One HSP is not like the other. Let’s start there. Some are introverted, others extraverted, and then there are the HSS-types: people who get overstimulated but also constantly seek new stimulation. Exhausting combination, I think, honestly. So I’m a ‘normally’ HSP. No extras.
I’m not really into labels, but at some point it was comforting to have some kind of explanation for why I’m so sensitive to noise, atmosphere, and group dynamics. Especially group dynamics. Do I belong here? Is everyone okay? Did I say something weird? Fun.
Whether it comes from childhood stuff, I don’t know. That probably didn’t help. But I’ve known since I was young that friendships, groups, and “fitting in” never felt effortless to me.
Alone or together?
That’s the big theme for me. Being alone is wonderful. Until it suddenly isn’t.
I’ve tried almost everything: solo trips, spiritual retreats, cultural group holidays, cruises, rental houses, camper vans. I actually loved the camper van. My partner… not so much. He doesn’t really enjoy vacations anyway, so it makes sense that I often travel alone.
When I was 29, I spent six months traveling through Asia. I left with someone I knew, lost him somewhere between two different routes, and continued solo for months. Incredible experience. Until eventually I got tired of living at the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs:
Where do I sleep?
Where do I eat?
Where do I sleep tomorrow?
Repeat.
Finding balance
So this time I consciously chose a middle ground. Not spending all my time in the writers’ villa in Limnisa, but working during the day in my own studio within walking distance. I’m sitting here now on a huge terrace overlooking the sea. Truly beautiful.
And still I hear:
a saw,
a scooter,
people talking downstairs,
a ferry in the distance,
an airplane overhead.
Even in quiet places, the world keeps making noise. Annoying, really.
Yesterday during a conversation someone mentioned the term radical acceptance. Apparently it’s an actual therapy concept. It basically means: stop fighting reality.
Not exactly my natural talent.
My preferred coping strategy is usually:
leave.
Reply later.
Be alone for a while.
Close the door.
See you tomorrow.
And honestly? Sometimes that’s the smartest thing to do.
But the moment I retreat, her annoying little sister shows up immediately: FOMO.
FOMO
Because while I’m peacefully writing by myself, I’m also thinking:
Are they missing me?
Did everyone make plans?
Did I miss something?
Apparently yes. Dolphins had been spotted nearby.
Food also plays a role. At retreats, social life surprisingly revolves around meals. Not joining usually means eating alone. And eating together is simply more fun.
At the table, little group dynamics naturally appear. Some people connect effortlessly, others sort of float around the edges. Informal leaders. Instant clicky groups. People who take up space without even noticing.
I notice everything. That’s the whole problem.
On the first day I was already crying. Travel stress, expectations, social tension, exhaustion. The classic recipe.
And immediately I think:
Get a grip.
You’re an adult.
But emotions rarely care about logic.
Steadiness
I’m currently reading a book by a Danish author about steadiness and stoicism. His point is that feelings and intuition are not always the reliable inner guides we like to believe they are.
Lovely news.
Because what even is intuition? And what is fear? When is something a signal, and when is it simply an exhausted nervous system turning everything into danger?
Honestly, I often don’t know.
So I do what I usually do:
write,
think,
feel a little,
walk away,
come back,
and hope that somewhere along the way, something resembling peace appears.
Does anyone recognize this?