This past weekend, I came across an amusing yet poignant piece by Kristi Keller on Medium that stirred some reflections on the transparency and predictability of children's behavior. One aspect of her narrative resonated with my own experiences, highlighting just how early our true selves start to emerge.

Kristi shares a “report card” from her childhood, highlighting in red the traits that foreshadow her adult personality. While her teacher ardently emphasizes Kristi's conscientiousness, she also inadvertently points out her tendency to be outspoken.

I found myself laughing heartily at that observation. Kristi's “speaking out of turn” may seem rude, but it signifies her eagerness to contribute. The teacher notes, “Kristi still tends to be loud in class. She will shout or speak out loudly without raising her hands first. Other than that, Kristi is considered almost an excellent student.” The use of “almost” is particularly amusing, as it suggests that if she were just quieter, she would be more favored. However, those very characteristics are what make Kristi a remarkable writer. Had she stifled those traits, it would have been a disservice to all who appreciate her work.

From the onset, Kristi had a voice and felt compelled to use it. It seems that not much has changed since those early days. Our younger selves often carve out their identities early on.

I would wager that if any of us reviewed our own childhood notes from well-meaning teachers, we would find similar observations. We reveal distinct character traits that often stay with us throughout our lives.

For individuals who exhibit unconventional traits, especially women (be quiet, cross your legs, be polite, raise your hand), societal expectations can be quite pressuring. Fortunately, this doesn’t always stifle our true selves.

It's somewhat disheartening that it doesn't.

For instance, when my brother was just five, he started pilfering money from our father's pants. This behavior never ceased, extending to friends and partners. I distanced myself from him because love seemed transactional. His last girlfriend lost a significant amount of money due to his actions.

As for me, I was born an empath—not in a fantastical way, but with a heightened sensitivity to the emotions of others, a trait often termed the Highly Sensitive Child (HSC):

In the past, children like me, or those with autism, depression, or dyslexia, were simply seen as different and often in need of correction.

This sensitivity brought me considerable distress early on. By age three, I could feel the impact of alcohol-fueled rages within my family. With the certainty that only a child possesses, I believed I was to blame. In many dysfunctional families, the youngest often bears the brunt of misplaced guilt. One of my earliest memories is of kneeling by the pink bathtub, praying to escape my family.

Eventually, I found solace in nature, exploring woods and building forts. Once I got a horse, I would ride for hours, always racing home by dinner. At 16, I left home, moved into a trailer, and completed high school independently. I was a free spirit from the start, preferring the company of animals and nature over the oppressive atmosphere created by my father’s alcoholism and my brother’s troubling behavior. My desire to escape was entirely justified.

By the time I reached kindergarten, I felt unwelcome in any group, having developed a keen awareness of emotional instability common in families impacted by addiction. This discomfort transferred to social settings, leading me to wait for invitations rather than joining in.

I have two behavioral reports from my kindergarten years that echo Kristi’s experiences. Both documents highlight how my teachers, while aiming to encourage, subtly pointed out what was “wrong” according to societal norms. They noted my reluctance to join groups, often observing me waiting to be invited. If no invitation came, I would entertain myself alone—much like at home.

Anything that sets us apart can be viewed as a threat to societal norms. Each culture has its own standards of acceptable behavior. For example, I have always felt out of place among married friends, often facing suspicion for my choices—like joining the Army or traveling solo. Once, a friend's wife accused me of having an affair with her husband, merely because I was single.

Over time, I learned to leverage my ability to sense emotions for my benefit, though it often led to more issues with my family. My father was unnerved by my insights, feeling exposed in my presence, which ultimately led to my estrangement.

An NPR article addresses the complexity of childhood development:

Some children are inherently more sensitive than others—this trait is neither good nor bad. It simply set me on a path of learning to navigate life with this sensitivity.

Different Can Be Daunting

A memorable line from the movie The Accountant resonates here: “Sooner or later, different scares people.” This sentiment reflects Kristi’s report card and my own experiences. Nonconformity can create discomfort for educators who aim to maintain order. My brother, a creative genius, was criticized by his art teacher for coloring outside the lines, leading him to despise the class. Many bright nonconformists find school stifling due to the pressure to conform, often feeling that their true selves are wrong.

Embracing Our Authentic Selves

While debates about nature versus nurture are common, I believe we enter this world with our unique complexities. Although we certainly learn from our caregivers, our fundamental personalities and preferences are already evident.

This realization has freed me from feeling the need to apologize for my sensitivity. It has become a gateway to profound compassion.

What innate abilities did you possess from an early age? Were they hidden from view? Is it time to embrace and showcase your individuality?