As an introvert, I have limits. This weekend I found out exactly where those limits are.
Twenty-four hours in the Outer Banks with nine dear friends of mine was extremely fun. It was a beautiful day, I was near the ocean, I was surrounded by people who loved me. I was happy. They were happy. We ate, we talked, we played, we relished in our love for each other.
Twenty-four hours in the Outer Banks with nine dear friends of mine also pushed me beyond my limits as an introvert, to the point where I questioned if there was something wrong with me.
First, let me say this: I LOVE my friends. They are so warm and kind and generous and they make my heart soar and there is absolutely nothing wrong with them. I’m not hating on them for their personalities, and I’m not a bad person for feeling the way I do.
No, there’s nothing wrong with me. Just like some friends are uncomfortable and overwhelmed when alone, I am that way around large groups of people. I am energized when I am alone, and my energy is quickly drained when I am with people. That’s just how introverts work. Extroverts thrive off other people’s energy, while introverts find their comfort levels rising when left to themselves.
Twenty-four hours in the Outer Banks with nine dear friends of mine was extremely fun. It was a beautiful day, I was near the ocean, I was surrounded by people who loved me. I was happy. They were happy. We ate, we talked, we played, we relished in our love for each other.
Twenty-four hours in the Outer Banks with nine dear friends of mine also pushed me beyond my limits as an introvert, to the point where I questioned if there was something wrong with me.
First, let me say this: I LOVE my friends. They are so warm and kind and generous and they make my heart soar and there is absolutely nothing wrong with them. I’m not hating on them for their personalities, and I’m not a bad person for feeling the way I do.
No, there’s nothing wrong with me. Just like some friends are uncomfortable and overwhelmed when alone, I am that way around large groups of people. I am energized when I am alone, and my energy is quickly drained when I am with people. That’s just how introverts work. Extroverts thrive off other people’s energy, while introverts find their comfort levels rising when left to themselves.
We’re not an anti-social people, a community of snobs. Nor are we shy. We actually love people; we just can’t be around them for that long.
At the beach, I took breaks from people. My friends understood. “Introverted Marie spent two hours in the car with people and now needs to go read her book alone on the deck,” I proclaimed upon our arrival.
I observed. Sitting around the dining room table, I watched and listened, identifying the most extroverted people in the room and feeling envious. I thought, “They are SO good at getting people to laugh.” They know exactly what to say, when to say it. I’m amazed, watching their energy expand and fill the room with every game, every witty line, every laugh. They draw others towards them, and I draw inward.
Throughout the night, I muster up all the energy I have left and I socialize. And it’s wonderful, until it’s not. Until I’m depleted.
This is no one’s fault. It’s just the way I’m wired. By the end of the night, I am drained. I’m in stimulation overload, and I silently deflate, quietly excusing myself to the bathroom and running out of the room. It feels like a near-panic attack, and I know it’s just because I’ve been out of my comfort zone for too many hours.
And then I become mean, which I don’t like. I’m working on that. I know now that as soon as feel the levels start to rise, I need to excuse myself, perhaps for longer than a few minutes.
Back in the bathroom, I stare at myself, and I find my breath. The breath that I tell my yoga students to find in moments when they need them. “Find that stillness and that breath in every pose, in everything you do,” I tell them. I was never good at taking my own advice.
Like I said, I’m working on it. I know now that I can’t do big groups of people for long periods of time. You’re probably thinking, it was 24 hours, come on. But for me, that’s the limit. For others, it might be shorter or longer.
And it makes me sad. It makes me feel like I’m missing out, sometimes.
I am usually the first one to leave at gatherings. I’m sober, and others around me have slowly consumed two, three, six drinks, have turned the music up, have increased the sound levels to the max. And in just few hours, I’m drawing inward, looking for an escape, back to my book, back into my own head, where it’s quiet.
You throw me in the loop with big personalities and I quickly clam up, my head spinning, the chemicals in my brain yelling at me to abort, retreat.
In the morning, I wake up early. I silently tiptoe to the kitchen, make a pot of tea, read my emails. My heart sings for the quiet, the solitude, so contrasted with last night’s energy.
I slip on my running shoes and head out the door. I’m greeted by ominous clouds and an angry wind, but I run anyway. I run to the beach, and then I walk by the ocean, noticing the foam from the ocean fighting against the wind, begging it not to tear it apart and send it through the sand, up to the dunes and into nothing.
At the beach, I took breaks from people. My friends understood. “Introverted Marie spent two hours in the car with people and now needs to go read her book alone on the deck,” I proclaimed upon our arrival.
I observed. Sitting around the dining room table, I watched and listened, identifying the most extroverted people in the room and feeling envious. I thought, “They are SO good at getting people to laugh.” They know exactly what to say, when to say it. I’m amazed, watching their energy expand and fill the room with every game, every witty line, every laugh. They draw others towards them, and I draw inward.
Throughout the night, I muster up all the energy I have left and I socialize. And it’s wonderful, until it’s not. Until I’m depleted.
This is no one’s fault. It’s just the way I’m wired. By the end of the night, I am drained. I’m in stimulation overload, and I silently deflate, quietly excusing myself to the bathroom and running out of the room. It feels like a near-panic attack, and I know it’s just because I’ve been out of my comfort zone for too many hours.
And then I become mean, which I don’t like. I’m working on that. I know now that as soon as feel the levels start to rise, I need to excuse myself, perhaps for longer than a few minutes.
Back in the bathroom, I stare at myself, and I find my breath. The breath that I tell my yoga students to find in moments when they need them. “Find that stillness and that breath in every pose, in everything you do,” I tell them. I was never good at taking my own advice.
Like I said, I’m working on it. I know now that I can’t do big groups of people for long periods of time. You’re probably thinking, it was 24 hours, come on. But for me, that’s the limit. For others, it might be shorter or longer.
And it makes me sad. It makes me feel like I’m missing out, sometimes.
I am usually the first one to leave at gatherings. I’m sober, and others around me have slowly consumed two, three, six drinks, have turned the music up, have increased the sound levels to the max. And in just few hours, I’m drawing inward, looking for an escape, back to my book, back into my own head, where it’s quiet.
You throw me in the loop with big personalities and I quickly clam up, my head spinning, the chemicals in my brain yelling at me to abort, retreat.
In the morning, I wake up early. I silently tiptoe to the kitchen, make a pot of tea, read my emails. My heart sings for the quiet, the solitude, so contrasted with last night’s energy.
I slip on my running shoes and head out the door. I’m greeted by ominous clouds and an angry wind, but I run anyway. I run to the beach, and then I walk by the ocean, noticing the foam from the ocean fighting against the wind, begging it not to tear it apart and send it through the sand, up to the dunes and into nothing.
I know this is good for me, my R&R. I know I’ll be fine when I return. I take my time coming home and happily greet two friends, up earlier than the rest. I’m recharged. I agree to be a normal, sociable human being again.
Extroverts of the world, thanks for understanding. We’re still trying to understand you, and sometimes we wish we could be like you.
In the end, I was at the beach, with people I loved, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, not even for a hot cup of tea and a good book in solitude.
Extroverts of the world, thanks for understanding. We’re still trying to understand you, and sometimes we wish we could be like you.
In the end, I was at the beach, with people I loved, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, not even for a hot cup of tea and a good book in solitude.