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.

 

Moving Apart

Call got a plate of food and went off by himself to eat. It was something he had always done -- moved apart, so he could be alone and think things out a little. In the old days, when he first developed the habit, the men had not understood. Occasionally one would follow him, wanting to chat. But they soon learned better -- nothing made Call sink deeper into silence than for someone to come around and start yapping when he wanted to be by himself.

Virtually all his life he had been in the position of leading groups of men, yet the truth was he had never liked groups. Men he admired for their abilities in action almost always brought themselves down in his estimation if he had to sit around and listen to them talk -- or watch them drink or play cards or run off after women. Listening to men talk usually made him feel more alone than if he were a mile away by himself under a tree. He had never really been able to take part in the talk. The endless talk of cards and women made him feel more set apart -- and even a little vain. If that was the best they could think of, then they were lucky they had him to lead them. It seemed immodest, but it was a thought that often came to him.

And the more he stayed apart, the more his presence made the men nervous.

Excerpt from Lonesome Dove
by Larry McMurtry

 

On Getting Fined For Wordiness

In my last annual review at work, my team leader said that if there was an area where I was lacking, it was that I could be taking more ownership in my projects. I didn't agree, but what could I say? I sometimes feel that I'm the only one taking ownership, and other times I feel like I'm begging for the opportunity.

Lately, though, I've been taking so much ownership that my days have been filled with the kind of electricity that accompanies those on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I still avoid meetings when I can, quite intentionally, but nowadays it seems like I talk with everyone. I talked with my team leader today, and it was one talk out of far-too-many. I was asking him to help out on an upcoming project, and in that moment I realized that I was taking ownership, possibly more so than he was comfortable with. I was enlisting my team leader to work for me, and while I was chatting with him, I remembered his comments from my last annual review; and then my jaw started to lock up.

I was suddenly overwhelmed. I felt like I'd exceeded my annual limit for spoken words, and like I was starting to get charged extra; in fact, I was getting fined for going overboard with my wordiness. I was finding it hard to breathe.

In moments like these, I continue as best as I can. I tell myself to focus, to relax. I do what I need to do, say what I need to say, and accept that I can get back to the frills later. Once I'm away and my head isn't vibrating so intensely, I find a way to recharge: I do a tiny task, one that involves no communication, and another, and another. Soon enough, the emergency subsides.

Although I love taking ownership, does it need to involve so many people? Can't I just get things done?

 

On Things That Make You Go Quiet

The definition for the word "sardonic" at Merriam-Webster provides an example of its usage:

a sardonic little jab that made her visitor quiet and subdued for the rest of the night

I'm not sure what made the visitor quiet, in this case, whether it was the sardonicism or the jab, but it makes me wonder what would do the same to me. In general, either of these things are likely candidates.

 

The Danger In Shielding Oneself

In a story I recently read, Pandora's Star, the human race becomes concerned about a shield -- an apparent force field -- that envelopes another solar system. Why would anyone need to be shielded unless they were a threat? If the shield is a defense, then -- so the reasoning goes -- they're likely to go on the offense.

Although it's only a story, this sort of reasoning is applied to people like me on a fairly regular basis. I've tried to understand it over the years. If I spend too much time alone, or if I don't spill my guts to everyone who wants them spilt, it tends to make people uncomfortable. Liking my privacy has never been an acceptable answer. I think the reasoning goes like this:

I can be private as long as I'm not noticed. If I choose to be in the company of others, or to make myself noticed, then I'm asking to be questioned. If I choose to remain quiet in company, or to remain apart, shielding myself from others, so to speak, then I must be hiding something. And if I'm hiding something, then there must be something troubling me; anything troubling me is likely to become dangerous for others later on.

Or, at least, that's how I imagine the onset of fear progresses.

Not everyone minds having a quiet person around. But it's a rare find. It's a kind and accepting nature that allow others to just be -- to join when we want, to talk when we have something to say, to stick around even when we're not entirely involved.

A shield isn't necessarily a danger. Sometimes it's just a way of life.

 

In Order To Evolve, Like Bread

Making bread is an athletic event. Not only does it require dashing around to several stations of the bakery as you check rising loaves or mix ingredients or haul the mixing bowl out of its cradle -- but it also takes muscle power to activate the gluten in the dough. Even people who wouldn't be able to tell a poolish from a biga know that to make bread, you have to knead it. Push and roll, push and fold, a rhythmic workout on your floured countertop. Do it right, and you'll release a protein called gluten -- strands that let uneven pockets of carbon dioxide form in the loaves. After seven or eight minutes -- long enough for your mind to have made a to-do list of chores around the house, or for you to replay the last conversation you had with your significant other and what he really meant -- the consistency of the dough will transform. Smooth, supple, cohesive.

That's the point where you have to leave the dough alone. It's silly to anthropomorphize bread, but I love the fact that it needs to sit quietly, to retreat from touch and noise and drama, in order to evolve.

I have to admit, I often feel that way myself.

Excerpt from The Storyteller
by Jodi Picoult

 

Sometimes It's The Good Things

I'm making dinner, a task during which it's easy enough to get lost in my head. As I chop vegetables and toss ingredients into various pans, a friend sits across from me and tells me stories. I interact as much as I can until he suddenly pays me a compliment. Maybe it's something about my cooking techniques; I don't recall, but let's say it is.

The point is that I take a dive inside myself afterwards. I sink into myself for the least of reasons, but sometimes the reasons are good ones. I go off somewhere. I travel without moving. The compliment takes me back to earlier times. I question its motives and its meaning and its origination. It simultaneously makes me focus on my techniques while also bringing to mind the memories of how I learned them. In other words, the statement makes me wonder.

Meanwhile, my friend is likely watching as I disappear. He's possibly asking himself what he said wrong. He said nothing wrong. It's just that I'm prone to wondering. Wonder is what I do. And sometimes I wonder about good things.

It could be any good thing -- or anything at all -- that sends me on a journey inside. Maybe it's an invitation to a party or maybe it's a smile. Or maybe it's how oddly beautiful a thing is: a movement, an expression, a phrase. Whatever it is, it makes me wonder. And then I'm lost for a little while.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that the outside world is paying any attention as I disappear. I forget about the impression that I'm making while I'm processing the impression that was made on me.

I do eventually remember to say "thank you" to my friend, or to respond in some other way. My lateness in responding isn't a sign of anything bad, either. It's just something that happens.

Probably I should reassure my friends of this whenever I can. I should let them know when it's good.

 

Diagnostics, Part 3: How Withdrawal Becomes Frightful

(see also: Part 1, Part 2)

The DSM group, which is currently working on revisions for the fifth version of the manual that describes mental disorders, has removed the proposal for the term "introversion" as one of the criteria for diagnosing schizotypal personality disorder. Unfortunately, they've simply replaced the term with another one, namely detachment. Although this is an improvement, it's not what I would call a solution.

They now refer to introversion as one and the same as detachment, (e.g., they say that "extraversion is the opposite of introversion, a.k.a. detachment)", and then they go on to describe detachment as a facet of Schizotypal Personality Disorder. This essentially means that introversion is a facet of the same disorder. In case you're curious, here's how detachment is characterized:

1. Restricted affectivity: Little reaction to emotionally arousing situations; constricted emotional experience and expression; indifference or coldness.
2. Withdrawal: Preference for being alone to being with others; reticence in social situations; avoidance of social contacts and activity; lack of initiation of social contact.

I'm not sure whether to be worried about these definitions or whether this is just a typical day in the life. My mind reels with questions about this proposal, but probably the detail that confuses me most is the inclusion of "withdrawal" -- especially as it's defined above. Though I understand that it's the combination of all (or most) of the listed characteristics that determines whether someone has a personality impairment, I just don't agree that all of the characteristics belong there. They're not relevant.

As I see it, withdrawal is an integral part of being an introvert. It's something that we need, and it feels good. It helps us to recharge, and to be ourselves. And yet it's said to potentially indicate something wrong in one's personality. So simply by being ourselves, we risk becoming diagnosed with a disease.

My conclusion from all of this is, as usual, that we live in an extrovert's world. Our world is defined by the ones who make the most noise. When people are afraid of something, they define it as a disease.

And, apparently, introverts inspire fear.

 

Diagnostics, Part 2: To View Inhaling With Suspicion

(see also: Part 1, Part 3)

This is old news (circa 2010), but I only came across it recently while trying to determine what the current view of American psychologists is about introversion. I found it astounding that, without most of us ever knowing about it, professionals in the psychology industry were proposing to use the term "introversion" as a criterion for diagnosing personality disorders.

Throughout the history of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (the DSM), there have been many things wrongly classified as disorders. Homosexuality, for example, once appeared as a disorder in the DSM. Now it's introversion that's being misjudged.

This is what the New York Times had to say about the matter last year (2011):

The DSM inevitably reflects cultural attitudes; it used to identify homosexuality as a disease, too. Though the DSM did not set out to pathologize shyness, it risks doing so, and has twice come close to identifying introversion as a disorder, too. (Shyness and introversion are not the same thing. Shy people fear negative judgment; introverts simply prefer quiet, minimally stimulating environments.)

In 2010, the group responsible for revising the DSM made the proposal that I mentioned above. Fortunately, there were other professionals who objected to introversion being used in such a manner. The following are two excellent letters by Hester Solomon of the IAAP, one to his own organization and the other to the DSM group, which voice his objections to this proposal in a beautiful way. Honestly beautiful.

From http://iaap.org/frontpage/archive/proposed-changes-to-dsm-v-introversion.html

Written by Hester Solomon
IAAP’s President Secretariat

11 May 2010

Dear Presidents and Individual Members of the IAAP

I am writing to let you know that the IAAP has made a submission to the DSM V Working Group on Personality Disorders. You may know that DSM IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual) is a very influential publication of the American Psychiatric Association used broadly by psychiatrists, psychologists and social workers in formulating diagnoses of mental illness and dysfunction within the community. Its influence is felt beyond the boarders of the USA, and its categorizations of mental illness have an important impact on patient diagnosis and treatment in many parts of the world.

Recently John Beebe brought to our attention that the DSM V Working Group, in its revision of DSM IV, is proposing to include the term ‘introversion’ as one of the criteria used to designate the category of ‘schizoid withdrawal’, making it one of the ‘trait domains’ indicative of personality disorder. With John’s help, we formulated a letter to the Working Group to put forward the rationale for not using the term ‘introversion’ in this way. This was forwarded to the Working Group and now appears on the APA website. The deadline for receiving such communications was 20 April 2010.

The IAAP’s response, together with this explanatory email, is being posted on the IAAP’s website in order to to keep you informed about our actions in this matter. As soon as the results of the Working Group’s deliberations are known, which may be towards the end of May, I will write again to inform you of the outcome.

I would be pleased if the Presidents of Member Groups would circulate this information to the members of their Societies.

With all my good wishes

Hester Solomon
President, IAAP

And then, even more inspiring, here's the submission to the DSM working group:

8 April 2010

Dear Dr. Skodol,

I am writing on behalf of the International Association for Analytical Psychology to urge that the term introversion not be used to identify the trait domain of personality functioning that can become, if carried to an extreme, a pathological syndrome of reclusiveness, withdrawal, and affective constriction. Introversion, a term introduced into psychiatry by C. G. Jung in 1909, has a long and varied history in personality theory, only a small part of which is captured in Theodore Millon’s otherwise extremely useful discrimination of the syndromes of personality disorder. Millon’s book, Disorders of Personality, has led many American psychiatrists and psychologists to accept the erroneous belief that introversion was simply the historical antecedent to the contemporary conception of schizoid personality disorder. Indeed, if one looks on the DSM-V website for a definition of introversion, one finds this proposed personality trait domain defined in exclusively negative terms: "Withdrawal from other people, ranging from intimate relationships to the world at large; restricted affective experience and expression; limited "hedonic capacity" with trait facets of "social withdrawal," "social detachment," "intimacy avoidance," "restricted affectivity," and "anhedonia".

This definition is transparently based on the current DSM-IV diagnostic criteria for Schizoid Personality Disorder, and thus equates introversion with a pattern that has long been regarded as personality pathology. Under the proposed new terminology, the pattern defined as introversion is a trait domain, within a dimensional approach to diagnosis. While this approach does not insist that a personality displaying the trait of introversion is ipso facto pathological, unless the trait dominates the personality to an extreme degree, the clear implication of the definition is that extraversion is the sole basis of positive affectivity and healthy relationships with others. We believe this unjustified conclusion stems from the misuse of "introversion" as a term to represent a trait domain of detachment from social relationship and one’s own affects.

For many of us, the term "introversion" means the normal and psychologically essential process of introspection and reflection through which people define, evaluate, identify, and digest both outer and inner experience. Encouraging mental health professionals evaluating personality to write and think about introversion in negative terms would be analogous to asking internists evaluating patients to view inhaling with suspicion, because it is a compromise or absence of exhaling.

The International Association for Analytical Psychology represents approximately 3000 member analysts in 50 Institutes of Jungian Analysis around the world, and their influence is sufficiently felt through teaching, supervision, publication, and, of course, clinical work, to bring us in contact with many mental health practitioners who are working closely in psychotherapy with patients who happen to be introverted. It is clear to us that patients who need to connect positively with their inner lives will suffer if the very word "introversion," which has been a lifeline to many, becomes stigmatized as it would under the proposed DSM-V wording.

I want to thank you for letting us give input as part of your own hard work to get this right.

Sincerely,

Hester Solomon
President, IAAP

Amazing letter; few of us could have said it better. There's a lot to take in from this correspondence, but -- without question -- this is important stuff. As introverts, it seems that we should be included in such events. It would have eventually affected us in very crucial ways.

We're lucky that there are others watching out for us. Imagine what might happen to us without them!

 

On Not Regretting Isolation

I was watching an old Nova show about Einstein this evening -- a recent Netflix shipment -- and the actor portraying him spoke a butchered version of something actually written by Einstein. I looked it up later and I'm copying it here. I like the part about not regretting the isolation that is a consequence of withdrawing into oneself. There's an upside to being an introvert; in fact, there are many.

The quote:

My passionate interest in social justice and social responsibility has always stood in curious contrast to a marked lack of desire for direct association with men and women. I am a horse for single harness, not cut out for tandem or teamwork. I have never belonged wholeheartedly to any country or state, to my circle of friends, or even to my own family. These ties have always been accompanied by a vague aloofness, and the wish to withdraw into myself increases with the years.

Such isolation is sometimes bitter, but I do not regret being cut off from the understanding and sympathy of other men. I lose something by it, to be sure, but I am compensated for it in being rendered independent of the customs, opinions, and prejudices of others, and am not tempted to rest my peace of mind upon such shifting foundations.

written by Einstein, 1930