Author Willow Martin shares what it’s like to feel ‘Too Much’
Image courtesy of Netflix
Too sensitive, highly sensitive or emotionally different in an emotionally avoidant generational culture?
Call it too sensitive - I call it being awake.
"Too much."
"Too affectionate."
"Drama queen."
"Overbearing."
I've heard variations of these words for as long as I can remember. Not always with cruelty-sometimes just as a casual observation-but they always seemed to suggest the same thing: that my way of feeling, caring, and expressing was somehow inconvenient, something to manage or mute.
As a child, I was incredibly sensitive. Easily upset, deeply affected by the smallest shifts in tone or atmosphere. I would retreat to my quiet corners, spending hours caring for dolls, talking on the phone to my mum or my grandma-the two people I felt safest with. I think that image still captures so much of who I am. There was a sweetness in that stillness, in that early emotional world I lived in. It felt like home.
I only really began to emerge from that protective shell when my best friend joined my school. That friendship was like sunlight cracking through a closed window, and to this day, we're still close. It's a rare and grounding connection, the kind that reminds me I'm not too much-I'm just myself, and that's enough.
But outside of those safe spaces, being someone who feels deeply hasn't always been easy.
There's something about being openly emotional that seems to make people uncomfortable-especially men, in my experience. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's the generational "stiff upper lip" mentality, or maybe it's a broader cultural discomfort with vulnerability.
But I often find myself shrinking in emotional spaces, trying not to be "too intense," trying not to overwhelm.
Relationships, in particular, have been challenging. I've been told I'm "too affectionate," which left me genuinely confused. Isn't that what people want? To be cared for, deeply and sincerely? I've always believed love-romantic or platonic-should be expressed, not rationed. But apparently, for some, my kind of affection feels like too much.
The hardest part is not the rejection itself, but what it stirs in me afterward. I begin to question my worth, wondering if my sensitivity is something that disqualifies me from being loved the way I love others. That thought lingers longer than I'd like to admit.
The truth is: I fall in love easily. Not just in the romantic sense-though that happens too-but platonically, imaginatively, even momentarily. I see someone's vulnerability or warmth or awkwardness and something in me reaches toward it. I get attached quickly. I find beauty in people almost too easily.
This quality can make life a little messy, especially when others aren't moving at the same emotional pace. But I've started to believe that it's also a kind of magic. Because even though it leaves me open to heartache, it also opens me up to connection, beauty, and depth that I wouldn't trade for anything.
There's a kind of ache to loving this way, but there's also immense hope. I'm writing this because I believe, when I meet the right person-someone who doesn't flinch at feelings, who doesn't shrink from sensitivity-this part of me will finally feel like a gift instead of a burden. That hasn't happened yet. But I know it will.
We live in a time where emotional numbness is often mistaken for strength. Hyper-masculinity, emotional avoidance, and performative detachment seem to dominate the cultural tone. And in the middle of all that, those of us who feel deeply are often labeled as fragile.
But maybe we're not fragile. Maybe we're just living honestly in a world that encourages us not to.
I used to think I needed to change-to tone myself down, to love less loudly. But now I'm learning to embrace my softness as a form of quiet resistance. I may be "too much" for some people, but I'm not too much for the right ones.
And maybe, just maybe, there's someone else out there who feels like they love too hard, care too easily, and have been told they should grow out of their sensitivity.
If that's you: don't. There's nothing wrong with the way you feel. You're just waiting for the ones who see it as beautiful too.
Willow Martin
Poet and Author
Willow Martin is a poet and author based in Cornwall, UK. Her work explores themes of emotional healing and personal growth, offering a reflective and nurturing perspective on the journey of transformation.