Confessions Of A Secret Introvert
Sometimes I do weird, dumb stuff.
Things like hitting the Close Door button as quickly as possible when I’m in an elevator alone so that no one will get in there with me, or walking into a coffee shop and choosing my table based on who around me looks like they don’t feel like talking.
I’d say about 75 percent of the time I’d rather dig a 50-foot trench with a spoon while blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back than make a single phone call. I mind going to the grocery store and using the self-checkout because I don’t have to engage with anyone the whole time I’m there. And occasionally, I get excited when plans are cancelled because I don’t want to do a thing today, since I did a thing yesterday.
That, my friends, is because I am a secret introvert. I am a confusing mix of People scare me. PLEASE invite me. I know we made plans to hang out three days ago, but that was when I was younger and full of hope. I like going out and having fun, but my battery runs down quicker than yours in social situations.
Gosh, that sounds so weird.
Some people are surprised to find out I’m an introvert because, thanks to social media, there is the impression that I’m an extroverted social butterfly who shines in public places. The truth is, I’m a spectaularly shitty extrovert. I DO like to go out, and I have a good time, but sometimes, if it’s an unfamiliar situation, getting there means there are the nerve-wracking effects—like heart palpitations and a thousand what-ifs—that freak me out before I’m there. Thankfully, that mess of negative thoughts typically disappears once I’m wherever I need to be.
Do you want to know what almost makes me lose my damn mind? Being at a gathering where someone says, “Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves.” I feel a wash of dread come over me so strong that I want to vomit and run out of the room, because oh my GOD. Instead, I mentally compose and repeat what I’m going to say, and then when it’s my turn to speak, I stutter out word vomit and jibberish, which is both tragic and funny AND a real kick in the pants that I saw coming.
For the most part, I have all the typical introverted behaviors: I avoid chatty salespeople, and have been known to leave a store without buying what I came for because the salesperson Wouldn’t. Stop. Talking. (Bra shopping, where you’re measured and prodded and are required to speak to a stranger about your breasts, is the worst, BTW.)
I also avoid being alone with people I don’t know very well (which makes zero sense, because how do you get to know someone if you don’t spend time with them?). My default method of communication is texting because making a phone call is terrifying. However, I’m finding phone usage slightly less unnerving lately, especially when YOU call ME. It’s a milestone that I’m personally proud of.
Even so, after a busy day, I enjoy shutting myself in the house and finding a few moments (or hours) of zen. Ahh, much better!
Oh, the sweet relief of sitting on the couch, basking in the aloneness, before the finding fault with my actions begins. Eventually, I sigh out a great gust of "Nobody gives a sh*t, so why do you?" (because I said something stupid in a conversation, and I will remember it for the rest of my life, that’s why!) and carry on.
I’ve hidden my introversion for so long, like it’s something to be ashamed of, and that was so incredibly stupid. I’ve spent decades thinking I was weird and ridiculous while suffocating and isolating myself. I’ve wasted too much time disliking that part of myself, which has been so prevalent that I disliked all of myself.
I’ve also spent too much time saying, “Come on, brain! Why you gotta’ be like that?” or “What in the blue f*ck is wrong with you?!” and “Just sttaahhhhhp already!”
I’ve paid for hours of therapy, plastered our refrigerator with magnets that have self-help phrases like, “Embrace your quiet strength”, and spent years using sugar consumption and too much exercise as a way of self-medicating all my fucks straight out the window.
It’s only now, in my near 60s, that I’ve accepted that socially, my battery drains faster than other people's. It’s not going to get any better, and that is how I am. I’m tired of fighting it and convincing my brain to apply reason against its unreasonableness. Saying that out loud and confronting one of my less desirable characteristics makes me feel like a bright and shining beacon. Lighter! Freeer!
It makes more sense to admit who I am and forgive myself for those strange, quirky parts of me that I can’t change.
There are 3 billion introverts worldwide, so I’m guessing some of you are with me. Maybe we should set up an Introvert Club…except we’d all mutually agree not to attend any meetings, or we would all cancel at the last minute. Ha ha, right?