If you’ve ever been told you’re “too sensitive,” here’s a reframe I use with clients all the time: sensitivity is often the scar tissue of an early life spent on high alert.

When you grow up faster than you should—taking care of siblings, managing a parent’s moods, or simply learning there wasn’t much room for your feelings—your nervous system gets good at picking up what other people miss. You notice tone shifts. You feel the energy in a room change before anyone says a word.

That isn’t overreaction; that’s adaptation.

Below are six patterns I see again and again in my counseling practice and in my own life. If they sound familiar, it’s not proof that you’re “too much.” It’s proof that you coped the best way you knew how.

1. You people-please before there’s even a problem

Quick question: do you hear yourself agreeing, smoothing, apologizing…before anything has actually gone wrong?

That’s a classic appease-and-prevent strategy you may have learned young. If the adults around you were unpredictable or quick to anger, “being good” wasn’t about virtue—it was about safety. In adulthood it shows up as reflexive yeses, taking responsibility for others’ feelings, and putting your needs last.

The folks at Choosing Therapy stand behind this, noting that “fawning” is a trauma response where people default to pleasing or placating to keep the peace and reduce the risk of harm. They describe how this pattern can look like over-compliance and difficulty stating preferences—especially if conflict once felt dangerous.

The pros over at Verywell Mind back this up, saying that fawning often stems from abusive or unsafe dynamics and can make it hard to set boundaries or even name what you want.

If that’s you, nothing is “wrong” with you—you learned to survive. Now you get to learn to choose.

2. You scan the room like a weather radar

Maybe you walk into a meeting and instantly know who’s tense, who’s tuned out, and who needs a check-in. You notice raised eyebrows, clipped replies, the way someone’s shoulders are set.

That’s not drama. That’s hyper-attunement—an earned sensitivity developed in unpredictable homes. You learned early that your safety depended on reading micro-cues. As an adult, that vigilance can turn into exhaustion, decision paralysis, or trouble relaxing even in calm situations.

When clients tell me, “I can’t turn it off,” I normalize it first. Of course you can’t. Your system has been practicing this for years. Then we build a dial, not a switch: breath work, body scans, and setting time-bound “check-in windows” so you’re not monitoring 24/7.

3. You carry more responsibility than is actually yours

Were you the child who remembered the permission slips, calmed the fighting, or kept an eye on a parent’s mood?

If so, adult-you may feel guilty when you’re not fixing something. You might over-function at work and in relationships, or feel like resting equals failing.

This often traces back to what therapists call parentification—when a child has to take on adult roles too soon. If that was your childhood, of course you grew a strong sense of duty and a low tolerance for chaos. That responsibility protected you then; today it may be weighing you down.

Try this reframe when guilt hits: “What’s mine, what’s yours, what’s ours?” It gently separates real responsibility from inherited anxiety.

4. You apologize for having needs—or you can’t find them at all

If your feelings were dismissed growing up, it makes sense that today your emotions feel “too big,” “too much,” or even embarrassing.

Many of the adults I work with say things like, “It’s stupid, but I’m upset,” or “I know I shouldn’t feel this way.”

The pros over at Healthline have highlighted that childhood emotional neglect teaches kids their feelings don’t matter. In adulthood, that can show up as difficulty identifying emotions, a sense of numbness, or shame around asking for support.

One tiny practice I love: switch “I shouldn’t feel” to “I notice I feel.” It moves you from judgment to curiosity. The feeling doesn’t have to be “right” to be real.

5. Your boundaries are blurry because safety once meant being agreeable

When keeping the peace used to equal staying safe, saying no can feel like stepping off a cliff.

You might agree to plans you dread, take on tasks you don’t have capacity for, or soften language until it’s so gentle it’s vague.

Brené Brown has a line I return to often: “Clear is kind.” It’s a reminder that kindness without clarity confuses people—and burns you out. Boundary-setting is not a punishment; it’s a map for closeness.

Try the formula: “I can do X; I’m not able to do Y.” Simple, steady, and true.

And if your voice shakes? That’s okay. Courage isn’t calm—it’s commitment.

6. Rest, play, and joy feel…unsafe

Be honest: do you feel restless on vacation? Do you tidy the house instead of watch the movie? Do you fill silence with tasks?

Productivity can be a very respectable hiding place when stillness once gave your nervous system too much room to worry. But play is not a luxury—it’s nervous-system medicine. When we practice safe joy, we widen the window of tolerance so everyday feelings don’t feel like tidal waves.

Verywell Mind has pointed out that the after-effects of emotional neglect can include difficulty processing emotions and a default to numbing or over-functioning. Relearning rest and pleasure is part of healing, not a detour from it.

Start small: ten minutes with your phone in another room, or a “no-shoulds” Saturday morning. Think of it as physical therapy for your capacity to feel good.

Final thoughts

Maya Angelou once wrote, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” That’s the heart of this work.

You developed brilliant survival skills—sensitivity, attunement, responsibility—because you had to.

Now you get to keep what serves you and retire what exhausts you.

If any of this brought up a lump in your throat, you’re not alone. You might have read my post on making and keeping healthy boundaries; it pairs nicely with this one.

And if these patterns feel entrenched, a trauma-informed therapist can walk beside you as you practice new ways of being—the crew at Choosing Therapy has a helpful explainer on the fawn response and paths forward if you want a place to start.