On Where To Begin

"What are you, antisocial?" someone will ask.

"I'm not antisocial," I'll say. "I'm just unsocial."

There's a big difference, although many people don't see it. I tend to avoid too much social activity (by my standards), but I have nothing against being social now and then; in fact, I enjoy the company of others.

Explaining such nuances doesn't always help. It could be due, at least in part, to my failure to explain things simply. But there are also other barriers.

Several acquaintances, in my opinion, don't believe in introversion. Some of them even claim to be introverts, but when they tell me that they were able to practice over the years and change, I realize we're talking about different traits. These acquaintances are the kinds of people who think everyone should be treated the same, and everyone should want the same things, and they take offense at anyone who spurns those ideals. Children shouldn't be treated with special consideration, they say, because you'll end up raising a bunch of babies. And adults should, of course, be given even less leeway.

I can see their point; in fact, I agree to some extent. And that's why I do my best to avoid too much social activity. It's up to me to look after my own well-being. Not the system I'm part of. Not my acquaintances or friends or family. I don't need others to treat me differently or to understand me. As long as I make sure to treat myself in the way that I need, then I'll be okay.

It's always worthwhile to try coming to an understanding with others, but that's a huge task, and not always a pleasant one. Creating an environment that I can thrive in is much more important. As they say: start with yourself.

 

On Responding To Sounds

I recently learned that I'm losing hearing in one of my ears. This has presented me with a new challenge and a new perspective. Now I'm not sure which is worse: hearing too much, or hearing too little.

I've always been a bit overwhelmed by my senses. I've felt like I was seeing a little too much, catching scents that I didn't want to catch, and hearing more than I could absorb at once. With every other sense competing for my attention, I couldn't understand how others managed to be so on-the-ball. My brain might eventually catch up, but by the time it did, it would often be too late.

Making sense of what people were saying to me has frequently been an issue. I heard them well enough, but the surrounding noise would interfere; and then, of course, even when I could hear a person's words correctly, there was the problem of interpreting their meaning. To this day, how everyone else succeeds at this so easily still baffles me.

Now I need to learn all over again how to respond when my hearing fails; this time, it's from hearing too little. Maybe I can respond the same way that I did when I heard too much. I don't yet know.

 

Community Member

... life is a constant struggle between being an individual and being a member of the community.

Excerpt from The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
by Sherman Alexie

 

Bursting Inside

Rarely am I as boisterous as those around me. I decline to take front stage unless there's a need for it. For a long time I worried that my lack of boisterousness was interpreted as a lack of enthusiasm, or -- worse -- as a lack of conviction, as if I couldn't truly mean it without saying it loudly. But I am enthusiastic... in my own quiet way. When I'm bursting with joy, a warmth fills my chest, my face radiates, I tense up with excited energy, and I'm often paralyzed by the enormity of my feelings. It doesn't need to burst from my mouth in order for it to erupt from within me. I don't need to voice it in order to be certain that it's there.

I realize, of course, that there's something to be said about expressing myself to others, that it's a good thing. It doesn't need to be boisterous, though: it just needs to be true.

 

On Shells And Happiness

Auberon put down the glass, slowly, thinking. "Do you think," he said, "that people are happier when they're alone, or with other people?"

She carried his glass and plate to the sink. "I don't know," she said. "I guess... Well, what do you think?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just wondered if... " What he wondered was whether it was a fact everyone knew, every grown-up anyway: that everyone is of course happiest alone, or the reverse, whichever it was. "I guess I'm happier with other people," he said.

"Oh yes?" She smiled; since she faced the sink, he couldn't see her. "That's nice," she said. "An extrovert."

"I guess."

"Well," Alice said softly, "I just hope you don't creep back in your shell again."

He was already on his way out, stuffing extra cookies in his pockets, and didn't stop, but a strange window had suddenly been flung open within him. Shell? Had he been in a shell? And -- odder still -- had he been seen to be in one, was it common knowledge? He looked through this window and saw himself for a moment, for the first time, as others saw him. Meanwhile his feet had taken him out the broad swinging doors of the kitchen, which grump-grumped behind him in their way, and through the raisin-odorous pantry, and out through the stillness of the long dining room, going toward his imaginary ball-game.

Excerpt from Little, Big: or, The Fairies' Parliament
by John Crowley

Related: The Shell

 

Dear Zeri: On Getting Others To Understand

Thursday, July 25, 2013

I just found your blog about being an extreme introvert and wanted to say thanks for sharing. I'm feeling particularly misunderstood these days.

One thing I'm constantly trying to figure out is how to get people to understand and respect me being an introvert... I've realized that's never going to happen except for people I'm very close with. So I need to learn more coping mechanisms. I wonder if you'd consider writing something about coping in uncomfortable environments (I didn't see if you've already written about that). For example, I just returned from a 10 day vacation with my in-laws (9 people total). I pretty much had a meltdown by the second day because I was getting basically no alone time and everyone was talking all the time at the same time. I even got a really bad cold which I'm sure was related to the stress. I started hiding out as much as possible and I'm sure everyone thinks I hate them... which almost seems true because I find it so stressful to be around them. I'm not sure how to appropriately deal with that situation. I need to get better at being able to deal with these situations I can't control. Any tips?

Thanks again,

L

---

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Hi, L --

Thanks for writing, and my apologies for the late reply. I only check in sporadically, but I suppose it's nearly time for another entry. I have to confess, though, that I try not to give out too much advice on my own blog. I try to keep it more personal. I do know of several forums that have great advice for introverts, though. I'll forward some if you're interested.

That said, I can very much relate to the situations you've described; while I don't have any standard tips to offer, I can tell you what my own experience has been.

First, about the vacation-related stress: that sort of thing happens to me, too. During situations like those, it feels like every muscle is tense, and like I'm ready to pounce on anyone who comes near. Being stuck like that for too long can definitely take its toll on your health. I've found only two ways to cope in those scenarios. If at all possible, the easiest thing to do is to get away. Make time for yourself, even if it seems odd to others. Step out to the bathroom, but go for a walk, instead. The other thing that helps is if you can be honest with others. I know I've struggled with that in the past; it's hard to be honest without being cruel, and so I often avoid saying anything. But if you can calm yourself enough to say what you're feeling in a reasonable manner, others will often understand. Even if they don't make less noise all of the time, they'll at least understand if you need to get away from them. And they'll understand that you aren't really hating them -- that you're just having a hard time dealing with so much stimulation.

There is a third thing that helps in those situations, but it's the one that takes the most time: it's practice. It may never become entirely easy, but I think we eventually find ways to zone it all out. Ways to calm or distract ourselves. It still takes a toll, in the meantime, but it gets easier not to burst while we're in the midst of it all.

As for respect and understanding, those things are fleeting. Not even fellow introverts will always understand you. We don't come across introverts as often, and so we act towards the rest of the world just like anyone else does; thus, we often treat each other, including our fellow introverts, in the ways that give us such a hard time. Friends will falter sometimes, but at least they're friends. All you can expect is that they'll try to be as understanding towards you as you'll be towards them.

Hopefully some of this helps.

Thanks again for writing. Good or bad, it always helps a little to know that others deal with the same things as me.

Be well,

... Zeri

---

Friday, August 2, 2013

Zeri,

Thanks for your response. I really appreciate it. It's nice to feel understood. Sometimes I feel like such a freak when it seems everyone else can cope with "normal" situations so much better than I can.

I understand not wanting to give advice but I appreciate your personal experiences. I often do the thing where I pretend I'm just going to the bathroom or something and then disappear for long periods of time... I think that gives a bad impression, although often I think people don't even notice I'm gone since I'm sort of invisible even when I'm there.

The thing I really want to work on is being more honest and straightforward with people. I've tried this with my mother-in-law. I will say to her, "I'm just feeling really overwhelmed by all the noise and stimulation and I require a lot of quiet, alone time." Her response is always, "Me too! It's driving me crazy... blah, blah, blah!!!" To which I always want to respond, "No I don't think you do get it because YOU are the one I find the most overwhelming to be around!!!" But I don't say that because I think it will hurt her feelings. It's interesting to me that she claims to feel overwhelmed by the chaos and yet she's the biggest contributor to that chaos. At that point I know she thinks she understands how I feel but clearly doesn't because I'm trying to ask her to not talk to me, that I need to be left alone to recover, but she takes it as an opportunity to talk to me even more. Clearly my passive requests are not accomplishing what I want them to. I'm not sure if I need to be even more direct and say, "YOU are talking to me too much and I can't deal with it anymore." If someone said that to me it would really hurt my feelings. But maybe sometimes I need to just stand up for myself and my needs even if it does hurt other people's feelings.

Happy Friday,

L

---

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Hi L --

Yes, it might help to try asserting yourself more. Like I wrote last time, it can be challenging to figure out how to do so without being cruel, but it's important to try, I think, especially if you're becoming stressed out on a regular basis. Friends of mine (and probably many others) use a method of 1) saying something kind first, then 2) describing the problem or stating what is needed, and 3) finishing up with another nice statement. Here's an article that describes something similar as a way of being assertive and nice at the same time:

http://www.positivityblog.com/index.php/2008/05/05/six-steps-to-become-assertive-and-nice/

Personally, I find such steps to be a bit disingenuous; on the other hand, they seem to work well in many cases. You could start by telling your mother-in-law that you like talking with her, and hearing her stories, and getting to know her, etc.; then tell her that, while all that is true, you need a break from it occasionally, and that it's overwhelming; and then, perhaps, finish up by saying that you appreciate her understanding.

That said, she may not ever really get how overwhelmed you become. She may not understand how you are, but it's worth getting her to understand what you need.

In any case, I wish you luck. Situations like that can be tricky to negotiate.

Be well,

... Zeri

 

On What We Practice

An old friend once said that he used to be quiet like me, but that he eventually got over it and became more sociable. He pushed me to do the same, and told me I could change, as if introversion is something to be cured, something to get over, or something to work against. I was taken aback by his statement. I remember thinking at the time that he should have known better than to say something so insensitive.

My friend knew about prejudices. He faced at least two on a regular basis, one that he could hide from, and one that he couldn't: to be clear, he was both gay and black, and he grew up dealing with these two, natural "hardships". He was also my boss, and we worked in an environment geared towards multiculturalism. As I said, he should have known better. He was responsible for fostering acceptance at work, and he yearned for acceptance in his personal life. I didn't understand how he could be so blind when it came to me.

(As a side note, I should say that it may be far-fetched to claim that there's such a thing as a culture of introversion; yet, I can't help but think that there is. There are common misconceptions about introverts, as well as a similar way of being mistreated. We may not band together, but we still share a lot.)

I was more open-minded back then. Though I wanted to argue the point with my friend, I opted to reflect on his, instead. He seemed to think that -- with enough practice -- I could change. I, in turn, wanted to ask him if he could become less gay with enough practice.

I knew the answers intuitively, but that didn't stop me from trying to see if I really could change. So whenever I went out, I practiced being more social. I tried to understand what it was like to be what everyone else was. I tried to blend in, and to appear unfazed. I tried to participate, and to be "normal". Others who do this call themselves "practiced extroverts". There are even manuals written about how to change from an introvert into an extrovert.

All it takes is practice, they say.

What I say is that it's sad that this is how it is. Certainly it's useful -- practical, even -- to become capable at social activities, but I think we're all encouraged too often to practice the wrong things. Why should we spend our lives making ourselves into what others want us to be? Why are we putting all of this effort into changing into something we're not?

Why don't we, instead, practice getting better at being ourselves?

 

Very Ingoing

They described themselves as outgoing, a term he heard frequently. "Very outgoing," some said, perhaps to distinguish themselves from the rest. He figured there was something appealing to it. Was it a more prized quality? A more desirable one?

He wanted to introduce himself as ingoing, instead, and he wondered how it would play out. He'd say it proudly. They'd think he was joking, but he wouldn't participate in the laughter. He'd smile and wait for them to understand that he meant it.

Would they think less of him afterwards? Would they pity him? Or would his confession be as celebrated as any other?

No matter the answer to his questions, he knew that he -- for one -- would cherish knowing that there were others like him, that there were ingoers and outgoers and everything in between.

There are prized ways of being, he mused, that we never hear about.

 

On Fences And Freedom

"That backpack's like your symbol of freedom," he comments.

"Guess so," I say.

"Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents."

"Sometimes," I say.

"Sometimes," he repeats. "You know, if they had a contest for the world's shortest replies, you'd win hands down."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps," Oshima says, as if fed up. "Perhaps most people in the world aren't trying to be free, Kafka. They just think they are. It's all an illusion. If they really were set free, most people would be in a real bind. You'd better remember that. People actually prefer not being free.

"Including you?"

"Yeah. I prefer being unfree, too. Up to a point. Jean-Jacques Rousseau defined civilization as when people build fences. A very perceptive observation. And it's true -- all civilization is the product of a fenced-in lack of freedom. The Australian Aborigines are the exception, though. They managed to maintain a fenceless civilization until the seventeenth century. They're dyed-in-the-wool free. They go where they want, when they want, doing what they want. Their lives are a literal journey. Walkabout is a perfect metaphor for their lives. When the English came and built fences to pen in their cattle, the Aborigines couldn't fathom it. And, ignorant to the end of the principle at work, they were classified as dangerous and antisocial and were driven away, to the outback. So I want you to be careful. The people who build high, strong fences are the ones who survive the best. You deny that reality only at the risk of being driven into the wilderness yourself."

Excerpt from Kafka on the Shore
by Haruki Murakami

---

I quoted this entire passage because there are several things that I enjoy in it.

For one thing, I can relate to the backpack metaphor. I used to carry a backpack with me everywhere, even to work each day. And it was a symbol of freedom. I felt that I could go anywhere as long as I had the few things that I carried within it: notepads and pens, a camera, and a book to read. But going "anywhere" mostly meant being able to escape -- to go off on my own somewhere and read or write. That kind of freedom felt comfortable. So maybe in that sense, freedom was a safety net.

Another thing I can relate to is the making of short replies. I've previously noted how often my quietness has been mentioned. In the past, other words have been used to describe me, as well, among them "monosyllabic". I used words sparingly because I didn't think anything more was necessary, and I didn't know what else there was to say. Being terse wasn't always my way of cutting conversations short. It was just my way of being direct and straightforward. It took a while for me to realize that others wanted a little more in order to feel that I was engaged and interested. Giving extra is something that I'm still learning to do.

There's also the idea of fences that I can relate to. Sometimes I wonder if being introverted is just another way of building fences. I know that a lot of people see it that way; I've been accused of walling off the rest of the world, or of walling myself in. Personally, I prefer my own interpretation; I'm certainly not committed to anyone else's perspective. In this case, I'm not sure whether there's more freedom in the outside world or my inner world. I'm not sure which is wilder, and which is safer. I think it's different for each of us. We all build fences in different ways, and we all find freedom in our own ways, too. I have a fence, of course, but not in the way that others see it. I think of it like this: there's only room for a small community in my world, and so I'm naturally more exclusive. I admire those who can include everyone, but that's not the case for me. While I love to explore and to be free, I often feel the freest when I'm lost in my own head. So, for me, perhaps fencing myself off from the "wilderness" would mean not letting myself escape to the inside.

Finally, I can relate to melting into the scenery, and to acting natural so as not to be noticed. Acting "natural" really means acting unnatural, though. It means acting like everyone else, because that's the surest way to go unnoticed. It's another kind of freedom.

The line between fences and freedom isn't always clear. What matters in the end, I think, is how we define these things for ourselves.

 

On Bowing Out Gracefully

Often I'm invited to hang out with acquaintances, and I find myself declining because I'd prefer not to be social at that moment. Although there are times when I'm more open to it (or when I force myself to be), those times are few and far between. Thus I'm regularly faced with the task of declining, which is something I haven't yet figured out how to do well.

For one thing, describing my reasons seems like an overly personal exercise. It feels like opening up more than I want to. Also, all of the potential explanations seem too lengthy. I want for a simple, concise, and friendly way to get the message across. Saying that "I'm not in the mood to hang out" seems like it would invite too many questions. It might also appear to be too harsh; I'm not a harsh person, despite how I may come across, and I don't want to come across that way.

So how is it done? How do you turn invitations down without:

1. Being an ass, or
2. Being too personal, or
3. Making others more curious, or
4. Lying outright

If it's an impossible task, then maybe I can understand why many introverts come across as cold. Of the four options above, being an ass does seem like the easiest solution.

Unfortunately, I think I tend to veer towards being too personal. It's a compulsion: I hate saying anything that I don't mean, and I certainly don't mean to hurt anyone. It's a wonder I speak at all.

The Arrogance In Quietness

When I was a child, our family would travel to Chicago to visit relatives every summer. All of the kids would sleep in the basement at my grandmother's house. There were three beds in the basement, a desk, a Ping-Pong table, a dining table, a washer and dryer, shelves full of knickknacks, a large freezer, an old sink, and lots of treasures stashed away. There was plenty to explore down there. I liked this. When everyone left to spend their days above, I was grateful to sometimes have the basement to myself.

While exploring down there one summer, I came across a journal that my aunt had written (though I didn't realize it was my aunt's at the time). Among other things she'd penned, one of the things that I remembered most was a comment about my grandmother's opinion towards quietness.

"Ma told me not to be so quiet," she wrote. "She says that people who don't talk act like they're better than everyone else."

This stuck with me for a long time. I didn't understand my grandmother's opinion, especially since my experience had proven the opposite. I always felt that people saw me as inferior because I didn't say much. It was interesting to me that there could be opposing perspectives. At some point, I wrote about this experience in my own journal.

And, of course, karma would demand that my journals would also be invaded at some point. My mom, possibly the nosiest person ever, somehow found a way to read my journals no matter where I hid them. One day, she saw my notes about my grandmother's opinion, and she tried to convince me that it wasn't so. I didn't really need convincing, though. I loved my grandmother, and I held no grudges against her, regardless of her opinion. Though nice of my mom, I suppose, she needn't have tried to protect me. People have different perspectives, and it was important for me to know that. Whereas many times I felt like the world was against me, or against quiet people, apparently others felt the opposite -- that quiet people were against the rest of the world.

Gaining perspective doesn't really solve anything, but it sometimes helps to temper your views of the world. Instead of wondering why everyone treats you like you're doing something wrong, you begin to wonder why everyone (including yourself) has it all wrong.

 

Everyone Else Knows What's Best

Earlier, I was having a conversation that reminded me of some things that I've dealt with as an introvert (though these things are applicable to other areas of my life, as well). We were talking about work, about how her boss wanted to "promote" her. Though promotion was against her wishes, the boss was sure that it was the best route for her "growth" within the company. She disagreed; she wanted to grow, but not in that direction. The boss always knows what's best, though.

Why is it that everyone else always knows what's best for us?

It just reminds me so vividly of my younger days, and of how often I was preached to -- by friends and family and even strangers -- about growing out of my quietness. It was prescribed as the best thing for me, despite my arguments. I was perfectly happy staying just as I was, except for the fact that it seemed to bother everyone else. If they weren't bothered, then why would they be trying to change me? And if being quiet was good, then why would it make everyone uncomfortable? Of course there must be something questionable in it!

"I like being quiet," I'd say.

"Yeah, but you'll grow out of that. You'll see. And here's what you need to do to get started ..."

I didn't want to grow out of it. But I felt like I was the only one who didn't see my introversion as a problem, like I was the only one who didn't feel like I needed help.

How could anyone know what's best for me, though? I didn't even know what was best for myself. I'm sure no one else knew what was good for themselves, either; yet, we're all so quick to prescribe.

Most of the time -- though maybe not always -- I think we're the only ones who know best. I think we have a better idea than anyone else. Then again, maybe growing up as an introvert has simply made me suspicious of everyone else's opinions.

Who knows?

 

The Shell

Lately, I've been organizing my CD collection and ripping albums -- yes, I know, I'm slow to adhere to change (who owns CD's any more?) -- and I keep noticing certain songs, songs that bring back memories of the nonsense that I went through growing up as an introvert. For example, there's one song by a great band called Supertramp, a song titled "Hide In Your Shell", which takes me right back to high school. Not because of the song itself -- which I quite like, by the way -- but because of the phrase in its title. I can't count the number of times my "shell" was referred to back then. I do know that it was frequent enough to make me wonder whether I did in fact have some sort of invisible barrier erected between myself and the rest of the world; either that or some sort of disease.

Nowadays I know what people meant by it. They thought I was shy, and by "shy" they meant fearful. The nice ones said that they wanted to help get me out of my shell, but they misunderstood me as much as anyone else. I wasn't shy. I don't like that word; most often it means "timid", and that's not an accurate way to describe introverts. I'm not saying that some introverts aren't also shy. I'm saying that the two terms aren't synonymous.

I never considered myself more fearful than the next person. Sure, I was nervous when I gave presentations in front of groups (waiting to stand in front of class was awful); but I was perfectly comfortable talking with people one-on-one. Yes, I became overwhelmed when there was too much socialness, but I wasn't afraid of it -- I just didn't know how to operate in those situations. I was categorized as a timid person, though, and for a long time I thought that really was a problem I needed to fix within myself.

It wasn't.

On the other hand, I probably do have a shell, of sorts. Who doesn't? Mine is not a shell made of fear, however; it's something equally natural, but definitely not anything that needs to be discarded. I think we introverts live "in a world of our own" for two reasons: first, because it's instinct, because that's where we're able to feel most like ourselves, and, second, because we're overly sensitive to the rest of the world, and we're worn out easily by it. Maybe these two reasons are one and the same, actually. We construct limits to help ourselves out, to get ourselves back to our inner "worlds"; we may as well call these limits "shells."

But that's not fear. I'm just as brave, and just as confident, as anyone can be. And I'm just as fearful, too. I'd rather not be boxed into the shy category, though; I'll define who I am and what kind of shell I have. I'm not hiding because I'm afraid. I'm hiding because it's required of me by nature. Or, well, that's more or less what I think, anyway.

If I'd known better back then, I would've questioned my supposed shell less; I would've been more proud of it.

Some lyrics:

Love me, love you
Loving is the way to
Help me, help you
Why must we be so cool, oh so cool?
Oh, we're such damn fools...

-- Supertramp

 

Ain't It Good To Be An Introvert

A friend was surprised to learn the other day, during a story I was telling about my youth, that I seemed to have put myself into a lot of social scenarios while I was growing up. And so the veracity of my introverted nature came into question. This has caused me to think back on those days (specifically my grade school years and thereabouts) more than I have in quite a while.

It's true that I could be found doing things that would make it hard for anyone to pinpoint me as the unsocial type. Even nowadays it can be hard to peg me unless you're around me for long enough. (This reminds me of the post that I wrote about spotting introverts; I thought about writing something more in depth about the topic, but then I realized that most of us introverts don't really want to be spotted. Being spotted would interfere with our ability to keep to ourselves, to remain inconspicuous, to have our inner worlds protected. Or maybe that's just me.)

No matter what it looked like from the outside, I had a hard time with my nature when I was growing up. I spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. If I'd listened to the people around me back then, I might have concluded that being quiet and keeping to myself was a bad thing. Peers were often uncomfortable with my quietness, and some were even visibly upset about what probably seemed to them like an insistent unfriendliness. Occasionally people were mean. Others tried to change me. Some acquaintances set out trying to make me more talkative. And, naturally, there were those who simply made fun of my quietness.

Growing up, I didn't know what to make of all this. I instinctually knew that I wasn't doing anything wrong and I felt as though I was just being myself. Sometimes I even resented the treatment I got. But as much as I resisted allowing others to tell me how I should be, I couldn't help wondering if everyone was right. Not only that, but there was no one to model for me how I could operate in a social world. Everywhere I looked, people seemed to need conversation; people flocked together. That was my only model of the world, but not a model that made sense to me. Each of us is left to figure our own selves out, but introverts do so in a way that's even more alone. We do so largely without any clues.

So in an attempt to figure myself out, I would put myself into situations that didn't suit my nature. I worked in jobs that required lots of talking. I lived with roommates. I didn't always say no to group activities; I did enter into group settings, though I was always the silent party. I pushed the boundaries of my social comfort level. Oftentimes these choices overwhelmed me, but I did what I could to alleviate that. And I did so without knowing what I needed (at least not in any rational way). How was I to know that I needed to be able to get away, to be alone, or to retreat to an isolated spot? No one else I knew ever seemed to care whether they escaped the company of others.

Still, I'm glad for many of those learning experiences. I'm not sure if I would know myself as well without having had them. I never attempted to change who I was -- I only strived to know whether I could be anything more; I wanted to know whether what I felt about myself was right (or whether I was simply afraid and shy like everyone told me I was). Rather than learn to be ashamed of my quiet nature because of the rebuke I got, I guess I decided to wear my quietness like a badge. And I learned a lot from my resistance to change. Nowadays, I still push my own social boundaries to some extent, but I choose more carefully. I tend towards smaller social settings, more individual ones. I choose friends who are comfortable with my quiet nature. I moderate my activities and balance my venturing out with enough recuperation time to suit my needs.

But sometimes I think it would've been nice to have had access to some of this knowledge while I was still in my youth. It would've been nice to find others who were like me, if only to know that being like me was okay. It would've been nice to know that I wasn't alone, even when I was.

Because it is okay to be an introvert; in fact, I think it's enviable! If only I had always known how much so!