My Intuition Was Right
June 23, 2025
I used to think my wounds made me unsafe.
That because I’d experienced things most people hadn’t — breakdowns, psychosis, betrayal, abandonment — I was somehow unstable. Dangerous. Too much.
That belief didn’t start with me.
It started in the systems around me. The messages. The looks. The evaluations from people who didn’t really see me.
And it nearly worked.
It almost convinced me that the very things that have shaped me — the things I’ve carried and healed from — were reasons I should be excluded. Held back. Pushed aside for being “too sensitive” or “too complex.”
But now I see it for what it is:
I’m not unsafe. I’m attuned.
And not just attuned — deeply trustworthy.
Because I know what it means to suffer.
To lose trust in your own mind.
To feel like you’re on the outside of something that doesn’t make space for you.
That’s not dangerous.
That’s sacred.
I’ve learned to hold my anger with clarity instead of fear.
To sit with shame without drowning in it.
To set boundaries without guilt.
To trust myself — even when others don’t.
And when someone tries to gaslight me or dress up a power play as “helpful feedback,” I see it.
Not because I’m paranoid — but because my body recognises the pattern.
I used to override those signals.
I used to give people the benefit of the doubt even when everything in me said no.
And every time I did, I lost a little more of myself.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
My intuition is almost a sixth sense.
I knew as a child that I could be an incredible poker player — not because someone told me, but because something in me knew.
And life has proven that knowing to be true, over and over again.
I knew that the Japanese family I met in primary school — the ones I saved up for months to visit — were safe. That the love I felt around them was real. That it was worth everything to follow that feeling. I had never felt love like that before, and I trusted it without question.
I’ve felt the same around people, environments, and jobs.
I’ve known — sometimes instantly — when something was off.
And I’ve also known when something was home.
Every time I ignored that knowing, I paid for it.
Every time I listened to it, I got stronger.
That’s not something broken in me.
It’s something brilliant.
A lifetime of surviving made me perceptive.
It gave me tools to read the room, spot patterns, feel energy shifts before they’re spoken.
It means I see people’s unconscious behavior, sometimes more clearly than they do.
Yes, it was forged in fire.
But that doesn’t make it faulty.
It makes it refined.
Now, I understand the difference between being reactive and being responsive.
I don’t need to prove my strength — it’s in my presence.
And if I do get angry, I trust myself not to harm — but to honour what’s true.
So no — my wounds don’t make me unsafe.
They make me trustworthy.
Because I’ve done the work to sit with them.
Because I know what it costs to override your inner voice.
And because I’d never ask someone to do what I wouldn’t do myself.
Reflective question:
What if the very things you’ve been told make you “too much” are the things that make you most trustworthy? Have you ever had a moment where your body knew something was true — even when others dismissed it?