My Feelings On and About Rejection Sensitivity

My earliest memory of it is eight — “good old eight.” There’s art to back it, and a whole blog post too: Not Only Bees Sting.

https://hello-wall-hormonal-heart-poetry.blogspot.com/2026/01/not-only-bees-sting.html

It’s funny how you can go through life not knowing a word, or thinking, “Not me.” Bulletproof. Or so I thought.

And then someone explains it — and suddenly the whole map of your childhood lights up.

Whether it was Derek saying, “I don’t know why you got me a gift, I didn’t get you one,” — the sting of generational rejection. Or the constant, “You’re just like your mother,” when I was eight, nine, ten — until I refused to go anymore.

What rejection sensitivity actually is

Rejection sensitivity is described as a heightened sensitivity to perceived rejection or criticism in social situations. Some people feel the pain of rejection much more intensely and may fear being rejected by those around them. This can lead to interpreting even mild or benign social cues as signs of outright rejection.

What it was for me

For me, rejection sensitivity felt like being stung — the air sucked out of my lungs, my insides pulled forward, and tears so big I could have drowned in them. I filled a whole pool. It hurt. That’s why I reversed the feeling, loved less, so I couldn’t be hurt again.

And when I finally overcame all my growing‑up trust issues, giving trust , I got hurt immediately — hormonally and literally — as I entered perimenopause and couldn’t function the way I always had. That’s when I learned the feelings, the wrongs, the rights, the patterns I’d been carrying.

It’s what I thought true love was. Silly me.

What I know now

People often say you should never tie your self-worth to anything that shifts or changes — whether it’s a job title, someone else’s opinion, or external praise. Instead, anchor your sense of value in something stable and unchanging — your core principles, your inner steadiness, the qualities that make you you.

Comments

Dear Molly, my strong, funny, tenacious, independent, courageous daughter.

Dear Molly, my strong, funny, tenacious, independent, courageous daughter. So if I got paid for every time someone told me my daughter looks fabulous, I’d be a millionaire. A millionaire for every doctor who ignored you, for every professional who let you slip through the cracks, for every moment when the full information, the full picture, the full respect wasn’t given. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Today is for you, Molly. And for the future generations of our family — because this is genetic, because this is inherited, because someone needs to notice and someone needs to ask the right questions. I have become, by necessity, a hormonal expert. A mother who had to learn what the system refused to teach. And through it all, your husband — your rock — has moved mountains beside you, carrying what others refused to see, loving you through every unseen storm. I wish PMDD looked like your arm falling off. Because if people could see it, they’d care. Docto...

Going Shopping in the Menopausal Way

Going Shopping in the Menopausal Way A menopausal purchase is planetary. The sun must shine. The temperature must be just right. You must be neither dipping nor surging — just perfectly balanced in the hormonal moment. Because unless you buy exactly when the stars align, it will get returned. You’ll love it on the day. But if the scales tip even slightly — by the next morning, it’s on the fence. If you’re lucky, you’ll return it. If not, it’ll sit in your wardrobe for 28 days until the return window closes. Then it’s either sold on Vinted for a quarter of the price or left to haunt you. There’s a lot resting on a menopausal buy. It’s not just a purchase — it’s a mood, a moment, a miracle. I never realised this until I saw how small my wardrobe was. Not because the shops weren’t there — but because I wasn’t there when I got there. You leave the house feeling great. You arrive at the shops and suddenly… not so great. So the purchase is less than mediocre. ...

The Baby Whale and the Circle of Sharks

🌊 The Baby Whale and the Circle of Sharks A children’s story inspired by Maverick George’s real beginning Intro for Molly and Ryan When Baby Whale was born, the ocean shook. The Sea Health Service — the SHS — whispered to his parents that he had the rarest lung trouble they had seen in sixty tides . His mum, the gentle whale Molly, had just brought him into the world. His dad, the brave whale Ryan, stayed outside the coral surgery cave for hours, swimming back and forth, bringing news, bringing hope, bringing love. Baby Whale needed help right away. Not because he was weak — but because he was special , and his tiny blowhole needed extra care to learn how to breathe. That was only the beginning. 🌊 Chapter One: The Circle of Sharks From the moment Baby Whale opened his eyes, the sharks were already circling. Not the big, fierce sharks — not the ones who bite in one terrible snap. These were the small‑bite sharks . The ones who take tiny nibbles, again and again, never enough to ...

Hello Wall - Hormonal Heart Poetry

Search This Blog