The Gentle Rebel Podcast

Andy Mort

The Gentle Rebel Podcast explores the intersection of high sensitivity, creativity, and the influence of culture within, between, and around us. Through a mix of conversational and monologue episodes, I invite you to question the assumptions, pressures, and expectations we have accepted, and to experiment with ways to redefine the possibilities for our individual and collective lives when we view high sensitivity as both a personal trait and a vital part of our collective survival (and potential).

  1. 1d ago

    Don’t Mistake Their Story for Yours

    The movie Hook begins with the premise that Peter Pan has been away from Neverland for so long that he has forgotten who he is. He is all grown up, with two children and a high-flying legal job that leaves him little time or patience for them. When Captain Hook (Peter’s arch-nemesis, whom he now has no memory of) kidnaps his kids, he quickly learns that his attempts to use the logic of his reality to buy them back or to threaten legal action aren’t going to fly here (pun intended). Instead, he needs to do the opposite of ‘grow up’ and rediscover his imagination and ability to play if he is going to survive and accomplish his objective. This kind of Adult Fog can creep in, obscuring our view of something that’s still there. I describe this as Adult Fog in The Return To Serenity Island. I’m not imagining something huge descending on us that suddenly stops us from being ourselves. Fog can arrive with a subtle creep. We might not notice the visibility getting worse until we look up and try to see the path ahead. The path hasn’t disappeared, but our ability to see it has become clouded by other people’s expectations, judgements, and assumptions. https://youtu.be/kTKrcvfJ15c Being Told To Grow Up Last week, I was on the clifftop, saying my goodbyes to one of my favourite spots overlooking the Baltic Sea in Espoo, after a month in Finland. As I did so, I happened upon something that inspired me to play… A nest full of abandoned eggs. Well, technically they were small pine and/or spruce cones. But that’s not what my imagination and I decided to believe. And so I made a silly video. After an uber-quick editing job, I posted it online and got in the sauna. Comments began to arrive. The first one said “they are acorns, not an egg”, which was a slightly strange yet potentially endearing attempt at correcting the details of a joke that hadn’t landed. But the next two comments really caught my attention. One said, “Grow Up FFS”, and the other said “grown man 😂😂”. I replied to the comment “grown man” with “I was told it was a Spanish slug”, innocently (playfully) assuming he was referring to the slug. It turns out these “killer” slugs are an invasive species that can harm the native ecosystem. He dismissed this as ragebait, refusing to believe a slug could have made it all the way from Spain to Finland. I’m pretty sure he was serious, too. His comment was a helpful reminder that growing up doesn’t necessarily equate to knowing better. Then another comment arrived. “They are not eggs,” it began. Oh, here we go again, I thought. “Anyone can see, they are turds from a walrus. Look up in the trees, and you should see it unless it has flown away.” I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Especially because this looked like a mature, fully grown adult man. And he had come to play. He got it. People Can Make or Break Our Spirit It amazes me how much of an impact we can have on other people, including strangers online. It made me think about the power of words and the stories we can create from them without realising. Words can give us wings to fly and explore, and they can give us great weight that brings us down to earth with a great thud. My natural childlike spirit tends to express itself through silliness and absurdity. When that element of me can emerge, I know I feel safe, which is an important part of this equation. When I got back to the apartment, I knew I could share what I’d made with Tuula (with whom I was staying), and she’d get it, even if she was confused about what I was banging on about. Childlike Spirit Our childlike spirit looks different for each of us. Maybe it’s collecting things, getting absorbed in researching obscure subjects, role-playing, historical re-enactment, making things, nurturing something and watching it change, or getting excited about stuff you are into and looking forward to. It’s not about being silly or even about “play” in the conventional sense. It’s about having the freedom to engage with the world in a way that feels naturally ours. And I think the people around us can make a huge difference to whether that part of us gets to emerge. When we feel safe from judgement, ridicule or criticism, we have more freedom to explore it. But when those things are present, the Adult Fog can descend before we’ve even given ourselves a chance. “That’s stupid.” “That’s not realistic.” “We don’t do things like that here.” “That’s childish.” “That’s selfish.” “You’re showing off.” “That’s unwise.” “You should know better by now.” And there’s an interesting link to research showing that when humans lose their bearings, we tend to walk in circles rather than in a straight line. When we can’t see landmarks, natural reference points, or otherwise establish where we are, we can end up returning to where we started. Perhaps something similar happens when the Adult Fog descends, and these stories obscure the landmarks we use to orient ourselves. As a result, we might keep moving and try to gather more information, but without our personal bearings, we can burn a lot of energy believing we’re making progress only to find ourselves back where we started. Stuckness and Social Sensitivity For Highly Sensitive People, these fog-inducing stories can leave us particularly stuck. We’re often highly attuned to the social environment, noticing other people’s reactions and picking up on subtle signals of approval, disapproval, safety and threat. We can internalise words and judgements that were never directed at us. “Don’t they realise how silly they look?” “People like that are so selfish.” “They never think about the impact of their actions on others.” These judgements can resurface when we are about to do something important to us. What would that person think of me? Silly, selfish, childish, thoughtless. And so we might pull back and avoid doing what could upset others. And “selfish” can pack a special punch. We might absorb the message that addressing our own needs, pursuing something we find meaningful, or experiencing joy despite the suffering we see in the news is somehow morally suspect. For many sensitive people I’ve known over the years, thinking of others comes naturally. The trait has care, connection, and community baked into it. But things can get foggy if we forever de-prioritise our own needs. What does YOUR childlike spirit look like? When it’s unclouded by Adult Fog, how do you come out to play? When do you feel most like yourself? If you’d like to explore what might be getting in the way of finding your own bearings, I’m going to be exploring more of this over the coming weeks. Sign up below, and I’ll keep you posted.

  2. 4d ago

    Don’t Try to Remember

    A post on Threads caught my attention this week. It spoke to me about a common form of stuckness that we may overlook. It felt like a good example of the insidious reach of toxic productivity. In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, I attempt to explain why… https://youtu.be/nBvFoHil9qM Don’t Try To Remember In his language-learning audio courses, Michel Thomas usually spoke with two participants. Every so often, he would respond to them by saying, “stop trying to remember”. His methodology rested on the assumption that if you’re stressed and putting effort into conscious memorising, you sabotage your ability to learn. When he heard them racking their brains for the answer, he told them to stop. The same happens in creativity. We get inspired when we’re not trying to remember. When we’re not forcing dots to connect. Like in the shower, swimming pool, or sauna. Yes, for me it often accompanies being wet and somewhat nude. Don’t ask me why. Inspiration often strikes when we’re busy looking elsewhere. But I don’t believe it’s a bolt from the blue. One of the reasons it appears to arrive in meditation or in the shower, is because we engage with a stillness that allows us to hear. And as such, it’s not a scarce resource. There is always something speaking. Waiting to be noticed. But sometimes, we need to stop trying to remember. Stop trying to control. Stop trying to turn it into something useful, productive, or profitable.

  3. Aug 11

    Music Helped Me Make Sense of You, Me, and Everything That Happened

    This episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast is a bit different from normal. It contains the audio from It Just Sort of Happens, the short film I produced for the HSP Gathering in Oulu, Finland, at the start of August. You can watch it here. https://youtu.be/NWaK8O4VLuo The film is an audiovisual collage of stories from throughout my life. It has a particular focus on the role of songwriting and music-making in helping me make sense of myself, my experiences, and the way the world is. I believe creativity is especially in nurturing our relationship with our innate sensitivity. But when we absorb messages from the cultures we swim in, they can disconnect us from these natural aspects of ourselves. I hope ‘It Just Sort of Happens’ gives you reassurance and confidence that you’re not alone. Language Beyond Words Music has always been my natural language. It speaks when words aren’t enough. Music helps things make sense. What about you? These aren’t stories about what sensitivity or creativity should look like for everyone. I don’t believe that’s how it works. Rather, they are just a handful of my stories, which I hope may encourage you to notice, connect with, and continue developing your own. Questions To Consider At the HSP Heimojuhlat gathering in Oulu, I scattered mini-zines around the room. They contained questions to help people consider their relationship with the film’s themes. They may be especially useful if you’re feeling stuck in some way right now, or if you’re ready to let your creativity give voice to your sensitivity and your sensitivity give shape to your creativity… What is something you remember creating as a child? What made it memorable? What does society value that you don’t? What is something you care about that others often overlook? When do you wish time would stand still so you could dwell there for longer? What made you laugh this week? What helps you process and observe what’s going on within you? What are you waiting for the courage to do, try, or start? Let the film’s sound wash over you and see what catches your attention. It’s worth finding somewhere quiet to listen, and with headphones if possible. Share Your Reflections And if anything connects for you, or you have a question about something I’ve shared, I’d love to hear from you. Head to this page for links to the original source materials and to get in touch. Courtyard Replay Log in below to view the replay of our community conversation in response to the film. It will be available until the end of August 2026. Or become a Courtyard member if you don’t yet have an account. Email Address Password Remember Me

  4. Aug 7

    Losing Ourselves In The AI Mirror

    What do people who believe they are writing songs when they use Suno AI, YouTuber Hank Green, and Narcissus from Greek mythology all have in common? Quite a lot, it turns out. And they can help us recognise a form of stuckness that’s becoming increasingly common as people’s relationship with generative AI begins to blur the boundary between ourselves and the technologies we use, making it more difficult to know where the human ends and the machine begins. https://youtu.be/zSMwN0wKGlE Getting Stuck in the Digital Image Our relationship with technology and, in particular, large language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT and Suno poses a really interesting existential dilemma. I’ve been fascinated to see how these are often sold as tools to overcome stuckness. While at the same time, they create a whole different form of stuckness when we become attached to them. The demise of Narcissus came through an obsession with his own reflection. Perhaps the price of looking away from his reflection brought its own kind of departure and death. Maybe the image had become more real, perfect, and desirable than the human staring at it. In this episode of The Gentle Rebel Podcast, we consider how the reflection of ourselves in the machines we use can bend us out of shape and leave us uncertain of who we are and what we’re capable of. What Does It Mean to Write a Song? Fil Henley, AKA Wings of Pegasus, asked this simple question in a recent video. He analysed an advert from the AI music generation platform Suno, which features producers and songwriters using it to make songs. Fil says, “If you don’t know what the song is going to sound like before you hear it, then you haven’t written the song.” Platforms like Suno act like fruit machines. The output is based more on luck than judgement. What makes them compelling and perhaps even addictive, is that the result is impossible for us to predict. It’s a surprise each time that feels exciting to reveal. And it can turn any old crap into something you might hear on the radio. As we see in the video. More Than a Tool This is what makes these services different from tools. A tool reliably enables us to carry out a task without doing everything and more autonomously. So when the producer says that Suno is showing him stuff he never would have thought about, he is revealing the blurred boundary between us and these machines. It is more than a tool for songwriting. It’s generating the song itself. Suno isn’t like a digital audio workstation (a tool), where a songwriter records, edits, and produces music they have written and performed. It goes further, making many of the creative decisions that normally require time, judgement, and consideration throughout the songwriting process. In other words, the user doesn’t need the skill required to produce the result. Whose Ideas Are They? So if YOU didn’t think of them, whose ideas are they? And if it’s outputting stuff based on something you haven’t thought of, what’s the point in you being there at all? The song is found in the mirror as generative AI reflects back an image of a reality that doesn’t exist above the surface. Creative Block as a Rite of Passage In reality, human creativity emerges through the energy generated by those moments of friction, uncertainty, and obstacle. By intervening early with generative AI before we have taken the opportunity to grapple with a block, we deprive ourselves of that bittersweet joy of finding something that comes to life THROUGH US. Instead, a service like Suno short-circuits the block. It presents fully formed solutions that we “never would have thought about”. Perhaps, we would have thought of something much better and more “us” if we had been patient and given ourselves time to grapple with the block. The Allure of The Mirror When you listen to these outputs, there is a professional sheen to them that feels sharp. It sounds just like stuff you hear on the radio. But it sounds like stuff you hear on the radio. There is a sameness to it. An increasingly homogenous stasis. Maybe this technology is attractive precisely because it DOESN’T sound like us. It’s familiar enough for us to to glimpse ourselves. But we look different. It cleans up the parts we might cringe at and be afraid of revealing. Those bits that feel messy, broken, chaotic, and weird. We don’t argue with the machine that makes us sound like something you’d hear on the radio, see on TV, or LinkedIn. Slick, clean, authoritative, clinical, soulless, indistinguishable, unremarkable, dull. Incidentally, this is a good way to identify the best producers, editors, and coaches to work with. They don’t try to make us sound like them or force us to emulate their processes. Instead, they seek to understand and support us. They are able to help us notice, accept, and amplify those parts that we would try to shrink down and hide when left to our own devices. The machine holds a mirror with some perfected image that we believe is us, but is stripped of blemishes, stains, and imperfections. But rather than being the Platonic ideal version of us, it’s more like an aggregate approximation of who everyone else is in the land of mediocre homogeneity. We arrive in this territory when we sand off our edges and lose our spark. The Culture of Narcissism In his 1979 book The Culture of Narcissism, Christopher Lasch offers a fresh way of thinking about the myth of Narcissus. We tend to think that Narcissus died because he fell in love with his own reflection and couldn’t look away, so was unable to do anything other than stare obsessively at himself in the water. Lasch adds another layer, depicting cultural narcissism emerging as the image of the human in the water becomes more important than the human it reflects. Telling Us Apart YouTuber Hank Green recently revealed that he had become over-reliant on ChatGPT after viewers pointed out something in a video that felt off to them. When viewed in context, the clip actually makes more sense than the reactionary commentary suggested. But while he said he didn’t accidentally read something from ChatGPT left in the script, Green didn’t dismiss the criticism. Instead, he agreed, “I think what people have said in this thread about me diluting myself is spot on”. Diluting oneself through the use of technology indicates how a separation between the image and the self can get blurred. This is perhaps why those using Suno to make songs believe they themselves are writing songs. It’s not necessarily a deliberate deception being perpetrated by people pretending to know more than they do or pretending they’ve done things they haven’t. There is a real belief being seeded and nurtured that means people genuinely struggle to distinguish between themselves and the output generated by these technologies. The Gift of Getting Stuck There is a gift in getting stuck along the way during the creative process. It invites us to be resourceful problem solvers. It builds character and reveals more about who we are as we experiment, test, and try things without guaranteed results. Imperfectly. Clumsily. Grappling with creative friction gives opportunities to deepen our confidence and grow our experiences of being okay after failing. These tools are sold to us as ways to avoid that friction. But in so doing, we avoid strengthening the tension wood of creativity altogether, grown in a dance with the rhythm of life’s winds and storms. It Takes a Village (of Humans) In this Sunotopia, depicted through their advert, we see many people gathered in the studio. Yet, the future reality that will come through the success of these platforms appears to be very different. The technology is moving us away from others so we don’t need a producer, an engineer, or other musicians to work with. All we need is Suno because Suno doesn’t get blocked. It will work with whatever crap you feed it. And it will turn any old noise into the kind of song you might hear on the radio. Happiness is Only Real When… Christopher McCandless’s diary concluded that “happiness is only real when shared”. An observation made under tragic circumstances. I think there is a lot of truth in this. I’ve found many times that even the happiest experiences I’ve had on my own feel more complete when they are witnessed through sharing a story with someone else. When we’re feeling the pressure to conform to the schedule of our unrelenting world, we need the courage to give it time. To give OURSELVES and ONE ANOTHER time. Maybe our intuition and imagination will start to show us stuff an LLM never would have thought of… It is rebellious to release ourselves from the pressure to rush and force output for the sake of it. Technologies like Suno and ChatGPT can become an attractive crutch when they are sold as ways to keep going amidst the limitless demands of a productivity-obsessed world. But they gradually erode confidence in our own creative capacity. We would do well to remember, “it is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society”. This is where we become unstuck (in the best possible way).

  5. Aug 4

    Feeling found in translation

    There is something strange in the space between languages. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it’s fun to explore. It poses a question and presents a challenge…what am I actually trying to say here? When I started work on a video about the relationship between sensitivity and creativity for this year’s HSP Gathering in Oulu, Finland, which happened a few days ago as I’m recording this, I didn’t really think about the process of translating it from English into Finnish for the subtitles. I assumed it would be a straightforward part of the process, which it could have been on one level, given the technology we have at our fingertips these days, where language translation can happen more or less instantly. But it doesn’t take much for meaning to go adrift in the basic translation these tools provide. I was grateful for human assistance, as my friend Tuula was on hand to translate. My gratitude was not only because of her bilingual skills, but because I know she understands what I’m trying to say beneath and beyond the words. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2m3wHlXyQ6E Good Translation is About More Than The Right Words It seems obvious that translation requires far more than vocabulary, grammar, and syntax across multiple languages. An idiom or joke in one language might be complete gobbledegook when translated directly into another. But when the translator understands the two cultures, including the soul of their humour and their general relationship with tone and subtext, they can find appropriate options to bridge intent so it makes sense across the linguistic surface. Even with its sophisticated capabilities, there were a bunch of times when an initial chatbot translation missed the heart of my words. It made several incorrect assumptions and predictions about my intended meaning without any basis or clarification. Fortunately, Tuula felt this too, and we were able to hone our way to better ways of expressing what I meant. This was extra challenging when some of the original ideas and wording were intentionally poetic and infused with ambiguity. Machines are often eager to sand down nuance and replace it with familiar clichés and well-worn turns of phrase. The whole process showed me the importance of having someone who knows me and understands my ‘thinking’ for a task like this. This principle might apply to a range of contexts and situations in life. Who we are can get lost in a bad translation and found in a good one. Translating The Highly Sensitive Experience I believe this is one reason so much of the creative coaching I do is with highly sensitive and more introverted people. It’s a translation issue. In a world that makes many assumptions about what ‘normal’ looks like and assumes the goal is to fit the mould to get on in life, I tend to work from the premise that it’s not us that doesn’t fit society; it’s usually society that doesn’t fit us. I don’t do this to cultivate an ‘us versus them’ mentality. Quite the opposite, in fact. We are attempting to translate across a bridge, which so often leaves us misunderstanding one another. Likewise, I am very aware of the language used to describe the trait of high sensitivity. In the introduction to the HSP Gathering film I shared on Saturday, I talked about how adopting language around sensitivity has helped us better understand ourselves and our experiences alongside others. But while we have the trait of sensitivity in common, it also takes unique forms for each of us. That shared language can only take us so far, and we don’t want to overdo it. High sensitivity isn’t an identity or a personality type, nor does it dictate what we should like, value, or create. Over the years, I’ve noticed how easily one person’s experience of sensitivity can become the dominant narrative, leaving others wondering whether they’re a “proper HSP”. The Balancing Act in Translating Our Experiences The translator plays an important role in bringing their cultural understanding and experience, without letting it outrun the intention behind the person’s words. And as highly sensitive people, I think we’ve got to be aware of this in the way we listen to and interpret HSPs. To put the person first. That’s why I’m drawn to stories and anecdotes individuals share about their experiences of sensitivity. Not to universalise the experience or assume it’s the same for everyone, but to open the door so that each of us can feel at home with our differences. Which is what I wanted to do with the film I shared at the gathering. “It Just Sort of Happens” is a series of stories about the relationship I’ve noticed between my sensitivity and creativity, and how they have helped me make sense of the world, my personal experiences, and myself throughout my life. I wanted to use the stories as examples to help others map their own experiences and notice what they hear beneath the surface of my words. If you’d like to watch it, I’ll be sharing it in The Courtyard on Sunday, when we’ll also chat about any comments and questions afterwards. Learn more about it and register for your free Courtyard Membership (there will be a replay for those who can’t make it live). If you have any questions or comments in the meantime, please drop me a message and let me know.

  6. Jul 31

    Leave The Rage Bait Dangling

    Imagine a piece of bait dangling in the water. A passing fish sees it. What a stroke of luck to stumble upon a free, unsuspecting meal. Believing it has found prey, it strikes, convinced it has the power and is acting on its own terms. Only after the hook pierces through does the reality set in. This fish was the target rather than the predator. It got caught in a trap that took advantage of its reactive instinct. In this episode, I talk about how leaving it there can be an act of gentle rebellion. Not in terms of setting traps, but in terms of letting the bait dangle. https://youtu.be/5T44fux-rX8 “Leave it there” is our current exploration theme in The Haven. As I reflected on this idea of bait and tempting action, I realised there are two sides to it. There is the bait that is left there in the hope we bite. And there is what we can do when we engage our critical thinking and cultivate a sense of indifference to the attention and engagement economy that so desperately needs us to react. The Hook Hidden Inside Rage Bait We see this everywhere. I often think about the Jaguar advert that caused such a massive stir online. The internet absolutely erupted. Thousands of people rushed to their keyboards to make videos rejecting it, mocking it, asking where the car was, and lamenting the death of the company. It was interesting to notice how people thought they were being edgy by standing up to corporate culture in this way. But they performed exactly as predicted. They had bitten down on the hook, carefully prepared by the chefs in the Jaguar marketing kitchen. Reacting predictably isn’t necessarily the act of resistance we imagine it to be. It isn’t a display of strength. In fact, it’s often compliance with what the data would expect us to do. Rage bait seeks to cash in on our good faith and our sensitivity to injustice, unfairness, and ignorance. It is an energy vampire that leaves a bitter taste in our mouths, not only robbing us of time to create, contribute, and bring more beautiful things into the world, but also tainting those things with that flavour. Shifting our relationship with rage bait has a greater potential reach than the respite we might experience in the moment. The Attention Economy Wants Us to React Philosopher Byung-Chul Han writes about the shift towards an “achievement society“. We are no longer controlled primarily by an external authority telling us what we should do in order to gain favour. Instead, Han argues, that pressure has moved inwards. Power now operates through the pressure of the “endless can”. There are abundant opportunities and invitations to work without limits, hustle harder, outpace the competition, and stay ahead of the game. A never-ending, asymptotic game, where the end we think we’re closing in on remains forever just out of reach. And the person cracking the whip is inside us. The super-egoic injunction to forever do more than you’re currently doing. Online clout chasers and rage baiters are part of this ecosystem. Not necessarily as evil masterminds, but as people trapped in an endless demand for attention. Constantly pressured to exploit themselves and stay visible, whatever the cost to others and to society as a whole. The platform designers, however well-intentioned they may have been at the start, consistently end up building digital arenas based on algorithms that turn us against one another (and ourselves). Whether directly or indirectly, they stir strong emotions that can be turned into profit. Once attention becomes the currency, people begin competing for it in whatever ways work best. When Defiance Becomes Compliance There is a type of rage bait (trolling, poking the bear, questioning authority) that seems to me a very natural expression of youth. To rebel and rail against society as a way to distinguish one’s own subjectivity. But the mechanics of capitalism have a way of commodifying rebellion. It folds attempts to rebel, especially online, back into its own logic, handing over a creator revenue dashboard and dangling the carrot of potential financial reward. Defiance becomes compliance. What may have started as an act of individual autonomy in the face of authority becomes a highly predictable form of algorithmic compliance with authority. For everyone else, the temptation to react to those dangling rage bait in the waters around us can be incredibly strong. But it is also predictable, and it becomes part of the currency. It risks eroding trust, patience, and honesty. When Everything Starts Looking Like Rage Bait I’ve noticed on Threads recently how often jokes seem to get misunderstood. I saw one earlier: “They’re called Fish FINGERS, not Fish STICKS. Fish don’t have sticks!!!” It seems to be a joke poking fun at the fact that they’re called “fish fingers” in the UK and “fish sticks” elsewhere. The punchline is built on the absurdity of the speaker failing to subvert the logic of the debate. They’ve assumed they’re called fish fingers because they’re literally the fingers from fish. It’s a nice, neat joke. Obviously a joke… Apparently not obviously a joke. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed people instinctively reaching for the label “rage bait.” Whether they missed the joke or simply assumed it was another bad faith provocation, I was struck by how quickly people interpreted it through that lens. Maybe constant exposure to online engagement bait (bad faith posts intended to make people react) has trained us to interpret everything defensively. Instead of asking, “Is this funny?” we’re asking, *”What’s this person trying to do to me?” or “What are they trying to take from me?” A joke is laughter bait. Chuckle bait. Groan bait. Not rage bait. These wider algorithmic trends may be eroding our discernment and, with it, changing how we think. Leave It There So how do we respond with gentle rebellion? We can return to the phrase that cuts both ways: There are those who leave the bait dangling in our feeds, hoping to cash in on our sensitivity and unsettle things for the sake of an algorithmic payday. Our ultimate defiance is to look directly at it, recognise what it is, and choose how to respond. Sometimes that means saying nothing, changing the subject, making something, or simply giving our attention to something we’ve already decided deserves it more. It isn’t always the most cathartic response. The pull to react can be incredibly strong in that moment, and it can feel like an instant hit of relief to do so. But once the dust settles, there’s a deeper satisfaction in knowing your attention went where you chose, not where someone else wanted to drag it. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Join us for free in The Haven Courtyard. Maybe we can cultivate rebellious indifference together.

  7. Jul 29

    “Others Have It Worse”: A Tricky Story for Highly Sensitive People

    Why nervous systems built to care about others can leave us feeling disconnected in a globally connected world. I’ve been dipping into Britt Frank’s book, The Science of Stuck, over the past week. It’s much more of a self-help book than I was hoping based on the title, but it’s providing some ideas to explore. This concept of stuckness has been on my mind recently… What does it mean to be stuck? What causes us to feel stuck? Does feeling stuck always mean we are stuck? How do we get unstuck when we know what we want to do but can’t seem to take the action we know is required? What happens when our nervous system gets caught in patterns of defence and self-protection when we try to make meaningful changes? https://youtu.be/lbpdjTgJA9w Stuckness and Sensitivity I’m especially interested in the type of stuckness we might see in highly sensitive people. Frank writes: “If you feel guilty because ‘other people have it worse,’ remember—perspective is helpful, but comparison is not. You have a right to exist. You have a right to take up space on this planet. You have a right to feel angry, scared, and hurt. And you also have the right to experience happiness in your life and to feel at home in your body.” Many HSPs I’ve known downplay their right to take up space, particularly when it comes to valuing their own feelings and needs. What I liked about this quote is that it invites both/and thinking. At least, that’s how I’ve interpreted it. It’s not about denying the comparison so much as giving it perspective. Comparison happens because we are social beings. What is unhelpful is letting our response to it diminish ourselves. It’s about making room for both things to be true. When being built to care about others makes it difficult to care for ourselves Highly sensitive people may sometimes see need, pain, and injustice around them and feel stuck when it comes to their own needs, wishes, and feelings. Maybe it’s guilt or shame. Maybe it’s sadness, anger, or hopelessness. We might dismiss our own situation by saying “I shouldn’t complain” or “I should count my blessings.” And again, to bring some both-and perspective, there is nothing wrong with having a sense of the bigger picture. Being built to care is a survival strength rather than a flaw. But both things can be true at once… Allowing your own needs, feelings, and preferences to breathe doesn’t diminish someone else’s. Recognising that someone else is in what appears to be a worse situation doesn’t need to diminish your own. But this isn’t only about validating our own feelings. It’s also about recognising what is lost when we shrink back and disappear from our own lives in that way. The world needs people who have come alive There’s a famous quote by Howard Thurman: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” For years, I’ve ended my podcast episodes with the words: “You are an artist. The world needs your art. Now, go and make somebody’s day.” I say this because when sensitive people disconnect from what makes them come alive, everyone loses something. The world becomes poorer for it. I shared this idea in my Notes From a Slow Coach email newsletter at the weekend, and someone replied to emphasise their own experience with this. They quoted: “When you do bad in the world, you make the whole world that much worse, but when you do good, you take the whole world with you, and you make it that much better. People need so little encouragement for it to make a huge difference in their lives.” That’s so true. It takes so little encouragement to make someone’s day. And yet, when focused solely on the big picture, we might believe we can’t make a difference at all. When The “Strategy” of Care Meets a Global World I wonder whether the paralysing effect of “other people have it worse” is a scaled-up version of a highly sensitive trait that operates at a local level. One reason high sensitivity has endured as a successful survival trait is its social element. Rather than being a by-product of low self-esteem or a diminished self-concept, it reflects a nervous system that finds safety by nurturing peace and soothing distress within the surrounding community. At a local level, this is an effective strategy. When you notice someone struggling in your immediate environment, your awareness and attention can make a meaningful difference. Being wired to care means noticing subtleties and patterns that can predict and prevent escalation. Whether of disease, dis-ease, or potential dangers from the surrounding environment. The capacity to sense subtle changes, anticipate needs, and respond with compassion can strengthen the community. But when this same instinct is plugged into the whole world, with instant access through technology, it can rapidly become a reason we feel stuck. It’s impossible to reconcile in any meaningful sense. There will always be people in distress, news of suffering somewhere in the world, and horrifying decisions made by people with far more power to implement than we have to prevent. The Pressure To Care About Everything Maybe you feel this. If you’re built to care about everything, the constant flow of news can leave you feeling helpless. Like there’s no meaningful action you can take that will make much of a difference. And when our attention and compassion are pulled in so many directions, it becomes all too easy to overlook those things that make us come alive. Both what we already know we love, and those things we are yet to discover we love. When we start close in and small, maybe we can recover some sense of perspective. It’s not about pretending the wider world doesn’t exist or that these other things aren’t happening, but about remembering that we’re part of this tapestry too, and that the art we are creating with our lives creates ripples through space and time. And while it might not feel directly related to those things beyond reach that emotionally affect us, and however trivial they seem, if they matter to us, they matter. Caring about others isn’t the problem I would love to hear from you if this feels familiar. Maybe you’ve found ways to reconcile these feelings. Or maybe you’re feeling stuck because you can’t seem to avoid shrinking yourself and feeling like you don’t have as much right as others to take up space on this planet. We can be gentle and encouraging with ourselves and one another as we explore what makes us come alive, while also caring about, grieving for, and living within the contradictions of our messy world. Figuring it out together The Haven Courtyard Membership provides free access to the community space within.

  8. Jul 23

    Feeling Stuck is Not Always The Same as Being Stuck

    Feeling stuck is not always the same as being stuck. We might respond to a feeling before we’ve identified its source, and when we do, we can end up reacting to the wrong problem. If you’ve ever found yourself wanting to quit your job, transform or abandon a creative project, change direction, or start over completely, it’s worth asking a simple question: What if the thing you’re trying to change isn’t actually what’s making you feel stuck? https://youtu.be/DuUXYBeCK00 Why Feeling Stuck Isn’t Always What It Seems In last weekend’s Notes From a Slow Coach, I wrote about times when we might feel jammed. Things get jammed when too many elements are competing for the limited space available. Ideas, options, other people’s opinions, recommendations, everyday pressures, worries, news, and expectations all compete for our attention until everything starts to feel equally important. When everything feels important, it’s difficult to distinguish the signal from the noise. Are You Really Stuck? Sometimes we do get stuck. Life puts the brakes on where we were heading. A relationship ends. We lose a job. We experience bereavement. A project reaches the end of the road, and we don’t know what to do next. These situations take time to process. Calling ourselves “stuck” might be to misidentify them as problems to solve rather than circumstances to adapt to with self-compassion. When We Solve the Wrong Problem I’ve noticed this pattern in myself many times. I’ll be working on a project that seems to be going well. Then one morning I’ll wake up convinced it needs changing. I’ll start adding features, shifting the focus, rewriting pages, or replacing it altogether. Except the project wasn’t the problem. It had simply become a proxy for something else. Perhaps I was tired after a busy weekend, worried about an upcoming event, or anxious about underlying pressures. Tweaking gives me concrete details to focus on. It provides a feeling of movement and control. I may even convince myself that the thing I’m tweaking is genuinely stuck. It seems I’d often rather rewrite a perfectly good landing page than stop long enough to notice what actually feels jammed. Sometimes the Jam Needs Clearing. Sometimes It Needs Time. Not every traffic jam is the same. Sometimes an obstruction needs removing. Other times you simply need to wait for the traffic to thin out. The important thing is recognising which situation you’re actually in. Some require action. Others require patience. In fact, trying to force movement often becomes part of the jam itself. Three Signs I’m Reacting Rather Than Responding I’ve noticed signs that tell me I’m probably not in the best state to make important changes or decisions. The first is a sudden collapse in confidence. A project I felt good about yesterday suddenly seems completely wrong today. This can feel all-encompassing. But I know if the crisis of confidence has only just begun, I should hold off on acting for a few days. Another is telling myself there’s a magic bullet that can make everything okay. The one correct path. I dismiss perfectly adequate options because they don’t match the image I have in mind of the non-existent perfect one. A third is if I notice myself using action or work to give a feeling of progress, to avoid sitting with discomfort and recognising what might be going on at a deeper level. It doesn’t matter what I do, just do something. Hop lanes. Book alternative transport. At times, the feeling of movement feels better than the feeling of being stuck. Perhaps we’ve come to associate feeling stuck with waiting, patience, and the natural rhythms, processes, and seasons of life. Questions to ask when you’re tempted to respond to feeling stuck with mindless action: Does something actually need to change, or did my mood just change? Would the version of me from yesterday agree with this conclusion? Am I changing this because it genuinely isn’t working, or because I’m simply bored of looking at it today? If I’m bored, what could I do to scratch that itch without affecting the integrity of the underlying structure? These are questions I’ve been exploring for years in Pick The Lock conversations. I’m gathering stories and experiences to build practical resources for navigating those seasons and recurring patterns when we feel stuck. Before we decide what to do next, it helps to know what kind of situation we’re actually in. It began with the Map of Stuckness and Possibility, a free workbook designed to help you identify the landscape you’re in before deciding what to do next. You can download it here.

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About

The Gentle Rebel Podcast explores the intersection of high sensitivity, creativity, and the influence of culture within, between, and around us. Through a mix of conversational and monologue episodes, I invite you to question the assumptions, pressures, and expectations we have accepted, and to experiment with ways to redefine the possibilities for our individual and collective lives when we view high sensitivity as both a personal trait and a vital part of our collective survival (and potential).