My son recently turned six. He is many things, both good and bad, but an easy child is not one of them. Someone once asked me to describe him at a party and I was at a loss. I eventually settled on “complicated,” which got some laughs (he was only 2.5 at the time), but I could not find the words to sum him up using only a few basic character traits.

Labels are everywhere. Every disability you can imagine, every ability too. Every skill, every problem, everything we are—neatly named, categorized, and filed away.

Here’s one you may be unfamiliar with: Highly Sensitive. Yes, it’s an actual thing and, for us, this diagnosis…this discovery that there was a name for what we’d been experiencing—it was life-changing.

If I am being honest, my daughter came into this world pushing me away. She was independent from the moment she was born. Sure, she relied on me for food and a diaper change, but rarely for affection. I have always needed her more than she has needed me.

She is an introspective person, born an old soul. She seems to take great pleasure telling me what she thinks I am doing wrong – constantly reminding me that we MUST be taking the long route; there is DEFINITELY a closer parking spot. It feels like I am going over the speed limit. I let her brother have a piece of candy before hockey practice once and she told me, and I quote, “this is not what proper parenting looks like.”