What it Really Means to be an Introvert (And Why it Isn’t So Scary)

I’m an Introvert. There, I said it.

I used to feel like ‘Introvert’ was some kind of dirty word. Something that you wouldn’t want to be called because it meant you were shy, timid, self conscious and socially awkward. That you didn’t like to be around other people and were, as they say, ‘a bit of a hermit.’ 

In contrast, to be an extrovert meant that you were confident, cool, spontaneous and sexy. That you were fun to be around, much more outgoing and far more interesting. You can see how I wanted to will myself to be an extrovert. How I would lie on personality tests to avoid getting that dreaded ‘I’ and instead alter my answers in an attempt to capture that ever-elusive ‘E’.

I would lie on personality tests to avoid getting that dreaded ‘I’ and instead alter my answers in an attempt to capture that ever-elusive ‘E’

I discovered my own hermiting habits earlier this year, when COVID-19 caused Vancouver to shutter into a low-key lockdown. We were encouraged to stay at home, so I built an office space in my apartment and I didn’t leave except for groceries, the odd walk for fresh air, and for Black Lives Matter protests (because it was really important to me that I be there, masked and sanitized of course).

I had friends and family members checking in on me frequently, asking if I was doing alright, if I was lonely and how my mental health was in general. My mom and my sister invited me to quarantine with them on the coast, but I declined because genuinely (and somewhat surprisingly) I was doing just fine. In fact, I was thriving.

I wasn’t sure at first if that was a good thing. For one, it meant that being Introverted was finally (and indisputably) staring me straight in the face. That I would have to accept and come to terms with not being an extrovert, and that I would have to figure out a way to own that when others asked where I fell on the scale.

For one, it meant that being Introverted was finally (and indisputably) staring me straight in the face.

The truth was, I enjoyed having my space to myself. To not having any expectations of where I needed to be, who I needed to meet, or when I needed to do anything in particular. I had been SO busy leading up to COVID-19 — working full time, attending events, squeezing in catch ups with various friends in the evenings, traveling almost every weekend and doing a course online. I would schedule myself to the point of overbooking, and I felt like I wasn’t ever actually present.

Suddenly, in lockdown, and in the little nest I had made of my apartment, I had time. I picked up hobbies — working on my Dutch every day, painting watercolours, cooking new recipes and even taking on a 4-day Kimchi experiment. When I spoke with friends on FaceTime, I was well-rested enough to actually listen and retain whatever was happening in their life. I had the energy to be there for them and the time to check in. It was like somebody had hit a reset button, and I hadn’t even realized just how badly I needed it.

My understanding of what made an Introvert was really a far side of the scale, and the reality is that I fall somewhere in the middle.

As time goes on, I realize that yes, I am an Introvert. The thing is, those definitions that I gave it earlier weren’t really fair. My understanding of what made an Introvert was really a far side of the scale, and the reality is that I fall somewhere in the middle. I like my space, I need my alone time and I need days where I can do absolutely nothing. But give me a party or an event with friends and I’m happy to be there — spontaneous, sexy, outgoing and all.