Are You Tough Enough?

Being oversensitive is generally seen as a criticism and something to be fixed. But how do you change, and should you even try, asks self-confessed crybaby.

- Corinne Redfern

I’M 10 YEARS OLD, SITTING IN A too-big chair at a too-big table in my middle-school library. My face is itchy with tears that fell 15 minutes earlier, and I’m struggling to breathe around the lump in my throat. The deputy headmaster, Mr Leeming, sits opposite me. I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure this is the end of the world. ‘I know it isn’t fair,’ he says, as my heart beats in my ears. ‘But when people are mean, you have to pretend your skin is made of steel. That way, their comments will bounce off, like this: ping.’ I half nod, half sniff, half choke. ‘Ping,’ he repeats. ‘Come on, say it with me: “Ping.”’

Ping. I’m 16, and a girl I’m trying to be friends with just snapped at me in the common room. I make an excuse – I’ve left something in my bag, I’ll be back in a minute – and walk to the toilets with my head down, hair hiding my wet, red, blotchy cheeks, mind in overdrive.

Ping. I’m 21, and according to my colleague’s raised eyebrow, I’ve screwed up five minutes into my first (presumably last) internship. I sit on the floor of the fashion cupboard, tilting my head back towards the ceiling, hoping that gravity will keep in the tears. (Tip: It doesn’t.)

Ping, ping, ping. I’m 26, 27, 28, and I’m still overthinking in the office, weeping on the bus, freaking out in the pub. All it takes is a sharp sentence or an ill-timed scowl, and I’m gone – make-up bag in hand, rushing to the loo. I’m happy, I’m not depressed and I don’t have anxiety, but my skin still isn’t steel. It’s not even bloody Bacofoil.