Highly Sensitive and Queer: When Your Nervous System Is Taking In More Than You Realize

A person looks toward a crowded Pride gathering, surrounded by movement, people, and sensory input.
Photo by Carmen Laezza via Unsplash

A few weeks ago, I changed a setting in Gmail because I wanted AI to stop trying to write my emails for me.

But first, Gmail lost its damn mind.

My inbox normally had about 47 messages in it. Then I noticed the number was going up.

And it kept going.

A few hundred.

Then 700.

Then more than a thousand.

I was watching it happen in real time, with absolutely no idea if would ever stop.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING AND HOW FAR IS THIS GOING TO GO?

I could feel my anxiety ticking up faster than the damn emails.

And here's the thing: part of me knew this wasn't an emergency. It was Gmail. I'd changed a setting. There had to be a way to fix it.

Another part of me was already imagining thousands and thousands of promotional emails flooding my inbox forever. Both parts were there at the same time.

Years ago, I might not have recognized what was happening until I was completely overwhelmed. Therapy, along with a lot of work on my own emotional intelligence, has helped me get better at noticing what's happening inside my body while it's happening.

Okay. I'm getting really anxious.
I don't know where this stops, and that's freaking me out.
It's just emails. It will be okay. This is fixable.

And eventually: Stop staring at the damn number.

So I got up. Made myself a cup of tea. Let my nervous system settle a little, then went back to figuring out what I'd screwed up.

With AI. Because apparently that's how this story was destined to end.

Eventually, I figured out something I hadn't understood while I was watching that inbox explode.

Those thousands of emails weren't new.

They'd been there all along.

Gmail had been filtering them. They were still there, underneath what I could see, but something had been deciding which ones needed my attention and which ones didn't. When that filter stopped working the way it had before, I suddenly saw the sheer volume of information that had been there the whole time.

And I haven't stopped thinking about that, because it's not a bad metaphor for what it can feel like to have a highly sensitive nervous system.

We talk a lot about everything highly sensitive people notice: noise, light, other people's moods, the tiny shift in someone's voice when they say they're fine but you know damn well they're not.

But what about everything we're taking in that never quite makes it into conscious awareness? And how much energy does it take to keep that filter running?

When Highly Sensitive Is Also Queer

Being queer can give that already-busy filter even more to sort through.

As a straight-passing bi+ woman, I've spent a lot of my life absorbing messages about who belongs, what relationships are considered normal, when it's safe to be visible, and when it's easier to let people assume I'm straight. I don't consciously analyze every one of those messages. I don't have to. Some of that information gets processed before I've even put words to it.

I like to think about this intersection as being a highly sensitive queer, or HSQ. It's not that being queer makes you more sensitive. It's that a highly sensitive nervous system may be taking in sensory and emotional information while also tracking another whole layer of information about identity, belonging, visibility, and safety.

Add internalized biphobia, the pressure to fit in, and the constant background noise of a culture that still has plenty to say about queer people, and that filter has a hell of a lot to sort through.

Sometimes we know exactly what's gotten to us. Other times, we're just anxious, irritable, exhausted, or suddenly desperate to go home and shut the world out for a while, without quite knowing why.

The inbox may look manageable.

That doesn't mean there isn't a lot happening underneath.

Noticing the Flood Before You're Underwater

AI could help me figure out what Gmail was doing. It couldn't do much about what was happening inside my body while I watched those numbers climb.

That's something I've gotten better at over time.

Therapy has certainly helped. So has developing more emotional intelligence: learning to recognize what I'm feeling, understand what might be underneath it, put words to it, and eventually figure out what I need or what I need to do.

Regulation, for me, doesn't mean talking myself out of being anxious. My nervous system was already activated. Telling myself this is ridiculous, it's just email wasn't going to make the feeling disappear.

What I could do was notice it.

I'm getting really anxious.

Then get curious about it.

I don't know where this is going to stop. Everything feels out of control. That's what's freaking me out.

And instead of continuing to stare at the number, I could slow things down enough to take care of myself. Get away from the screen. Make a cup of damn tea. Let my body settle a little.

Then come back and deal with the actual problem.

That's a pretty ordinary example of regulation. Nothing big. Nothing magical. I didn't breathe my way into enlightenment or convince myself not to be anxious. I recognized what was happening, gave my nervous system a little room, and got regulated enough to figure out what to do next.

And honestly, the things that help can be pretty ordinary too.

Notice What's Happening

Before you can regulate anything, you have to recognize that your system is getting flooded. Sometimes that's obvious. Other times the first clue is irritability, exhaustion, anxiety, wanting everyone to leave you the hell alone, or realizing you've been holding your shoulders somewhere around your ears for the past three hours.

The point isn't to catch it perfectly or immediately. It's getting better at noticing it sooner.

Name What You Can

I'm anxious is a start. But sometimes you can get more specific.

I don't know what's going to happen.
I feel trapped.
There's too much going on.
I'm not sure what to do or say.
I'm trying to figure out whether this person is safe.

Naming what's happening doesn't magically make it go away. It can, however, make a big amorphous WHAT THE FUCK a little easier to understand.

Give Your Nervous System Less to Process

This is where actual self-care comes in, and it doesn't have to be big or elaborate.

Step away. Turn something off. Go outside. Stop reading the comments. Leave the party early. Put the phone down. Get some sleep. Find the person you don't have to perform around.

Or, in my case, make a cup of tea.

You're not trying to become perfectly calm. You're giving your system fewer things to sort through.

Then Figure Out What You Need

Sometimes you need to solve the problem. Sometimes you need a boundary. Sometimes you need reassurance, connection, rest, therapy, or twenty minutes when nobody needs a damn thing from you.

And sometimes you don't know yet.

That's okay too. Regulation isn't about always knowing exactly what you need. Sometimes it's getting settled enough to ask the question.

When the Inbox Starts Filling Up

I still get overwhelmed. Sometimes I still miss the signs, and occasionally my nervous system gets there before my brain has any idea what's going on.

But I've gotten better at noticing the numbers ticking upward.

For highly sensitive people, and especially for those of us also navigating queerness, identity, belonging, and visibility, there may be more going through the filter than we consciously realize. There’s no way to stop everything from coming in.

But we can get better at recognizing when the inbox is getting full, understanding some of what we're carrying, and giving ourselves what we need before the whole damn thing starts flashing 1,247 unread messages.

Check out my last blog: Why Is Self-Care So Challenging for Highly Sensitive People?

Disclaimer: Reading this blog isn’t the same as therapy. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a licensed mental health professional — you don’t have to do this alone.