than everybody else does. Yes, when you walk down the hall, we notice the floorboards shifting. Yes, when you clear your throat, it disrupts our attention. And yes, even tiny things like textures, smells, or the amount of clutter around us can really jangle our nerves.

But, more than that, we’re also fine-tuned to pick up on emotional signals. Most people think they hide their emotions well, but to us, you may as well be screaming them. If that sounds like it could really escalate minor annoyances between housemates, why yes, yes it can.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, all that overstimulation means that HSPs need a place to go where they can be alone — somewhere where absolutely no one else is on their radar. This is true for both extroverted HSPs and introverted HSPs.

If we don’t get that alone time, the overstimulation can overwhelm us, which makes us brain-tired, exhausted and, in my case, cranky. For many HSPs, we even get anxiety.

And eventually we completely crash.

4 Ways to Make It Easier to Share a Home

Of course, most of us will end up sharing our home many times throughout life, either to split the cost of an apartment or because we fall in love. Here are four things I’ve learned about how to make sure it doesn’t overwhelm me.

1. Create a sanctuary.

For HSPs, there really is no substitute for having a place that’s truly “just yours” to retreat to. This is an area or room where everything is always the way you left it, where you can slip into the comfort of familiar surroundings with no surprises to take over your attention. Often, we make them into places of beauty and peace, and they double as a space to do creative work.

But not all living situations make this easy. If you’re living with a partner, for example, even your bedroom might be a shared space. And many apartments have thin walls so that even a room of one’s own offers little true refuge.

That’s why, in the past, I’ve had a corner of a shared room be “my” space, often where I put my desk, and that little corner won’t be touched by anyone else. For someone else it may be a craft corner, a worktable, or simply a favorite chair where you do your reading. This works fine if there are times of the day, or days of the week, when no one else will be home. The key is that you have control over how this one little corner looks and feels.

Another option is to use bathtime as “sanctuary” time. Just let others know first that you plan to take a long soak so they can do their “business” before you occupy the bathroom. One you’re in there, the bathroom fan or some favorite music can help block out any sounds from the rest of the home, and you can easily take a half hour just on your own.

2. Mentally separate what is “your problem” and “not your problem.”

Being highly sensitive is normal and healthy. Being a doormat, however, is not — and neither is being a control freak. Unfortunately, these are both extremes that HSPs can fall into if we feel like others aren’t respecting our space.

On the one extreme, HSPs really hate to disappoint or inconvenience others. We are wired at the neural level with high levels of empathy, so the idea of upsetting someone else is actually painful to us. That means it’s easy for HSPs to take over housekeeping duties, pick up after others, or suffer through obnoxiously loud roommates late at night rather than speaking up.

My own experience has been at the other end: When lots of little things are overstimulating me, I slip into the bad habit of nitpicking (“you didn’t hang up the dish towel!”).

Both of these reactions come from not setting some mental boundaries between what’s your problem and what isn’t. If someone is playing music at 1 a.m., that is your problem, and you have every right to go tell them to turn it off — they’re the rude one, not you.

On the other hand, if they leave a mess on their own desk, that’s not your problem. Sure, it’d be nice if the view was better, but at the end of the day, it’s not a public health crisis — and they’re the one who can’t find their stapler. Resist the urge to do their cleaning-up for them (or, if you’re me, to harangue them).

Of course, if their mess is making it impossible for you to use a common area, like the bathroom or the kitchen, it’s time to have that conversation.

3. Communicate your needs.

Every HSP who shares a home is going to have to communicate their needs — period. There’s simply no way for people to guess at your need for alone time, privacy, or occasional quiet. And, if you’re not open about it, they can easily mistake your actions for being rude or antisocial. They might even think you don’t like them!

The way around that is to just be open, friendly, and direct from the start. It’s as simple as, “I get overstimulated easily. Sometimes I’ll need to have quiet time with no interruptions, or I’m not able to function well. What’s the best way to make that work?”

Notice that you’re not asking if you can have quiet alone time. You’re just stating it as a fact. At the same time, you’re not being demanding; you’re letting them give input on how to make it work. Maybe your roommate will suggest hanging something on your door when you don’t want to be disturbed, or maybe they’ll have a different idea.

Corollary: You might have to have this conversation a couple times, and that’s normal. Gentle reminders help, and so can offering to share a book or article about HSPs.

4. Be flexible.

HSPs deserve a home where they can feel peace and safety and recharge from a too-loud world. But, non-HSPs deserve to enjoy their homes too. And the best living arrangements are ones where housemates not only respect each other’s needs, but enjoy spending time together, too.

So value your housemates’ needs just as much as you want to be valued. If needed, work out whether there are certain “quiet times” versus times when loud TV or music are fine. If they have company over, take a little time to stop and say hi and be social, even if you also need to retreat to your space after a bit. And keep the open communication going, as a two-way habit, so that you’re aware when they need something changed, too.

As long as both sides are making compromises to accommodate the other, it’s a good and healthy thing to do.

As an HSP, you are built for for this — no one is better at compassion and empathy. Especially on a snow day.

You might like:

• 21 Signs That You’re a Highly Sensitive Person
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• What Happens When an HSP Grows Up With Emotional Neglect?

The post Why Is It Hard for Highly Sensitive People to Share a Home With Others? appeared first on Sensitive Refuge.