In my 20s and early 30s, I didn’t understand why dating and loud noises and being at the office exhausted the hell out of me. Then a therapist suggested I might be introverted. I’d known of this word, but didn’t really know what it meant — so I went and read about it, including Quiet by Susan Cain.
Everything about my life suddenly made sense to me. I had found myself. I had learned that there was nothing wrong with me — and, in fact, I was superior in many ways, like my ability to listen. I was likeable, just as I was.
What a relief.
So, I came out as an introvert to the world. I wrote a blog about it for two years. It was a beautiful and empowering experience. I no longer had to fight with the part of me that hates small talk and wants to hurl myself out a window when someone says, “Let’s go around the table and introduce ourselves.” I left parties early without saying goodbye. I settled into my aloofness, wore it like a badge and was proud of it — and anyone who had an issue with it was the problem, not me, and I let them know.
But then, as the initial high wore off, I started to wonder if maybe I was just a weird jerk.
The thing about labels
Categories, diagnoses, identities — and all other labels — can function as safe places to stop and rest on our journey through life. “Introvert” was one for me. It helped me understand myself. It freed me to embrace a part of myself that I’d been fighting against for so long.
This experience is liberating. It can sometimes be intoxicating.
Thing is though, I’m not a category. Neither are you. None of us are. None of us are a diagnosis or an identity label. We are each unique individuals. Though categories might help us understand ourselves, they have a knack for replacing the box we’re trying to escape with another box. They can start to limit us, narrowing our view of who we are and what we can be.
The more I identified as an introvert, the more I found myself justifying behaviour that wasn’t necessarily true to who I was — like dismissing others or shutting myself off from opportunities to connect. I wasn’t just protecting my energy, I was avoiding growth.
I was being a big fat jerk.
I’m introverted, not an introvert
I’m not ashamed of my introversion. I still cherish my quiet time, and I’ll always gravitate towards a one-on-one conversation over a loud party. I don’t do the Irish goodbye / French exit anymore, yet I also don’t drag out goodbyes for a half hour — I’m efficient about it.
But I’m also not proud to be an introvert. It’s just a part of me. The same way that I have brown hair, I’m six feet tall and I think about Jamie Dornan shirtless sometimes (often).
Don’t think too hard about how introverted you are.
So while I think it’s perfectly fine and beneficial to take a moment to pause and rest within the safety of a category, eventually you must recognize it as the box it is. You must abandon it and have the courage to face the next unknown on your journey.
If not, you risk limiting yourself by giving some external force the power to define you.
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