I’m an Introvert
This is what that means to me
First of all, I am dismayed that suddenly, your not-so-you’d-notice-it friendly, neighbourhood introvert seems to be having a moment. What? That’s honestly the last thing an introvert wants — to be noticed. Wouldn’t you think? But hey, that appears to be a misunderstanding too.
I say ‘too’ because all this popular stuff being written now about how valuable introverts are, how gentle, how wise, how thoughtful and intelligent is probably either exaggerated or wishful thinking on the part of the extroverts, who probably need a break from all the attention, adoration and just general ‘noise’. But hey, that’s an introvert talking.
Well…
Let’s get back to me. I’ll stop speculating about other introverts. I’ll stop conjecturing about extroverts’ internal lives.
I took that famous test; the one that gives you 4 categories to measure within and come up with the letters that describe you in full. Mine was INFJ, Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling and Judging. This is the rarest type among men and the third (after INTJ and ENTJ) rarest among women.
It fit me to a ‘T’.
It means that I’d rather fight someone, anyone else’s righteous battles than my own. It took me until I’d completed my 30’s to understand who I was and that I was worthy of a warrior in my corner as well. I did work and I did have children and that brought me into the world where there were plenty of dragons to slay and wrongs to right. For everybody else. I’m still learning how to fight my own battles.
INFJ also means that I ‘knew’ things very often before anyone else did. I saw the clues, I read the signs, I applied the experience probably unconsciously and leapt to the conclusion. I cannot tell you how many times people have questioned me about my so-called ‘secret’ knowledge. “But how did you know that?!?”
I just did.
I also care about people. Very few particular people. I have a group of friends I’ve known nearly all my life however, I would say I don’t make friends easily. But I do care about justice and fairness and the wider rights of ALL individuals. Not just the rich ones. Perhaps, not AT ALL the rich ones. After all, they can buy their way to earthly paradise.
All these things seem to be embodied, along with several other neat things, in the INFJ so okay, I’ll take it.
Now, the negative part (and I’ll take that too). I’m supposed to feel misunderstood. Well, wouldn’t you? I mean, if you were an introvert you wouldn’t go around explaining yourself all the time, would you? My stepfather used to say ‘Never explain’ by which he meant that he wasn’t interested in excuses, only actions. His other saying was ‘Don’t tell me what you ‘think’! Tell me what you know!’ By which he meant ‘I’m not interested in any of your thoughts’. Oh, and he never stuck around to see what I knew unless he thought it was fodder for his particular brand of ‘fun’. If someone could be driven to become an introvert (nah, we’re born that way), his way of raising a daughter would have done it.
Enough of the test. Now for the real me part.
I would like to be understood. I would like to be seen. I’d like to be valued. Doesn’t everyone?
I like my space. I’m affectionate to the right person (people I know well) but I’m uncomfortable with generalized ‘affection’. I’ve steeled myself in the vague pre-COVID past to accept hugs in the healthy, happy way of ‘I just love everybody’ extroverts. When appropriate. Now, however, I find joy in this bump elbows culture that seems to be developing. That’s close enough.
I like being alone. I LIKE it a LOT. I don’t usually feel lonely. When I am tired of grinning all day at the people that need interaction I just want to slide off in to a corner and take a deep breath. Or to an empty room for several more deep breaths. This is what refills my depleted bucket. Extraverts are ALWAYS encouraging me to ‘Come out with us! Be with us! Listen to us! It’ll be FUN!’ That just makes me want to groan and curl up into a ball. I will go to make them happy and yes, I will often have a good time. But to recharge I NEED my alone time.
I like my own bed. I like my own room. I like my own house, my garden, my street, sometimes, as long as there aren’t too many strange people out there. I can greet anyone at the door with pleasantness but shutting it is the best.
I like the expanse in my own head. My Grandmother used to say ‘Make your mind a place you want to spend time in.’ I really took that to heart.
I have a picture of me as a six month old baby, sitting in a box on the front porch. I am clearly looking inward and I don’t see the person who is taking the picture. The expression on my face is not one of joy at the familiar it’s one of contemplation. When I was a bit older I’d dissociate on a regular basis. I am glad my mother never took me to a doctor when she couldn’t get my attention. I might have got a diagnosis of childhood temporal lobe epilepsy and been put on drugs. Now that would have been a tragedy. As it was I would simply come back from my mind trip and write a poem. Everyone learned to ignore my ‘blank’ periods and the poems (‘That’s nice, dear’). I think the dissociation was a way of coping with the stresses and strains that an introvert can experience when extroverts with power over them expect extroverted behaviour.
I like the quiet. I do not need the TV on all the time. I don’t need to listen to music to relax, quite the opposite. I pay attention to music and that’s not always relaxing. I sometimes tune people out. Now, this is a fault and I work to correct it when it is important like with loved ones or the people I work with. Sometimes I can’t seem to help it. My mind just slides away from the noise. I have to fight to come back and pay attention and sometimes I have to ask people to repeat themselves. We are all a work in progress.
Now, to conclude. I write on Medium about all sorts of things but mostly from a pretty personal perspective. I want to get noticed.
“But that’s not introverted behaviour!” you might say.
Yes, it is. You aren’t going to ask me to open my front door, just my mind and perhaps my heart.