This post elaborates on the ‘overstimulation’ section of The HSP Owner’s Guide.

In this week’s episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we look at the relationship between sensory processing sensitivity and overstimulation.

Overstimulation is a term we often hear when people talk about high sensitivity. It’s the second word in the DOES acronym after Deep Processing and before Emotional Responsiveness or Empathy, and Sensing Subtleties as a description of core characteristics of the trait.

But what do we actually mean by overstimulated? What does it look like? And is there anything we can do about it other than avoiding stimulating environments and situations? At the get-go, I want to answer that question with a resounding yes. We don’t have to write ourselves out of the situations, environments, and experiences that really matter to us. We have the capacity to build sustainable approaches to this stuff.

Because highly sensitive people are all different, it’s important to remember that sensitivity isn’t who we are. It’s more like the rails our nervous system runs on. It is often described as a spectrum of sensory responsiveness. Those on the high end take in a huge amount of sensory data and process it deeply. Those on the low end take in less, and most people are somewhere in the middle. As a species, we have evolved and benefit from individuals existing along this continuum.

Environmental Sensitivity researchers describe this variation through the concept of differential susceptibility. Some individuals are more profoundly influenced by their environment, for better or worse. It’s not about weakness or fragility. It’s about responsiveness and depth of processing. Studies show that highly sensitive individuals flourish in supportive settings but face greater challenges in chaotic ones.

I like to visualise this difference using microphones. A sensitive condenser mic is uniquely effective in quiet, controlled spaces. It picks up every subtle detail. But in a loud environment, it can get overwhelmed by noise. A dynamic mic has a narrower field of responsiveness and can work in almost any environment because it picks up less background noise. Both are useful, but for different purposes. This helps us remember that high sensitivity isn’t a flaw or superpower, it’s just a variation in human temperament, useful in some contexts and less so in others.

Overstimulation can look different from individual to individual. It is caused by an overload of the nervous system with environmental, emotional, social, or cognitive information.

It’s not always evident to others when a highly sensitive person is overstimulated. Despite appearing calm or composed, HSPs may be grappling with intense physical discomfort or emotional distress due to nervous system overload. Rising levels of stress hormones such as adrenaline, noradrenaline, and cortisol exacerbate this heightened sensitivity, leading to strong reactions to excitement, tension, temperature changes, or sensory stimuli in the environment.

What looks like calmness in a person might be a kind of shutting down. This happens to me when I’ve had too much stimulation – I can look really chilled out, but in actual fact I’m unable to function properly.

You might experience:

Overstimulation may be subtle. It can build gradually like a low background hum. And sometimes it hits all at once, like flood defences breaking. I remember experiencing it in shops as a child. The fluorescent lights, drudging through aisles, would leave me suddenly feeling drowsy and disconnected, despite being excited at the idea of going shopping.

When overstimulated, the nervous system activates stress responses.

This explains why two people can enter the same environment and one feels energised while the other feels overwhelmed. It’s as much about the state of your nervous system as the external situation, and also about the cumulative load of stimulation you carry between contexts. This is also why it’s important to consider Deb Dana’s words, “story follows state,” which remind us that for highly sensitive people, it’s not as simple as choosing our mindset. We need to start by selecting environmental elements that lead to a calm and less stimulated nervous system before particular thoughts may be able to change.

We might think of regulating overstimulation through two broad filters: proactive and responsive.

Proactive regulation involves preparing your nervous system before entering a stimulating environment or situation:

Responsive regulation is what you do when you feel your nervous system becoming overstimulated. Again, different things work for different people, and what works for one person might make it worse for someone else. It’s about experimenting with things like:

Long-term adaptation might include:

The goal isn’t to shut down your sensitivity or avoid life. It’s to notice, understand, and collaborate with your nervous system so you can navigate stimulating environments more comfortably.

Social interaction is a major source of overstimulation. It’s rarely just the conversation. It can be the context, the unknowns, and the processing afterwards (reliving the conversations, wondering why you said what you did and didn’t say what you should have!) You might really enjoy someone’s company and still leave drained.

Noticing red flags and green flags helps. Big groups with unstructured conversation might deplete you, while small gatherings feel energising. Individual differences matter too. Someone might be draining even if you share interests, while another person energises you despite little obvious common ground.

After-care is crucial. Sometimes being fully drained can feel good if recovery time is planned. The real challenge is when life leaves no margin, stacking one overstimulating event on another. For people with full-time caring responsibilities, this lack of margin is a constant reality.

I believe sensitivity has an important social role. Highly sensitive people often notice gaps in care and justice, and their responsiveness and empathy support social cohesion. Noticing and responding to sources of stimulation isn’t just about individual survival; it’s tied to our capacity to change the world around us. It’s about shaping communities, environments, and expectations to work for different people. Not least because when we make the world conducive for individuals to flourish, it is good for all of us.

I’m starting a project exploring the history of self-help; where the ideas came from, how they’ve changed over time, and what they mean for us today.

This episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast is my chance to set some intentions, explain why I feel drawn to do this, and share how you can get involved if you want to join me for the ride.

I’m not starting this project with the end in mind. Sorry, Stephen Covey, but I’m rebelling against the second habit of highly effective people. I honestly don’t know how this will look or where it will take me. I’m just intrigued to dig into the backstory of personal development and positive thinking, and explore how it became an industry worth an estimated around $40 billion in 2024, projected to more than double by 2033.

Self-help shapes how millions of us think about ourselves, our relationships, our struggles, and our potential. I want to look at where it came from, how it works, and what it’s doing to us now.

I want to approach this with a curious and critical open mind, not a cynical one. I’ve personally gained insight, tools, and practices from authors in the personal development space. So, I have experienced the value of resources and authors under the broad self-help umbrella.

But I do have some questions.

One in particular that has long been on my mind…with the ideas in self-help are as widely adopted as they are, why haven’t they “worked” in the big-picture sense?

We’re living in a strange mix of economic precarity, post-pandemic disorientation, the maturing of influencer culture, and now AI churning out self-help style advice at industrial speed.

If self-help reflects and responds to the anxieties of its time, then this moment feels like a perfect point to ask whether it might be contributing to those same anxieties it claims to ease.

About 12 years ago, I read The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking by Oliver Burkeman.

One idea in it has stuck with me ever since:

“Perhaps you don’t need telling that self-help books… rarely much help. This is why some self-help publishers refer to the ‘eighteen-month rule’, which states that the person most likely to purchase any given self-help book is someone who, within the previous eighteen months, purchased a self-help book—one that evidently didn’t solve all their problems.”

I was a big reader of personal development books at the time, especially those that spoke to building online businesses around creativity. They gave me a sense of forward momentum and excitement about future possibilities, but I could also feel myself on a treadmill. Old dissatisfaction was replaced with new.

That quote made me wonder if the self-help industry insists on not solving our problems. Which makes sense when you think about it…why would a market secure its own demise? It needs to keep inventing new problems to solve. Otherwise it collapses.

Some people enjoy the sense of growth that comes from reading a new book, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But from my experience, a lot of them say the same thing in different clothing.

Different anecdotes. Different metaphors. Same structure.

So why do we keep reading? And why does the market keep producing more?

Earlier this year, I looked into whether Mel Robbins had plagiarised a poem by Cassie Phillips and made up the story that inspired her book The Let Them Theory.

I bought and read the book as part of my research. It’s not my usual reading choice, and I hadn’t read a new personal development book in years. Two things struck me:

This persuasive, “I’m your friend” style of marketing is common in self-help influencer culture. Whether intended or not, it can exploit people who are in vulnerable and precarious positions. It nurtures parasocial bonds to build and potentially exploit trust.

Another thread I want to follow is whether self-help historically booms during moments of economic, political, and social instability. When the world feels out of control, we can focus on the things we think we can influence, such as our choices, responses, and mindset.

But I also wonder if this helps keep the larger system running as it is, without actually changing anything meaningful.

In Bright-Sided (Smile or Die in the UK), Barbara Ehrenreich wrote about how positive thinking became prevalent as a way to turn responsibility onto employees during times of corporate downsizing. Painting redundancy as an opportunity, rewarding those who keep smiling, performing, and pretending to be fine under the precarious ruthlessness of neoliberal capitalism.

I’m defining self-help books as works that position individual change as the path to life transformation. When built around an author’s personal story or branded method, they often focus on abstract notions like success, wealth, happiness, and fulfilment.

They usually sit at the front of a funnel that leads to courses, coaching, and memberships. The underlying message is: “You alone are responsible for your future success, happiness, and suffering.”

I want to explore what happens when this narrative dominates both individual and cultural thinking.

I’ll be working through some of the biggest titles in the genre, as well as obscure but influential works. Sometimes one book per episode, sometimes clusters based around particular themes or authors.

I’m aiming for one or two episodes per month. I’d love your suggestions and stories along the way. All of this is subject to evolve and change, but this is the first step I’m taking on this path. I’m sure it will evolve once I get going.

I’ll be recording supplementary member-only episodes exploring how the ideas we discuss in the public podcast land for highly sensitive people. We’ll look at the relationship between positive thinking and the nervous system, and unpack some of the ways hyper-individualism can be at odds with the socially minded empathy in a more sensitive temperament.

If you’ve got a book you think I should explore, let me know. Share your experiences of what’s helped, what hasn’t, and why you think that is.

The internet is full of memes about positive thinking. I saw this quote a few days ago:
“The only difference between a good day and a bad day is your attitude.”

At first glance, it contains some truth. Of course, the way we think about things can influence our relationship with them. But taken too far, this kind of thinking turns into something insidious and destructive.

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we explore the darker side of positive thinking.

I remember hearing someone suggest replacing ‘have to’ with ‘get to’ as a way to live with more gratitude for things we take for granted. Again, that can definitely be a useful reframe at times. But the associated claim that words impact thoughts and thoughts are the only thing that create our reality can quickly become an imprisoning and judgemental superstition. Toxic positivity encourages emotional suppression and shame, where anything other than optimism is considered weakness or failure.

If we follow the logic that our thoughts dictate our reality to its extreme, we land in a society shaped by what philosopher Byung-Chul Han calls the achievement imperative. In this world, external rules are replaced by internal commands. We no longer respond to “you should” or “you must.” Instead, we internalise the injunction to perpetually “live our passion,” “find our purpose,” and “optimise our potential.”

Han quotes Tony Robbins, who promotes this mindset by saying,
“When you set a goal, you’ve committed to CANI (Constant, Never-Ending Improvement)! You’ve acknowledged the need that all human beings have for constant, never-ending improvement. There is a power in the pressure of dissatisfaction, in the tension of temporary discomfort. This is the kind of pain you want in your life.”

This leads to a permanent state of temporary discomfort. There is always something to optimise, improve, and change. Never rest. Never be satisfied.

Toxic positivity – we might describe it as pathological positivity (though I’ve seen a book of that name painting it as a desirable state of being, so that’s a bit odd)- thrives on the belief that we should reframe negative thoughts. But there is a big difference between resistance and repression. A good comparison comes from Viktor Frankl, the Holocaust survivor, founder of logotherapy and author of Man’s Search for Meaning. He wrote:
“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way”.

Unlike self-help slogans, Frankl’s words do not offer easy comfort. He was not promoting positive thinking. He was describing something he observed in those who were stripped of their humanity and subjected to unimaginable suffering. For Frankl, attitude was not a shortcut to happiness or material prosperity, but a form of resistance and an expression of power over an oppressor. It was a way to maintain dignity in the face of dehumanisation. His message was not about pretending things are okay, but about facing reality with courage and integrity.

This contrasts with James Allen’s 1903 As a Man Thinketh, often credited with laying the foundation for mindset-focused personal development and the Law of Attraction. Allen writes:
“All that a man achieves and all that he fails to achieve is the direct result of his own thoughts.”
“Suffering is always the effect of wrong thought.”

These statements are not just simplistic. They can be dangerous. They suggest that all suffering is self-inflicted, that illness, grief, or injustice are failures in a person’s thinking. This mindset promotes shame and silence. Far from being a response to an oppressive power, it becomes an oppressive force. It encourages people to internalise systemic issues and to blame themselves for pain that is often out of their control.

Frankl offers a different path. He did not believe that the mind creates suffering. He believed that suffering is a real part of life. In one of his stories, he counsels a man grieving the loss of his wife. Instead of offering platitudes, Frankl invites the man to see the pain as a reflection of deep love. The meaning was not imposed from outside. It emerged from the man’s own experience. The grief was real, and so was the love that gave rise to it.

Meaning, in Frankl’s work, is not about positive thinking. It is about finding light in dark places. And when suffering is avoidable, the most meaningful response is to change its cause, not to accept or reframe it. This perspective is far more compassionate and responsible than the toxic positivity that dominates much of modern self-help culture.

The Black Mirror episode, Nosedive speaks to this. The protagonist, Lacie, lives in a world where everyone rates each other’s behaviour in real time. Life becomes a game of masking and performance. But after a series of events, her social rating plummets, and she ends up in a jail cell. It looks like she has lost everything, but for the first time, she is free. Free from the endless can of achievement society. Liberated from the permanent loop of self-correction and optimisation.

This post elaborates on the ‘moral sensitivity’ section of The HSP Owner’s Guide.

Have you ever felt like you’re carrying the weight of the world’s wrongs inside your body? You may feel torn between staying true to your values and going along with what is considered “normal”?

For many Highly sensitive people (HSPs), this quiet inner tension is familiar. Sensory processing sensitivity often comes with an instinctive concern for fairness, justice, and the well-being of the world around us. This moral sensitivity is woven into how many HSPs notice, feel, and respond.

Alongside this internal compass, many HSPs naturally hold strong values that influence how they interact with life. This can fuel a desire for harmony and social cohesion, while also heightening their awareness of injustice or harm. Their choices are often guided by the impact on others, including people, animals, and the environment.

Every HSP is different. Our beliefs naturally vary. We do not all approach, value, or hold things with the same convictions. But there are characteristics and patterns that are common for many HSPs.

While moral clarity can be an anchor, holding too tightly to rigid expectations often leads to disappointment, resentment, or burnout. It can help to remember that most decisions and situations exist in shades of grey.

Being attuned to injustice can take an emotional toll, especially when exposed to distressing news, conversations, or environments that feel out of alignment with core values. Use creativity to process situations.

A creative practice can help you explore your thoughts and develop a positive approach to addressing and responding to things like injustice. This also provides options for action. Whether you want to make art, take direct action, or let go, when you know that there is nothing more you can personally do.

It is easy for highly sensitive people to feel responsible for solving every moral issue they encounter, but this can quickly lead to overwhelm or compassion fatigue. Recognising and accepting that no single person can solve every problem is essential for long-term well-being. Many HSPs benefit from focusing their energy on causes, relationships, or actions where their input feels both meaningful and sustainable. This is instead of trying to carry the weight of the world.

As Dorcus Cheng-Tozen writes in Social Justice for the Sensitive Soul, not everyone responds in the same way. Working toward a fairer, more just world is not a one-size-fits-all process. It calls for each of us to be who we are rather than trying to force ourselves into unsustainable boxes we don’t need to fit into.

Moral sensitivity can sometimes feel isolating, especially if others dismiss it as unnecessary or excessive. Connecting with others who share a similar perspective on the world can help reduce feelings of alienation and loneliness. This is especially true when you don’t have to explain yourself or feel defensive about the things you naturally care about.

Moral sensitivity is neither a flaw nor a superpower. It is simply one way many highly sensitive people process and engage with the world around them. For some, it can deepen relationships and decision-making. For others, it may feel like a heavy weight to carry.

The key lies in self-awareness, recognising when this sensitivity is guiding you toward meaningful action. Additionally, it is essential to recognise when it may be beneficial to cultivate patience, gentleness, or compassion with yourself and those around you.

What impact does sensitivity to moral and ethical issues have on your approach to decisions and the things you care about? Does any of this resonate with your experiences? Drop a message or leave a comment on YouTube.

Some tools are built to help us grow; to learn, connect, or reach meaningful goals. But eventually, we might ask: are these tools still working for us, or have they hooked us and quietly turned us into their tool?

This question has been on my mind since I started using Duolingo seventy-six days ago. I had just returned from a trip to Finland and wanted to keep learning a bit of Finnish: nothing too intense, just some gentle exposure to the language each day. From what others had said, Duolingo seemed like the ideal tool.

I started on the free version. It offered just enough. However, I was soon being nudged constantly toward the premium upgrade. Eventually, I gave in and accepted the offer of a 7-day trial. Before I knew it, £68.99 was taken from my account. Dagh! I had forgotten to cancel in time. That was frustrating. But what I noticed next was fascinating.

Over time, I realised I was no longer using Duolingo to expand my learning outside of the app. I was using it to keep my streak alive inside it.

It works. And it works well. But it also works against us (and our bigger picture aspirations).

This shift in behaviour mirrors the “Hook Model” described by Nir Eyal in his book Hooked, which outlines how habit-forming products are designed to draw us in and keep us there.

This system is incredibly effective at building engagement, but it often does so by subtly shifting our focus from what we originally cared about to what keeps the platform profitable.

What starts as a helpful tool can morph into a system that prioritises retention over transformation.

Only 0.1% of Duolingo users ever complete a full course. That isn’t a design flaw; it’s the business model. The goal is not to help us complete something, but to keep us inside the ecosystem.

Duolingo began nudging me toward other courses I hadn’t asked for. Music theory. Chess. It was no longer about Finnish. It was about keeping me engaged, clicking, and coming back.

This is when a tool becomes a trap, not because it stops working, but because it starts working too well at the wrong thing (keeping us engaged).

This isn’t just about language apps. It’s about how many of our digital experiences are shaped by systems designed to extract our wealth and capture our attention, energy, and even our identity.

In Punished by Rewards, Alfie Kohn warns that external motivators like badges, praise, or pizza vouchers for reading not only influence behaviour but also diminish it. Over time, we stop asking “Why do I care about this?” and instead ask “What do I get for it?”

In The Burnout Society, philosopher Byung-Chul Han argues that we have shifted from a culture of external discipline to one of internalised self-optimisation. We no longer rely on a manager or teacher to pressure us; instead, we pressure ourselves. Rest is viewed as a failure. Play is considered wasted time. Self-worth is now linked to productivity.

Apps like Duolingo thrive in this cultural moment. They don’t just support our goals; they reshape them. We start wanting to learn a language and end up wanting to maintain a streak. What once felt like growth begins to feel like a contract we’re stuck in.

Good tools (as well as teachers, programs, coaches, therapists, etc) should be like solid rocket boosters: they help us launch, but they’re meant to fall away once we’ve reached a certain point.

The presence of a badge, a streak, or a cheer from a virtual friend shouldn’t be the thing keeping us there. There must be something more intrinsically motivating.

It’s difficult to walk away from something we’ve invested in, especially when it gave us value at some point. But growth often requires us to assess whether something useful has now become a hindrance.

Letting go of the streak, app, system, or partnership can seem like failure. If it feels that way, it might be a sign that it’s got other interests at heart. So, letting go might be an act of gentle rebellious liberation.

Just because something “works” doesn’t mean it’s working for us.

Many of the platforms we use today were born out of a positive vision: to help us learn, connect, and form habits. But in a system that prioritises engagement and monetisation, that original purpose often becomes secondary.

When we start to notice what’s holding us involved, and why, we create room to choose differently.

We can honour the tools that helped us without becoming dependent on them. We can jettison what no longer serves us. And we can return to a way of learning, creating, and growing that is rooted in meaning, not metrics.

Maybe it starts with a simple act: letting the streak die.

It took from Thursday to Monday to finally kill my streak – without consent, I received streak freezes and gifts to keep it going. It was interesting to see how hard it was in the end and how desperately Duolingo wanted me to maintain that investment.

“Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves with your name and something interesting about you”. Does that icebreaker moment fill you with joy?

If not, you’re not alone.

But is it simply a matter of preferences, or are there deeper processes at play when it comes to disliking icebreaker activities? That’s what we explore in this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast.

High sensitivity is a term used to describe the scientifically recognised trait known as sensory processing sensitivity. It’s not a disorder, but a biological trait found in around 20-30% of the population. Highly sensitive people have more finely tuned nervous systems that absorb and process sensory and emotional input more deeply.

More sensitive nervous systems naturally absorb larger volumes of environmental data and process it deeply. This means HSPs (those who score higher for sensitivity along a universal continuum), are more sensitive to social nuances and more susceptible to the effects of social stimulation. They may need time to pause and calibrate when entering unfamiliar environments and meeting new people.

This episode builds on the previous one about “social sensitivity“.

I use the metaphor of making, breaking, and melting ice to frame what happens in social settings:

Icebreaker: What’s the most horrific icebreaker you’ve ever had to do? (I would love to know!)

Icebreaker activities are intended to reduce tension and help people connect quickly. But there may be times when, for HSPs, they have the opposite effect. Instead of inviting a sense of warm welcome, they can put the nervous system on the defence, unnecessarily using up energy and inner resources. This is especially true when we’re asked to perform, share personal details, or think on the spot.

In the episode, I share a few stories (including one from my time as an undertaker) that highlight this tension, and explore how the expectation to “come out of our shell” can become a subtle form of social pressure.

Many highly sensitive people need time to pause and check before jumping into social interaction. This isn’t about fear or social anxiety — it’s a natural regulation strategy that helps us process our surroundings and determine if it’s safe to engage.

When that pause is misinterpreted as shyness or resistance, we can feel judged or pushed to open up before we’re ready. Over time, this can reinforce feelings of shame or self-doubt in social settings.

There is a difference between disclosure and trust. Jumping into “fun facts” can leave us feeling exposed rather than connected. This may linger in the nervous system through regret and shame.

We’re not just here to dunk on icebreakers though. I also offer some reflections on what helps melt the ice more gently for HSPs, including:

These insights are especially useful if you’re designing group sessions, facilitating meetings, or simply want to understand how to support the sensitive people in your life.

Join the conversation inside The Haven, our community of highly sensitive people, deep thinkers, and other gentle rebels. Or drop me a message.

Have you ever been in a room and sensed social dynamics beneath the surface before a word was spoken? Perhaps you’ve noticed (consciously or unconsciously) a subtle glance, a shift in posture, or a hint of tension between the lines. If so, you’re not alone. This kind of social sensitivity is part of being a highly sensitive person (HSP).

This episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast is the first in a series that will explore the social dimensions of sensory processing sensitivity, the biological trait underlying high sensitivity. I’ll be drawing on ideas from The HSP Owner’s Guide, a mini-zine resource I created with Tuula, which is designed to help HSPs explore and discuss sensitivity as a normal aspect of being human.

Social sensitivity refers to how highly sensitive individuals perceive and respond to emotional cues, interpersonal dynamics, and the tone of their environment. It’s not a learned skill or a conscious choice; it’s a normal variation in biological traits.

More sensitive nervous systems naturally absorb larger volumes of environmental data and process it deeply. This means HSPs (those who score higher for sensitivity along a universal continuum), are more sensitive to social nuances and more susceptible to the effects of social stimulation.

SPS is a trait found in 20–30% of the population (not just humans). It means that some are biologically wired to process more sensory input around us (environment), within us (internal), and between us (social). This trait can make someone more emotionally responsive, detail-aware, and easily overstimulated.

Despite stereotypes and associations with the term, it’s not often easy to tell a highly sensitive person by looking at them. You might even look calm and collected on the outside when your system is working overtime beneath the surface.

The nervous system informs thoughts and feelings in response to a perception of safety or danger from cues and triggers. The way we interpret social data isn’t always “objectively true”, particularly if we grew up in unpredictable or critical environments. This pattern recognition can shape how we experience social settings well into adulthood.

That’s why intuition can be both a strength and a vulnerability for sensitive people. It’s wise to ask: Is this gut feeling rooted in the present, or the past?

More sensitive individuals might be attuned to micro-expressions, body language, tone changes, and subtle group dynamics. This can give them a natural ability to “read the room,” but it can also lead to emotional absorption and a tendency to take responsibility for others’ discomfort.

Not every HSP reacts the same way. Some feel compelled to help, others want to escape the weight of unspoken tensions. Personality, personal history, and social roles all play a part.

Many highly sensitive people feel others’ emotions deeply. This allows for strong empathy and attunement, but also risks emotional contagion—carrying other people’s emotional weight without realising it.

Brain studies suggest that those on the more sensitive end exhibit increased activity in areas associated with emotional processing. But this doesn’t mean you’re doomed to feel overwhelmed by uncontrollable sources of emotion. With awareness and practice, it’s possible to separate your emotions from those of others and develop healthy emotional boundaries.

HSPs might be particularly attuned to signs of rejection or disapproval, whether real or imagined. Some develop habits of withdrawing or masking to avoid being perceived as “too much” or “too sensitive.” I’ve noticed a few people suddenly and unexpectedly leave the Haven community after becoming more deeply involved socially. I wonder if this arises from the uncertainty of finding people who “get” and accept them. This sense of safety can feel jarring to a nervous system that has developed patterns of protection to remain hidden in the background.

This response often starts early, especially if sensitivity was criticised or misunderstood. However, the good news is that it can change. When HSPs are met with consistent emotional safety and acceptance, those old protective patterns can start to soften. That’s one reason I hope places like The Haven can feel like safe homes people can return to, even after a sudden exit (or several).

HSPs might seek to avoid conflict, not because they’re passive, but because their nervous system registers relational tension as a source of danger. This can lead to withdrawing or over-accommodating, but it can also lead to creative problem-solving that helps groups navigate conflict with care and compassion.

Understanding these nuances is key. We don’t all respond the same way. Some step in to soothe, while others step back to protect themselves.

Sensitivity is not static. It’s a relational trait that’s shaped by context. The same person who feels shut down in one group can feel vibrant and confident in another.

In critical or chaotic environments, HSPs might shrink. In a nurturing one, they can flourish. That’s why sensitivity is best understood as a dynamic interaction between biology and the environment, rather than a deterministic trait or fixed limitation.

Social sensitivity shapes how your nervous system responds to people and environments. You might:

None of this is wrong—it’s simply how your system interacts with the world. For example, I often need a day to recover from a socially stimulating event, especially if I didn’t sleep well afterwards from all the internal replaying.

Sensitivity is often framed as either a weakness or a gift. But the reality is more nuanced. It’s a neutral trait that belongs to a spectrum we are all on.

In cultures that value pace and emotional restraint, sensitivity can be perceived as a liability. But in communities that value presence and nuance, it becomes a strength. This concept lies at the heart of the differential susceptibility theory, which posits that the more sensitive a person is, the greater the impact the environment has on them, for better or worse.

So, how do we move forward with social sensitivity as highly sensitive people?

We might begin by stepping away from extremes. You don’t need to deny your sensitivity—or make it your entire identity. Instead, build a gentler relationship with it. Explore how your system responds to various settings. Notice which relationships feel nourishing and which ones leave you depleted.

Sensitivity isn’t a performance. Embracing sensitivity is not about being the most empathic or insightful person in the room. It’s about allowing it to rise up in each of us so it becomes a collective strength we can make the most of and enjoy together.

I’d love to hear what this episode brings up for you. Are any of the elements I discuss familiar to you?

It has been said that “Creativity is the art of concealing your sources.” But what does that mean? Is it about passing off other people’s work as your own? Or is it less about copying influences and more about concealing them like seeds in the soil?

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we explore what this looks like and consider the impact on our natural creative spirit when we do (or don’t) conceal our sources in healthy ways.

The randomiser prompt wheel selected this phrase for me on Tuesday ahead of our Serenity Island Picnic. I’ll be honest, when I first saw “Creativity is the art of concealing your sources”, I was tempted to spin again. But, I gave it a go and found a few interesting threads to pull at.

Concealing our sources about misleading or deceiving. It’s about letting inspiration settle deep enough that it becomes more than it is. Like planting a seed. We don’t bury seeds to hide them; we bury them so they can grow. Our influences need space, time, and darkness to take root and become unique to us.

This applies not just to creative work, but to life itself.

Sometimes, a source casts a heavy shadow. I remember when I started writing songs and held everything up to my Thom Yorke-ometer. I compared what I created with what I believed Radiohead would produce, ignoring the other sounds and voices that wanted to be involved. This had an impact on my creative freedom until I let go of the desire to emulate the music I loved, capturing instead what truly inspired me about the band.

The word “conceal” can sound suspicious, like trickery or withholding. But it can also be a positive source of protection and consent. Sometimes we need to conceal our sources from those who want to steal, exploit, or imitate without effort. Or those who want more information than we are comfortable or willing to share.

We also sometimes need to conceal our sources from ourselves, especially when they become yardsticks for comparison and judgement. When a parent, mentor, or idol takes up too much space in our heads, our actions can become reactions. Instead of creating from a place of freedom, we’re trying to impress, appease, or prove something.

At the beginning of Meditations, Marcus Aurelius devotes an entire section to acknowledging how family members, teachers, and the gods (both directly and indirectly) shaped his character, values, and worldview. For example, honesty from his father, humility from his mentor, resilience from hardship, etc. This collection starts on a platform that essentially rejects the romaticised idea we often hear about today with people described as “self-made”.

I thought about the deep processing a highly sensitive person does and the impact of SO many things on influencing who and how we become.

Each of us has a creative lineage/heritage. We are shaped by countless sources—people, experiences, stories, relationships, and chance encounters. Some sources give us strength, others weigh us down with expectations and demands.

Some we learn directly from (we receive wisdom from the example they set). Others we learn indirectly from (we are invited to grow in response to the example they set). We are all a messy mix. And while we are infused by them, we are not defined by them.

Here are some reflection questions we used in our Serenity Island picnic earlier this week.

These are the questions we explored together at the Serenity Island Picnic. Learn more about the course here.

Creativity isn’t about pretending we’re original. It’s about transformation. It’s about letting sources become part of our soil, rather than dragging them around like monuments we have to live up to.

Let them settle, shape, and grow.

If this stirred something in you and you want to explore ideas like this more deeply, you’re welcome to join us inside The Haven community. Already a member? Read what others are saying here.

What do you think of when you hear the words A Still Life?

A bowl of fruit? A serene person, undisturbed by the world’s noise. Stagnation and stuckness. The quiet, hope-filled whisper that reminds you that no matter how it feels or where you are right now, you still have life within you. Another chapter waiting to be written.

We’ve been reading Josie George’s memoir, A Still Life, in The Haven book club. After Josie joined us at last weekend’s discussion, I’ve been reflecting on the meaning of stillness and its many forms and flavours. It’s a fascinating word to think about!

In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we explore the layers of stillness in the book. From the stifling slowness imposed by illness or circumstance, to the deep, peaceful resilience that absorbs life’s ripples without breaking. Stillness can be a captured moment in art, a book, or a song. It’s a framed snapshot in time.

There’s an old proverb: “Shallow rivers are noisy. Deep lakes are silent.” I recently heard a deep lake that was anything but silent but 🤫, I’ll try not to undermine the metapho!) Here’s that noisy lake if you’re interested.

A noisy life might be shallow, and a shallow life can be noisy. Distractions bombard us. A flow of news to react to, unexpected notifications, and endless demands sweep us downriver without control. But stillness isn’t just about silence. It can also be unwanted: feeling stuck in the reeds, thrashing against stagnation, longing to move but unable to for various reasons.

Josie’s memoir sits at this intersection. Her “still life” is informed by a chronic, mysterious illness that requires daily rest to stay near “any kind of wellness.” Yet her story isn’t about overcoming this adversity. The obstacle isn’t the way. The obstacle is an obstacle. And yet, Josie finds ways to live despite it.

Most personal development books follow a formula:

Josie’s book gently subverts that framework. There’s no cure, no tidy resolution or subversive workaround. Instead, it is a poetic, honest snapshot of a life filled with pain, joy, and quiet connection. It doesn’t tell readers how to feel or what to think. Instead, it invites us to rest in her perspective, to witness her seasons and spirals.

“A book can sit on your shelf, unread, underestimated for years, and when you finally pick it up, you find it changes you. It was always going to, one day. You can live with yourself in much the same way.”

This idea resonates deeply. How many unread books (proverbial or otherwise) await the right moment to transform us? We can’t force them, but we can wait.

One passage from the book struck a bunch of us in the book club:

“Either I believe that illness, pain, and our naturally chaotic minds are something undesirable and shameful—and so hide myself—or I don’t. And oh God, I don’t. If I don’t, then I have to start being braver with my visibility and my truth.

Truth, in this sense, doesn’t stay still. It shifts as we grow, and so do the stories we tell about ourselves. Not because the stories change, but because we do.

“Being someone who rests in a world that glorifies work above all else, is to be an alien among your own kind.”

Josie’s stillness is a gentle rebellion. Despite many systemic barriers, it’s a commitment to joy, curiosity, and creativity. She doesn’t spin pain into a “gift” or preach toxic positivity. Instead, she offers this metaphor:

“I am not the weather. I am the wide and open sky, and so I can let pain move through me and out of me.”

We are not our struggles, our successes, or our failures. We are the sky. The witness behind and beneath those thoughts, feelings, and events that move through us.

A Still Life is a beautiful example of how creativity helps us re-enter our stories. Writing, art, or music allows us to look at the past with new eyes, to prepare the soil for new growth. Healing past wounds isn’t a linear process to be forced or rushed; it’s seasonal, cyclical. As Josie shows, a creative practice gives us room to:

A Still Life isn’t a guidebook or blueprint to follow. It’s an invitation to see differently. To gently rebel against a world that prizes motion, hustle, productivity, and restless action over wellbeing. Josie’s stillness is both a necessity and a choice, a way to “leave a gap” for attention, love, and possibility.

The task is simple…

“Pay attention, be brave, see the truth, write it down. That will always be enough.”

Follow Josie Down The Rabbit Hole: https://linktr.ee/wonderlandletters

If you’re a member, you can join the conversation about the book in the forum.

This post elaborates on the sensitivity research section of The HSP Owner’s Guide.

Differential susceptibility is a key concept in high-sensitivity research. In simple terms, it means that the more sensitive you are, the more your environment impacts you. As a highly sensitive person (HSP), you might notice that some people thrive in situations where you feel discombobulated. Conversely, when conditions feel right, you may experience more intense joy, connection, and growth than others.

It’s the idea that some people are more responsive to their environment—for better or worse. For HSPs, this heightened responsiveness is a defining trait linked to their depth of processing, shaping how they experience life. However, it’s important to remember that not all HSPs are the same. Sensitivity is just one part of who we are, and how we respond to our environments can vary widely.

Differential susceptibility means that the more sensitive someone is, the more influence their environment has on them. We might think of it like a spectrum of responsiveness. On one end, some people are like sturdy structures, able to adapt to a wide range of conditions without much change. On the other hand, many HSPs are finely tuned instruments that process their environment in depth. This can allow them to thrive in supportive settings but may also make them more vulnerable in harsh ones.

For many HSPs, this means they are deeply affected by their upbringing, current environment, and the people around them. In favourable conditions, they may flourish more intensely than others, finding creative flow, experiencing strong empathy, and having deep insights. In unfavourable conditions, they might struggle more than others, feeling overstimulated or drained, unable to utilise the and share the fruits of their high sensitivity.

This heightened responsiveness isn’t a weakness—it’s a unique way of engaging with the world that comes with challenges and strengths. That said, again to reiterate, not all HSPs will respond the same way. Sensitivity interacts with other aspects of personality, life experiences, and individual differences.

Differential susceptibility shows up in tangible ways for many HSPs. Here’s how it might play out: maybe you recognise your own experiences in these examples:

Supportive Upbringing: If an HSP grows up in a nurturing environment (where their sensitivity is understood and valued) they are more likely to develop strong emotional intelligence, creativity, and resilience.

Challenging Upbringing: If an HSP grows up in a less supportive environment (where their sensitivity was dismissed or criticised), they might have learned to hide their true self, leading to feelings of disconnection or self-doubt.

For example, imagine an HSP who grew up in a chaotic and unpredictable household. If there is constant noise or tension, that person’s nervous system is more likely to be dysregulated, overstimulated and seeking safety from unsafe sources. They may assume the “tiny adult” role, feeling responsible for trying to keep the environment ‘in balance’ by fawning, people pleasing, monitoring moods (over empathy). But if that same HSP had grown up in a calm, supportive home, they might have thrived, using their sensitivity to connect deeply with others and appreciate life’s beauty.

Favourable Conditions: When HSPs are in environments that honour their sensitivity, such as a peaceful home, a supportive workplace, or a close-knit community, they often bring incredible strengths. They may notice what others miss, create spaces of warmth and connection, and approach challenges creatively and empathetically.

Unfavourable Conditions: In overwhelming or unsupportive environments, like a stressful job, a toxic family, or a sensory-heavy space, HSPs may struggle. They might feel drained, overstimulated, or unable to express themselves fully. This can lead to burnout.

For example, picture an HSP working in a fast-paced, noisy office. The constant buzz that others overlook might leave them exhausted and unable to focus. However, if the same HSP performs the same job in a calm, flexible environment, they may shine, bringing thoughtful ideas and a deep sense of care to their work.

When HSPs are in environments that support their sensitivity, they often bring unique gifts:

What happens when HSPs are in environments that don’t support their sensitivity?

Empathy:
HSPs might feel overwhelmed by others’ emotions, absorbing stress or negativity. This can lead to emotional exhaustion or withdrawal.
Example: In a toxic workplace or social situations, an HSP might avoid interacting with others to cope with constant conflict.

Overthinking or Paralysis:
Their ability to notice subtleties can turn into overanalysing, making decisions or taking action difficult.
Example: An HSP on a high-pressure project might procrastinate, worried about mistakes or others’ opinions.

People-Pleasing or Avoidance:
Their desire to create harmony can lead to prioritising others’ needs over their own or avoiding leadership roles to escape stress.
Example: An HSP leader might say yes to every request, risking burnout to avoid disappointing others.

Sensitivity to Chaos:
Their appreciation for beauty can make them deeply unsettled by clutter, noise, or negativity, disrupting focus and peace.
Example: An HSP in a noisy, cluttered space might feel on edge, struggling to relax or concentrate.

If you’re an HSP who grew up in less favourable conditions, it’s never too late to create an environment that honours your sensitivity. This isn’t about adding more to your plate or forcing yourself to change. It’s about gently exploring what helps you feel safe, seen, and supported. Here are some ways to begin:

Differential susceptibility isn’t about being “too sensitive”; it’s about the relationship we share with the world within, around, and between us. It offers a unique opportunity to enhance our experience of life and thrive in ways that others might not. Naturally, the flipside of this is that difficult environments can leave us struggling. However, with a bit of awareness to recognise our needs and the people around us who understand us, we can create lives that truly support and sustain us.

What about you? Have you noticed how your environment affects you? Can you think of an environment or aspect of life where your sensitivity feels like a hindrance at the moment?