(And somehow, I Became Both the Enabler and the Scapegoat)
Today’s cocktail: Boulevardier.
Okay so let’s talk about it…
For most of my life, I was told I was too sensitive.
Too emotional.
Too reactive.
Too soft.
Too much.
It was said like a diagnosis. Like something in me was defective something I needed to toughen, mute, or override if I wanted to be loved properly.
What no one ever said was this:
I wasn’t sensitive. I was unsafe.
Sensitivity doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s not a personality flaw that appears at random. It’s a skill developed in environments where unpredictability is the norm where love is conditional, moods shift without warning, and emotional landmines are everywhere.
You learn to read the room because your nervous system depends on it.
In my family, this skill made me useful.
I became the one who smoothed things over.
The one who understood everyone else’s feelings.
The one who explained away bad behavior.
The one who absorbed tension, so others didn’t have to.
That’s how I became the enabler.
But here’s the part that took me years to understand:
In an enmeshed family system, the enabler and the scapegoat are often the same person.
I was close enough to carry everyone’s emotional weight but never protected enough to be safe from blame.
When things went wrong, I was “too sensitive.”
When I reacted, I was “overreacting.”
When I spoke up, I was “starting something.”
When I stayed quiet, I was “holding onto things.”
I was responsible for keeping the peace but punished for noticing the chaos.
That’s the paradox of enmeshment. You’re expected to be emotionally available, but not emotionally honest. Attuned, but not autonomous. Loyal, but not self-protective.
And if you are sensitive in a system like that?
You become the mirror people resent.
Because sensitivity sees what others are invested in denying.
It sees inconsistency.
It feels emotional shifts before they’re named.
It notices when love is withdrawn as punishment.
So, the narrative becomes: you’re the problem.
Not the dysfunction.
Not the lack of boundaries.
Not the unspoken rules.
You.
For a long time, I internalized that story. I tried to harden myself. I tried to become less affected, less reactive, less me. I thought healing meant becoming unbothered.
But what I’ve learned is this:
My sensitivity was never the issue. The lack of safety was.
The hyper-awareness.
The anxiety.
The emotional depth.
Those were adaptations not flaws.
And the moment I stopped enabling, the moment I started setting boundaries, the moment I chose clarity over harmony I became even more of a scapegoat.
Because enmeshed systems don’t reward differentiation. They punish it.
Still, I choose it.
I choose to be sensitive and boundaried.
I choose to feel deeply without carrying what isn’t mine.
I choose to stop confusing self-abandonment with love.
If you’ve been labeled “too sensitive,” ask yourself this instead:
Who benefited from you staying small?
Who needed you to doubt your perceptions?
Who relied on your empathy while denying you safety?
Sensitivity isn’t weakness.
In the wrong environment, it becomes survival.
In the right one, it becomes wisdom.
And I am no longer interested in surviving systems that require me to disappear.
Cocktail please?
Gia Beasley,
If you’re a man reading this then this book below is just for you…
- The Invisible Ache: Black Men Identifying Their Pain and Reclaiming Their Power
- Workbook for The Invisible Ache: Black Men Identifying Their Pain and Reclaiming Their Power: An Implementation Guide to Courtney B. Vance, Dr. Robin L. Smith's Book