We come from oneness and we return to oneness. Our time in between is defined by separation. For highly sensitive people, this separation is our kryptonite – the thing that makes us feel most vulnerable in the world – and we often become aware of it very early on. We realize that we’re not one with our parents. We experience rejection from peers. We learn that death exists.
Without the proper community rituals that could hold a young person through this unbearably painful and scary awareness, we’re left to cling to false footholds to gain some sense of control in the sea of uncertainty. This is often when shame and intrusive thoughts arrive.
Maybe if I make all the right decisions, I can prevent bad things from happening.
Maybe if I’m perfect, I can prevent being exiled from the tribe (which is the ultimate separation).
Shame offers the illusion of control: if the problem is me, I can make myself as pure as possible so that I’m never shunned by those I love.
Separated at Birth
Let’s start at the beginning as we chart the series of separations that define our lives.
We begin in the womb, in a symbiotic state of perfect union. Rocked in warm waters, nourished without effort, we spend 9 months ensconced in the deepest oneness we’ll know during our time on earth.
And then… we’re born: expelled from the womb in our first experience of exile. No wonder babies often meet the world with a protest of rage.
The separations continue, often immediately after birth. I’ve been told that after I was born, I was taken into the nursery, as was the custom in 1971, and the nurses brought me to my mother when it was time to feed. The story goes that I was in such a deep “sleep” that my mother couldn’t wake me up and by the time the nurses came to take me back to the nursery, I hadn’t eaten.
If the story is true, I can only imagine the depth of my despair upon leaving the perfect, warm, symbiotic oneness of the womb and being placed in a bassinet in a room full of crying babies. I assume that I was not only asleep but dissociated, and that’s why my mother couldn’t wake me.
Stepping Stones of Separation
From birth, the separations continue. For many of my clients, their earliest memory is being left to cry on the first day of school. I also share this memory: watching my mother walk away from me, her body receding down the long hallway, while I sobbed and clung to my childhood blanket who accompanied me everywhere.
Then sleepovers at friends’ houses. Sleepaway camp. And even going to college.
Victoria and I discussed many of these early separations in our Gathering Gold episode on separation anxiety, which you can find here.
The anguish of separation often continues into adulthood. For my younger clients, it can show up when they’re graduating from college and establishing a life on their own. It’s then that the shattering grief that childhood is over and siblings have splintered into their various lives across the country or world hits hard.
The grief can be profoundly destabilizing, breaking our hearts open until we feel undone by what seems to be an unbearable separation from our original family.
As we embark on a healing path, many find yet another layer of separation as they discover that most people are not on a healing path. There’s a loneliness that often ensues as you realize that you’re different from many people around you who are content to live according to mainstream values: focusing on accolades and externals to the exclusion of the inner world. Even something like deciding to reduce alcohol consumption separates you from the collective, and can contribute to a feeling of separateness.
The key, here, is to find a community of people with shared values, but that’s not always easy. This is one of the primary reasons why I write this blog and why I was excited to start the Community Garden. There are few things more normalizing than realizing you’re not the only one.
The Wound is Where the Light Enters
And yet, what we learn over time is that our kryptonite is also our medicine. As Rumi famously said, “The wound is place where the light enters you.” It’s our acute awareness of separation that can propel us to discover our pathways of connection and belonging, which ultimately become our greatest sources of joy.
From separation comes connection.
From loneliness comes union.
It’s then, when the old ways of trying to manage the grief about the fundamental separation of being human stop working, that we discover a place that we can never be separated from. We learn that there is a way in which we are so deeply connected to one another that no matter how it seems, we are one family.
There is also an invisible, spiritual realm from which we came and into which we will return. I say that as if it’s a fact, which, of course it is not. But even if we don’t believe there is a realm beyond this one, what we know is that we all came from the oneness of a womb, and we will all return to the womb of the Earth.
During our time in between birth and death, we seek out those places of belonging: the friends who are family and family who are true friends; work that gives us a sense of purpose as we serve our community in the ways we are called to serve; opening the channels to the creative realm or something we can’t quite explain; being in nature, who always folds us in her web of belonging.
I had no idea separating newborns from parents was common in the U.S. in the 70s. This exact thing happened to me as a baby in the 80s in the Soviet Union, and they also forced mothers to stay in the hospital alone for a week, and fathers were not allowed in. Who knows how many babies were mistreated in the nursery. I always wondered if it was a contributing factor to my anxiety. We now co-sleep with our kids and I wouldn’t let anyone take our babies away.
Yes, it was common until fairly recently here. It’s the most unnatural thing in the world for a newborn to be separated from their mother.
I also wanted to know- Sheryl, are you able to give examples of what community rituals look like? It feels like something that in 2025 is so needed but so ephemeral. Thank you in advance!
We don’t have many of them, which is part of the problem. Sometimes we create meaningful rituals around lifecycle events like weddings and funerals, but even these often become commodified and lose their depth. We don’t live in a culture that walks us through life’s transitions via ritual, and it’s one reason why many people feel lost and unmoored. There are more grief circles popping up in some communities, and sometimes they include rituals. Religious communities often have rituals, but for those who don’t identify with one particular religion or have been harmed by religion, this can be problematic. I will be leading many rituals in my upcoming in-person retreat in June (currently full), and plan to lead more retreats in various locations in the future.
Dear Sheryl,
Thank you so much for this email. It touched me deeply.
For my mother, for me, and for my daughters, the experience was very similar to what you describe: we were separated at birth, and then came many physical separations throughout life.
However, today I understand that what hurt me the most were not those visible separations, but an invisible, far quieter and deeper one: the constant emotional disconnection from my parents.
My mother was a very generous, intelligent, cheerful woman, committed to the welfare of abandoned children. A social worker, deeply concerned about the world.
But at home, she couldn’t connect emotionally with her children or her husband. She didn’t know how to talk about emotions. Everything overwhelmed her: she would become dysregulated, angry, shout, cry.
Two women in one.
That was the primary pain of separation I grew up with.
The confusion, suffering, and anxiety were so great that not even the beautiful refuge of books, studies, or exchange trips could fill that void. And when I had two highly sensitive daughters, I myself was not emotionally mature. I knew it.
Even so, the pressure—the profound fear—that if I didn’t have children, they would separate from me, was enormous. And, without meaning to, I transmitted that same emotional separation.
Today, with my daughters now grown and with much anxiety in their own lives, I am on a conscious path of learning: I seek to connect emotionally with them, with my mother, with my sisters and brother, and with my husband.
It is not a path without pain, but it works. There is truth, there is repair, there is presence.
Thank you for giving words to this wound that is so invisible and so common. Yes, I am learning that our greatest wound can indeed become a path to our growth and deepest connections.
Thank you for creating this community. Thank you for reminding us that we are not alone. Your writing and the motivation to write helps me feel less alone in this journey from separation back to connection. I can feel that I am helping to break the chain.
With affection,
Hi Esmerelda, I just want to say that I applaud your efforts to reconnect with your children and family. My mother was unfortunately very emotionally unavailable when I and my siblings were growing up – she herself had a very traumatic childhood and never learned how to heal or how to break the cycle of trauma. Rages, violence, depression and emotional shut down were the norm for many years. Even when most of these behaviours eventually stopped, the emotional unavailability remained. I think it’s amazing that you have the insight and self awareness to want to heal. All I want of my now very elderly mother is for her to acknowledge the hurt she caused and I have to accept that she very likely never will. You should be very proud of yourself ❤️
Dear Bernadette, thank you so much for your kind and compassionate words, and for sharing your own experience ❤️
It means a lot to feel understood by someone who has walked a similar path. I truly admire the honesty and clarity with which you speak about your mother and your journey, and I’m sorry for the pain you’ve had to carry.
Thank you ❤️❤️
Thank you for sharing your vulnerability with us, Esmerelda, and for your immense courage to embrace your healing path and make repairs with your family. There are, indeed, many types of separation, and emotional distance is one of them.
The way you described your mother reminds me of a character in one of my favorite books: The Dutch House by Ann Patchett. For anyone with a mother who is able to tend to others but lacks the capacity or willingness to show up fully for her own children, this book is for you.
Dear Sheryl, thank you so much for your response and for recommending the book. I will definitely read The Dutch House. Your reflection about emotional distance resonated deeply with me.
I’m currently finishing a book that has truly opened my eyes, and I wish I had read it when my daughters were young. It’s Running on Empty by Dr. Jonice Webb, about Childhood Emotional Neglect. It has helped me understand why I felt confused for so much of my life, and why the path I’m on now—working with my emotions, understanding human nature, and the psyche—has been so transformative and necessary for me.
Thank you for this shared space of understanding and healing.
With affection,
Esmerelda
“As we embark on a healing path, many find yet another layer of separation as they discover that most people are not on a healing path. There’s a loneliness that often ensues as you realize that you’re different from many people around you who are content to live according to mainstream values:“ This resonates SO much and particularly with my family of origin. Thank you for saying this x
🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽
It is so difficult to find that community- where? How? It feels like I am searching and I can’t find the ‘right fit’. It’s really tough.
Yes, it is challenging to find community, but with enough dedication and clear intention we can find “our tribe.” There are so many people longing for real, in-person connection these days.
Sheryl, thank you for the beautiful wisdom your words provide. As always, your weekly insights feel like a gentle reminder that I am not alone on this healing journey.
Thank you for creating a space that feels safe and validating.
Many blessings to you!
Thank you, Britt. I’m so glad this is a safe and validating space for you. ❤️
What a beautiful read once again, Sheryl. This is so poignant in our lives right now as our 6 year old son is asking a lot of questions around death / heaven / loss. Navigating this has been a real challenge as there are very few places equipped to assist/deal with these neurodevelopmental & highly sensitive transitions. I wondered where the balance of co-sleeping lies in all of this, Sheryl. We sleep with our boys (6 & 3) on a shift rotation meaning we get very little sleeping time together as a couple but we are really in this stuck place of our boys needing us and our presence in their room and bed. Have you any readings/blog posts that may touch on this?
I strongly encourage you to trust what your boys are needing right now. The time passes quickly, and before you know it they’ll be out of your beds (then out of the house!) and you and your wife will have plenty of time together. We honored our boys’ needs for nighttime comfort and we’ve never regretted it.
Dear Sheryl,
I had never considered myself to be highly sensitive, but the more I hang about your website (2 or 3 years now) the more convinced I become that I am such a person. Life has been difficult and continues to be so. A dysfunctional childhood with emotionally absent, hyper-critical parents left me with chronic anxiety and depression, and all the associated negative impacts on my life. Finding a loving relationship, satisfying work that I wanted to do and continue doing, establishing a support network that I could trust and creating a home for myself have all been a real struggle.
I am now married to a woman who I would describe as my soulmate but I have suffered through bouts of relationship anxiety for the whole time we’ve been together (18 years). And now, off the back of her breast cancer diagnosis 2 years ago, we are once again living under the shadow of its return and the implications of that.
My wife – and our deeply loving relationship – is the only thing that I have found that makes my life worth living (I am not suicidal). And believe me, I have tried many, many things. Now that life with her feels at risk once again the need to find my tribe takes on a new urgency for me.
I am running out of morale courage and need to find people with similar experiences who know what it really means to be a friend in this world. I would welcome any thoughts or comments from you and your community.
P.S. (I tried to make a further post but it didn’t show up so I am submitting this as a “Reply”)
For context, I should add that I have been working with a sensitive therapist for the past 10 years (I am turning 53 shortly) and have largely addressed the chronic anxious and depressive feelings that I felt so acutely during the proceeding 35 years or so. I had one bout of relationship anxiety this year but through patience and insights gleaned over time from this website, I managed to come out the other side after about 3 months.
“Morale courage” should have said “moral courage”. I coined the term from a book I read about World War One soldiers and their ability to withstand and bounce back from all that they experienced. I guess in modern parlance, it might be called resilience.
Dear Rob: Thank you for your thoughtful and vulnerable comments. It’s clear that you’ve done a lot of work on yourself, and I really understand the need to find other sources of meaningful connection at this stage. Please email me directly as I do have some ideas.
Rob, your comment touched me and I can relate in some ways.
I’m 28 and I’m having inner shifts and questions about what I want in life. I know that my own dysfunctional childhood has affected me and continues to do so in ways. I’ve been thinking and worried on how that will look in a romantic relationship, questions like, “will I always deal with relationship anxiety here and there?, how will motherhood look like for me if I choose that route?” Similar questions regarding work and creating stability that I do very much crave but I know there will be work to do coming from a dysfunctional family that caused immense anxiety, fear, and sadness. Though I also know it’s not all coming from trauma.
Also, I reconnected with an ex and we’re dating in the midst of him at the end of his chemo awaiting results if he’s all clear from lymphoma (he’s getting a lot better already thank goodness). Trying my best to discern, keep my heart open, and follow my North Star.
I’ve also been thinking if it’s worth taking the risk of being with someone knowing they have or had cancer (I’ve been combating the guilt of thinking/asking myself this with gentleness). Your highlight of the importance of creating/finding a genuine community hits home as well.
I think it’s super brave the work you’ve done and continue to do.
P.s. Sheryl, any insight and/or comment will be greatly appreciated 🙂
Best,
Rosalind
This resonated so much to me as a highly sensitive, Sheryl. Thank you for acknowledging how this feeling of separation feels. I know for me, it almost feels like a fragmentation of different parts of myself geographically, each pulling on different strings.
I grew up the only child of divorced parents so all I have known since I was 7 was a life existing between two homes, with two sets of families. Now as an adult, I find myself pulled emotionally in so many directions. There’s my mother in one city. My father and stepfamily in another. My two best friends live in different states from each other (and me). My stepchildren are off at college but the home in their hearts is a place I never have felt a belonging to. My husband’s extended family and lifelong friends all live in another country.
My heart aches so desperately for all of these energies to come together as one, big, beautiful tribe in a single physical place but sadly I know that is not going to ever happen. (It did once, for our wedding, and it was so magical). I find myself so unable to accept this. I’m stuck mourning something that I know will never happen and frustrated by it all. I guess what I am looking for is to feel all these parts come back together. To feel whole. To release the burden of feeling pulled in so many different directions.
I’m deeply struck by your comment, Cheryl. You’re articulating one of the core pains of the sensitive soul in such a clear and beautiful way:
“My heart aches so desperately for all of these energies to come together as one, big, beautiful tribe in a single physical place.”
I think the only way to mend the geographic separateness is through a spiritual practice that allows us to feel connected even when we’re far away. I know that’s easier said than done. On this plane, there will always be separateness, but there is a realm where we’re always connected, and when we can tap into that interconnection some of the pain is eased.
Thank you so much Sheryl 🙂 It is definitely easier said than done, but I do feel lighter when I lean into the sense that that is why we are all here – to learn to come home to the oneness that we all come from. I love this quote I saw the other day from John O’Donohue: “May you allow the wild beauty of the invisible world to gather you, mind you, and embrace you in belonging.” Feels perfectly aligned with what we’re talking about.
Sending blessings for the new year 🙂
I love John O’Donohue and I’m in love with this quote. Thank you for sharing it!
Thank you so much Sheryl for sharing this post. It touched me so deeply. I have not found any discussions or content out there about separation anxiety and the highly sensitive person. I am so appreciative of you sharing on this topic. Would love to read more.
Thank you, Alessandra. I’ll be writing more on this topic soon.