Ashley Burgauer
December 13, 1985-August 29, 2013
As a little girl I was constantly made fun of. I remember in 5th grade hearing the following things on a daily basis; “ew you’re so skinny,” “your hair is an afro”, “you’re so sensitive, quit being a baby”. Imagine my poor mother when I’d come home from school, hide away in my room only for her to find out I was actually crying like a baby because “no one at school liked me”. Catholic school kids can be brutal.
Luckily “your hair is an afro” translated into hair dressers drooling over my thick Italian locks as an adult (thanks Mom and Dad) and “ew you’re so skinny” meant I would still have my fast metabolism at 28, and it’s a good thing because I LOVE french fries. But the thing that stuck with me the most wasn’t the comment on my hair or the comment on my skin tone, it was that I was so sensitive. No one felt things like I did; no one understood why I cried when they made fun of OTHER kids and why I couldn’t handle the fighting and the name calling. By the age of 16 it had only gotten worse, boys could break my heart by just forgetting to call and if it were up to me we would have had mediation sessions in the lunch room instead of segregation and gossip. I spent a lot of lunches in the journalism office to avoid feeling sad every day as I watched people treat one another horribly. But even then I felt like my sensitivity was a weakness. “Why can’t I be tough like everyone else?” I’d ask my mom, “Why can’t I just feel nothing?”
A few months ago my home (small) town experienced a tragic loss. A smart, young, beautiful girl I had grown up with passed away from a heart condition called Myocarditis at the age of 27. When I received the phone call a deep sadness came over me. The thing I remember most about her was her sensitivity and kindness. If you were going through a tough time Ashley was the first one to write you a beautiful note or send you words of encouragement. One of my most vivid memories of Ashley is when I ran into her a few days before my mother passed away. We were on the porch of a mutual friend’s house and I had just received the news that it was only going to be a few days before my mom finally lost her fight with cancer. I was trying to be brave, speaking in medical terms and tasks instead of fear and emotion. Ashley just stood with me and said so gently and confidently; “You’re one of the strongest people I know, I honestly can’t think of anyone else that would handle this the way that you have. Your mom is so proud of you, you’re an incredible person and I will be here for you whenever you need me.” Her words have stuck with me over the years and given me strength when times were tough or I’ve felt alone. A few years later when I went through my things at my parent’s house, compiling them to prepare for the sale of my childhood home, I found all of the cards Ashley had written me. One for my 16th birthday, one for a tough time I had during my freshman year of college, one just simply thanking me for being me and one from when my mother died offering me again the same words of encouragement and the same reminder that I was going to make it through the storm. Ashley didn’t give me cards with hallmark messages and the generic “Good luck” or “Thanks”. Ashley wrote me cards that were personal, thoughtful, thorough and genuine. Ashley was one of the sensitive ones.
I don’t know what Ashley would be doing today if she were here, but I can certainly guess based on her history. Ashley would be taking care of the sick and the elderly because her kindness and sensitivity had translated into a career as a nurse. Ashley would be teaching her nephew and helping her sister when she needed her because Ashley’s kindness and sensitivity had made her a loyal and supportive friend. Ashley would be having dinner with her parents and planning vacations and helping them recoup from a surgery or a fall because Ashley’s kindness and sensitivity had made her an observant and empathetic daughter. Ashley would have been changing the world one person, one child, one patient at a time because Ashley had embraced her sensitivity as strength instead of a weakness.
I can’t tell you the countless meetings I have sat in or situations I have encountered where a man has said to me “You’re too sensitive, you need to toughen up” or “Stop taking things so personally”. In those moments I felt ashamed of my sensitivity, ashamed that I couldn’t “handle it like a man” or “handle the pressure”. I started having conversations in my head about how I could “be stronger” or “change the way I am”.
Today I think of Ashley and I am reminded that similarly to my thick Italian hair and my fast metabolism, my sensitivity is not only an asset in my personal life, my relationships and my work but it is an asset to the world.
I am going to continue to lean in to my sensitivity every day knowing that it enhances my decision making, my interpersonal relationships and my approach to management. And when I lean in, I will proudly think of Ashley.
What has your sensitivity or kindness done for you? Please share in the comments section below or tweet me on twitter!
Twitter: @teresasabatine
Teresa Sabatine 
Reblogged this on Digital Ramblings and commented:
I feel a bit cliche for feeling a tad bit emotional while reading this post, but it’s certainly worth reading.