I came across this Tweet from Jon Acuff last night that made me all sorts of angry.
My desire to engage anyone on Twitter has been lacking most of the year (because it’s been one hell of a year), and I rarely reply to tweets (other than occasional replies to Anna’s or Jen Hatmaker’s tweets), but this one caught me in the gut and I was compelled to use my cyber voice and be heard.
Why did I reply?
Because I am tired, literally exhausted, of trying to be heard and seen in a world that is powered by and caters to extroverts.
Yes, I tell everyone I meet that I’m an introvert.
It’s a boundary-setting practice.
It’s a sanity-saver.
It’s a plea that you understand I need space.
I don’t have the energy to endure endless small talk or hours upon hours of being with people.
Some days I can fake being an extrovert quite well. (I did it for four months straight this year.)
Some days I can’t.
Some days/weeks/months, the reality of a cyclical battle with isolating depression and crushing anxiety shows up to the party.
Add an ugly wrestling match with grief and I have exceeded my ability to cope with all. the. extroversion.
And no—it’s not any one person who has driven me to the edge.
I live with the world’s most extroverted person, no doubt. (Everyone who knows me, knows this.)
But I’m addressing the larger scope of introversion vs. extroversion.
I’m putting my words out into the world because if I don’t, I am not being true to me.
By replying to Acuff’s tweet last night, I gave myself permission to be an introvert. An introvert who is currently struggling with finding ways to feed her introverted soul. An introvert who is fighting to keep using her words when all she really wants to do is curl up in a ball and hide from the world. An introvert who battles hourly against the voices of depression, anxiety, and grief that tell her she’s not worth fighting for.
So yes, I WILL keep saying I’m an introvert.