I was sent here to read this by my psychologist. I sought him out for some advice, about whether or not I was being unreasonable in my romantic relationship. I've been a human polygraph for the last 25+ years. I first remember having to pretend I didn't know what was going on in order to avoid conflict, when I was 10. Somewhere in my mid-twenties, I realized I had a gift that I couldn't explain, and started trying to figure out what the mechanism was that made me different. I had an abnormally good heart, in terms of blood pressure, resting heart rate, and cardio ability, so I thought maybe it was an interaction of the magnetic fields produced by our hearts. The heart, acting as a transceiver, with mine being physically more powerful. Regardless of whether my theory was correct, it didn't take me long to come to the conclusion that always knowing when you're being lied to, is very painful. I know everyone in my life better than they want to know themselves, and some of them hate me for it. My father suffered daily agony in his back and leg for 20 years, until I told him he had a pain syndrome and essentially hypnotized him out of it. He's been pain free for almost a decade, though we no longer speak. They feel exposed. And I don't know how Jung picked up on the fact that people would project themselves onto me, but that's ever present, and often to an outrageous degree. I am incredibly isolated, though reading all of this has given me hope that I may be able to find contentment. Despite all of this, if I could snap my fingers and have it go away, I'd say no and keep my curse.
John, your story touches the very core of what I tried to expose with Jung. It is the price of clarity: seeing what others don’t want to see, and how unbearable that becomes for those around you. The projections you describe, the isolation, and at the same time the awareness that you would never want to lose this gift – that is the paradox. You recognize the mechanisms Jung described, but you also live them in their rawest form.
Perhaps the only path to real contentment lies here: not explaining or softening anymore, but fully accepting that your knowing was never meant to be understood by the masses. It is a gift carried alone – and precisely because of that, so valuable.
Indeed, that would make the world a much more pleasant place. Unfortunately, my writings are — remarkably and at the same time tellingly — avoided by the majority of professionals in the field of giftedness. And that is precisely why I write! Thank you for your comment.
It is dangerous perception — seeing what others can’t. Those who carry it either break under the weight of it, or transform into what Jung called pioneers of consciousness.
Exactly — opinions don’t touch what is inevitably perceived. But I write because leaving it unspoken would be a denial of what is clear. For the gifted, silence is not an option — it’s not obligation, but necessity. And the paradox is that precisely this directness, when spoken with respect and full attention, has helped many like-minded people. As a client told me recently: “It has never been said this direct and confrontational — and that’s why it finally made sense.”
I was sent here to read this by my psychologist. I sought him out for some advice, about whether or not I was being unreasonable in my romantic relationship. I've been a human polygraph for the last 25+ years. I first remember having to pretend I didn't know what was going on in order to avoid conflict, when I was 10. Somewhere in my mid-twenties, I realized I had a gift that I couldn't explain, and started trying to figure out what the mechanism was that made me different. I had an abnormally good heart, in terms of blood pressure, resting heart rate, and cardio ability, so I thought maybe it was an interaction of the magnetic fields produced by our hearts. The heart, acting as a transceiver, with mine being physically more powerful. Regardless of whether my theory was correct, it didn't take me long to come to the conclusion that always knowing when you're being lied to, is very painful. I know everyone in my life better than they want to know themselves, and some of them hate me for it. My father suffered daily agony in his back and leg for 20 years, until I told him he had a pain syndrome and essentially hypnotized him out of it. He's been pain free for almost a decade, though we no longer speak. They feel exposed. And I don't know how Jung picked up on the fact that people would project themselves onto me, but that's ever present, and often to an outrageous degree. I am incredibly isolated, though reading all of this has given me hope that I may be able to find contentment. Despite all of this, if I could snap my fingers and have it go away, I'd say no and keep my curse.
John, your story touches the very core of what I tried to expose with Jung. It is the price of clarity: seeing what others don’t want to see, and how unbearable that becomes for those around you. The projections you describe, the isolation, and at the same time the awareness that you would never want to lose this gift – that is the paradox. You recognize the mechanisms Jung described, but you also live them in their rawest form.
Perhaps the only path to real contentment lies here: not explaining or softening anymore, but fully accepting that your knowing was never meant to be understood by the masses. It is a gift carried alone – and precisely because of that, so valuable.
Seeing more wisely is a useful suggestion.
Indeed, that would make the world a much more pleasant place. Unfortunately, my writings are — remarkably and at the same time tellingly — avoided by the majority of professionals in the field of giftedness. And that is precisely why I write! Thank you for your comment.
🔎 Giftedness isn’t about intelligence alone.
It is dangerous perception — seeing what others can’t. Those who carry it either break under the weight of it, or transform into what Jung called pioneers of consciousness.
Since when does the opinion of others change unavoidable perceptions? Or, the imperative to share impressions?
Exactly — opinions don’t touch what is inevitably perceived. But I write because leaving it unspoken would be a denial of what is clear. For the gifted, silence is not an option — it’s not obligation, but necessity. And the paradox is that precisely this directness, when spoken with respect and full attention, has helped many like-minded people. As a client told me recently: “It has never been said this direct and confrontational — and that’s why it finally made sense.”