Welcome to The Weekend Edit, a Saturday ritual from The Good Trade featuring our top 10 reads of the week and a note from one of our editors.
Springtime blooms in my new neighborhood to soothe the soul.
I’ve come to understand that I’m a highly sensitive person, deeply impacted by the world around me. About 20% of people test as highly sensitive (here’s a self-test if you’re curious), though I suspect the percentage among our readers is much higher, as is true for our team.
I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, but I think it was deepened early on. I grew up with a volatile parent who could be playful and childlike one moment, and abruptly shift into something brooding and physically intimidating. Anyone with a similar experience will understand that you learn, at a very young age, to be vigilant, to notice subtle changes in the environment and the smallest shifts in energy. That kind of wiring does not easily unwind.
When I became a mother five years ago, my sensitivity was amplified. Living in a dense, urban environment in Los Angeles while caring for a newborn moved me into a kind of constant overstimulation. The noise, the touch, the pace, it was all-consuming. And as my daughter grew, I noticed it wasn’t just the early days. Environments with lots of children, like playgrounds, birthday parties, and school events, felt overwhelming to me in a new way. It’s one thing to respond to your own child’s needs, and another to hold space for the collective energy of dozens of (very loud) little ones.
I love children, so I initially felt ashamed and overwhelmed by my response, but over time, I accepted this is just who I am. I realized I needed better ways to support myself as both a mother and a person living in a big city...
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