Like most introverts I grew up in a social structure that prized extroverts.
In school I was told to speak up because putting up my hand was not loud enough.
My friends were few and close, making me, well, apparently not so popular.
I’d rather spend time on my own which made my mum worry something was wrong.
All my childhood and teenage years I battled with this constant feeling of never being extroverted enough. At that time I had no name on what they wanted of me or what I was, all I knew was that I was not wanted.
I could never get my voice heard on anything else than paper, I had to be on stage to be seen, and I lost friends as soon as I made them because I did not understand why they constantly wanted to hang out; this never ending need of contact.
I started feeling guilty when I made excuses to not be with friends and ashamed when they leaned closer and said ‘Speak louder, I cannot hear’.
The pressure brought me down and caused enormous self-criticism.
And in the end panic disorder.
Do not get me wrong. I had support.
My mum always valued me. She tells me today that she wishes she had acted on my feelings differently, but I will always tell her she did nothing wrong. This thing about introverts and extroverts were not in full swing back then, and she lived in an extroverted society, how could she know? And I’m pretty fond of my current me so thank you mum.
I had teachers too, who recognised that my silence was not shyness, but care and consideration. They gave me the tools to better myself and to grow intellectually.
And I had friends, who somehow managed to latch on to me. Wonderful friends who I will always cherish.
But, it is awful feeling this way. Like you are not enough.
And that is how I felt my whole childhood and teen.
Then I stumbled on this thing called ‘Introvert’ and found a description of myself. I understood myself and I could turn to my doubters saying ‘Look this is me, how I am, deal with it’.
And since I’ve grown stronger, more confident, and prettier.
I don’t care for being loud.
I don’t care for parties, clubs, and other places with lots of strangers you can’t even speak to.
I don’t care for lots of friends.
I do care for conversations.
For tea time and picknicks.
For the friends I’ve made and kept.
And today I didn’t feel guilt when I left my friends at the loud pub. Instead I felt relief when I turned to them and said: “I’m going home.”
