Introverts Unite! But please do it quietly....
A year or so ago, Time magazine featured a wonderful article explaining what it means to be an introvert in a world of extroverts:
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/art...
I always find articles such as this interesting because not only am I an introvert, but as a psychotherapist-turned-writer, I think I’m particularly cognizant of the dynamics introverts face in a society that values extroversion.
If you’re an introvert, you know what I mean. Chances are, you spent your younger years being told to speak up or stop being so shy. You may have been scheduled to go to birthday parties or other social occasions you didn’t want to go to in hopes you’d come out of your shell and make some new friends. Well-intentioned parents want their kids to fit in, to make friends, to be heard. That’s only natural, but to an introverted kid, the message is clear: Something is wrong with you. You need to be fixed.
My recent discovery of the Time article is fortuitous, because this topic has been on my mind quite a bit lately. I think this is because my current work-in-progress is set in west Tennessee, both in a town I lived in through my teen years, and in Memphis, where I obtained both undergraduate and graduate degrees. It seems to be stirring up…something.
I had a dream the other night – the college dream. It’s a recurring dream for me. In it, I’m suddenly back in my old dorm room waiting for my old roommate. I’m unpacking just as I did at the start of so many semesters twenty-five and more years ago. Here, the dream varies but always with a common theme. I’m always surrounded by students jostling, yelling, excited, making plans. I feel a sense of dread. I feel as if I should join them (weren’t we always told to go join people?), but I don’t want to. That, in turn, makes me feel guilty. After all, I’m a college kid; I’m supposed to want to party, right? Clearly, there’s something wrong with me.
But this time, the dream was different. This time, I smiled at their excitement, looked around my dorm room, and decided to pull out the forbidden hot plate to cook up some mac-n-cheese, turn on the old 13 inch black and white TV, and spend the evening in.
There was no pressure, no “I shoulds.” I was in a setting – a dream – that always produces anxiety, but I was experiencing it with the self-awareness of midlife instead of the insecurity of early adulthood. I woke up feeling as if I’d achieved closure of some sort – finished some unfinished business of which I hadn’t even been aware.
That covert pressure to “join in” doesn’t end with adulthood. When I was 23 and fresh out of college, I was hired as the coordinator of case management services at a mental health center that covered three counties. I’d be supervising the other case managers (all older than I was), and together we’d be responsible for downsizing the local mental health institute and relocating dozens of long-term patients into the community.
A very big job for a very young girl. Two instances that year stick in my mind. First, I was awarded the Outstanding Achievement Award by the agency. Second, I received a stellar employee evaluation from my clinical director with one caveat: You isolate too much. You don’t socialize with your coworkers.
Understand, my coworkers and I got along well at work. We spent grueling hours together reaching the agency’s goal. We ate lunch together, traveled together, and relied on each other. I lived alone in a rented house in a small town about an hour away from Memphis. Outside of work, I had a small group of friends with whom I enjoyed hiking, camping, and frequent game nights (Risk was a favorite).
My coworkers lived in the heart of Memphis and carpooled together. Outside of work, they loved to go dancing on the roof of the Peabody, listening to the live bands that played on the weekends. True, they often invited me to go, and I always politely declined. Not only would it mean an hour of late driving, I just didn’t enjoy the crowds, the noise, and the atmosphere.
But how was this relevant to my job?
I’ve come over time to realize introverts can seem intimidating. Our tendency to be more “watchers” than “participants” can come across as unfriendly, even judgemental. Our tendency to listen more than we speak can make us seem aloof. Our reluctance to accept invitations can make us seem standoffish. None of this is intentional. We’re simply more comfortable in small groups, with close friends, or on the sidelines, watching, listening, soaking it all in. We don’t want to be the center of attention, and we’re not comfortable with large crowds in noisy places.
A friend (another introvert) once took me along as a “social buffer” when she felt obligated to meet her coworkers for a drink after work. At the time, I was about four months pregnant, a fact my friend knew, but since I wasn’t showing, none of her coworkers did. For whatever reason, one particularly extroverted woman became fixated on me. “Why don’t you dance? Don’t you drink? Order a drink. Here, I’ll order one for you. Come dance with me.” And on and on it went.
Finally, exasperated, she said, “Well, you won’t drink, you won’t dance, you just look so uncomfortable!”
Exasperated myself, I replied, “I’m perfectly comfortable. Unfortunately, for some reason you aren’t comfortable with me.”
She stopped in her tracks, and then said, “You know what? You’re right. Something about you being quiet over here makes me uncomfortable.”
I think it was a breakthrough for both of us.
The message introverts get is that we’re broken and need to be fixed. Meanwhile, our fellow extroverts feel as if we’re quietly passing some sort of judgement. In reality all of us are stewing in our own insecurities too much to judge anyone else. The truth is, it takes all of us to make the world go round.
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/art...
I always find articles such as this interesting because not only am I an introvert, but as a psychotherapist-turned-writer, I think I’m particularly cognizant of the dynamics introverts face in a society that values extroversion.
If you’re an introvert, you know what I mean. Chances are, you spent your younger years being told to speak up or stop being so shy. You may have been scheduled to go to birthday parties or other social occasions you didn’t want to go to in hopes you’d come out of your shell and make some new friends. Well-intentioned parents want their kids to fit in, to make friends, to be heard. That’s only natural, but to an introverted kid, the message is clear: Something is wrong with you. You need to be fixed.
My recent discovery of the Time article is fortuitous, because this topic has been on my mind quite a bit lately. I think this is because my current work-in-progress is set in west Tennessee, both in a town I lived in through my teen years, and in Memphis, where I obtained both undergraduate and graduate degrees. It seems to be stirring up…something.
I had a dream the other night – the college dream. It’s a recurring dream for me. In it, I’m suddenly back in my old dorm room waiting for my old roommate. I’m unpacking just as I did at the start of so many semesters twenty-five and more years ago. Here, the dream varies but always with a common theme. I’m always surrounded by students jostling, yelling, excited, making plans. I feel a sense of dread. I feel as if I should join them (weren’t we always told to go join people?), but I don’t want to. That, in turn, makes me feel guilty. After all, I’m a college kid; I’m supposed to want to party, right? Clearly, there’s something wrong with me.
But this time, the dream was different. This time, I smiled at their excitement, looked around my dorm room, and decided to pull out the forbidden hot plate to cook up some mac-n-cheese, turn on the old 13 inch black and white TV, and spend the evening in.
There was no pressure, no “I shoulds.” I was in a setting – a dream – that always produces anxiety, but I was experiencing it with the self-awareness of midlife instead of the insecurity of early adulthood. I woke up feeling as if I’d achieved closure of some sort – finished some unfinished business of which I hadn’t even been aware.
That covert pressure to “join in” doesn’t end with adulthood. When I was 23 and fresh out of college, I was hired as the coordinator of case management services at a mental health center that covered three counties. I’d be supervising the other case managers (all older than I was), and together we’d be responsible for downsizing the local mental health institute and relocating dozens of long-term patients into the community.
A very big job for a very young girl. Two instances that year stick in my mind. First, I was awarded the Outstanding Achievement Award by the agency. Second, I received a stellar employee evaluation from my clinical director with one caveat: You isolate too much. You don’t socialize with your coworkers.
Understand, my coworkers and I got along well at work. We spent grueling hours together reaching the agency’s goal. We ate lunch together, traveled together, and relied on each other. I lived alone in a rented house in a small town about an hour away from Memphis. Outside of work, I had a small group of friends with whom I enjoyed hiking, camping, and frequent game nights (Risk was a favorite).
My coworkers lived in the heart of Memphis and carpooled together. Outside of work, they loved to go dancing on the roof of the Peabody, listening to the live bands that played on the weekends. True, they often invited me to go, and I always politely declined. Not only would it mean an hour of late driving, I just didn’t enjoy the crowds, the noise, and the atmosphere.
But how was this relevant to my job?
I’ve come over time to realize introverts can seem intimidating. Our tendency to be more “watchers” than “participants” can come across as unfriendly, even judgemental. Our tendency to listen more than we speak can make us seem aloof. Our reluctance to accept invitations can make us seem standoffish. None of this is intentional. We’re simply more comfortable in small groups, with close friends, or on the sidelines, watching, listening, soaking it all in. We don’t want to be the center of attention, and we’re not comfortable with large crowds in noisy places.
A friend (another introvert) once took me along as a “social buffer” when she felt obligated to meet her coworkers for a drink after work. At the time, I was about four months pregnant, a fact my friend knew, but since I wasn’t showing, none of her coworkers did. For whatever reason, one particularly extroverted woman became fixated on me. “Why don’t you dance? Don’t you drink? Order a drink. Here, I’ll order one for you. Come dance with me.” And on and on it went.
Finally, exasperated, she said, “Well, you won’t drink, you won’t dance, you just look so uncomfortable!”
Exasperated myself, I replied, “I’m perfectly comfortable. Unfortunately, for some reason you aren’t comfortable with me.”
She stopped in her tracks, and then said, “You know what? You’re right. Something about you being quiet over here makes me uncomfortable.”
I think it was a breakthrough for both of us.
The message introverts get is that we’re broken and need to be fixed. Meanwhile, our fellow extroverts feel as if we’re quietly passing some sort of judgement. In reality all of us are stewing in our own insecurities too much to judge anyone else. The truth is, it takes all of us to make the world go round.
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