Introversion: Hello Again, My Old Friend

Why you should appreciate being introverted

I sat near the back, as I’ve always done at these events, and tried disappearing into the background. More people entered the conference hall and took their seats, screaming excitedly as they recognized old friends, people they’d not seen for nearly two years. Immediately arms would outstretch, only to spring back again, suddenly remembering hugging still wasn’t advisable. Elbow bumps are not the same, though, are they?

A cool breeze brushed against my bare arms, inducing a slight shudder. A dichotomic shudder, offering comforting reassurance that fresh air was circulating, but a hint of unease, and … something else. Something foreboding, possibly. But what? I frowned, unable to work it out.

Here I was, for the first time in nearly two years, sharing the same room as two hundred other people. Two hundred. Wow! It took a while to comprehend that number.

Energy-saving extroverts

And then the reacquaintance began. Memories returned. Slowly.

There always comes a moment when noise levels in enclosed spaces increase exponentially. More people, more noise. Unable to hear each other, they raise their voices further to make themselves heard, forcing others in the rows fore and aft to do the same. And so it goes on, creating a crescendoing cacophony of cerebral confusion.

And, suddenly, there She was. Immediately, I understood my earlier sense of foreboding. Not because of Her, but of why She was there. Her tendrils wrapped themselves around me, as Her grip tightened, and She began doing what’s she’s done for years: shielding me from the energy-sapping extroverts.

The turmoil of emotions was overwhelming. How could I have forgotten? Fear, worry, and anxiety pummelled through my thoughts and body. What if our separation only exacerbated things?

After two years apart, we resumed our acquaintance. Well, I say acquaintance, but really it’s a lifelong relationship from which I shall never escape. It’s a strange partnership. She worries me as I become more aware of her presence, and yet I call her my friend.

This writers’ conference, for which I’d been invited to tutor a series of four non-fiction workshops, was where I re-entered normal life. Well, as normal as life could be at that time. And until that point, in the conference hall where hundreds of others were gathering, I’d completely forgotten my relationship with Introversion. Lockdowns and isolation kept us separated. During this time, I simply did not need Her.

Vampires and victims

It took me years to understand my relationship with Her. I’ve always been shy, much more comfortable squirreling myself away in a corner at parties, family gatherings, or social events. Observation of others is much more fun.

Perhaps it’s jealousy — watching the extroverts thrive on the energy they suck from others. I’ve always felt the relationship between extroverts and introverts is that of vampires and victims. One sucks the life energy from the other.

That makes it sound like introverts and extroverts are enemies, of sorts, and, of course, we’re not. It’s just the way the world works. Yin and yang. A dualism exists, not to compete with each other, but to complement each other.

As the conference week wore on, my Introversion moved back in, lock, stock, and barrel. Funny how I’d not noticed Her leave at the start of that first national lockdown.

Thankfully, my workshops were first thing in the morning, when my energy levels were at their highest and I could tutor with confidence. But being the center of attention for an hour, and having a fabulous group of delegates who asked such relevant and pertinent questions about the subject I was teaching, meant I stood no chance.

She was destined to move her way back into my life, big time. There was no chance of me ever making it late into the night, chatting with others in the bar, or at the disco, or being a performer in a play.

After the final formal evening event, She forced me into remedial action. I retreated to my room. Alone. Well, not quite alone, for She was always with me. But when I closed my bedroom door, I could feel her grip upon me loosen. She understood. She’d done her job. This was my opportunity to recharge. I was where I needed to be.

And that’s why I call Introversion my friend. She looks after me. Protects me. It’s her actions that remind me to look after myself.

As the extroverts surround me, their own energy levels thriving on what I have to offer, Introversion tries to cocoon me. She blocks sounds from entering my ears in an attempt to reduce the mental over-stimulation.

The noisier it becomes, the tighter her grip around my head. Only when Her grip is so tight that all I can hear is the swishing of my blood pulsating in my mind do I then escape. She’s done what any true friend does. She bullies me into taking appropriate action.

We’re taught from an early age about the human Fight-or-Flight instinct. Yet, when it comes to mental energy, we introverts have no fight. Well, not much, anyway. Our best course of action is flight. Retreat. Retreat quickly into a space that is ours alone and where we can become whole again.

Mental exhaustion

I wasn’t the only one who suffered. Many conference attendees suddenly found themselves retreating to their rooms on Sunday afternoon for a much-needed mental nap. Barely twenty-four hours into the event, and many were struggling to re-enter normality. Mental exhaustion was widespread.

I survived my week, thanks to Introversion and her interventions. But I couldn’t truly recover until I made it home again and could shut myself away from the world once more.

A week later, my mental batteries were still flashing, as they wallowed in the sea of silence, where there were no distractions to interrupt their long period of recharge.

And that’s why Introversion is a friend. She’s taught me that. I can come back. I can recharge. But only if I look after myself. My encounters with extroverts may be brief, but thanks to Introversion, I can give myself the energy needed to make those brief encounters count in every way possible.

During the pandemic, I’d forgotten it all. I did not need it. I did not need Her. And yet … like a true friend, She was there just when I needed her. When it mattered most.

Dear Introversion,

I, like many introverts the world over, owe you an apology. I’m sorry if I forgot who you were over the last two years. I’m sorry I did not need you. I didn’t think I needed you. But, thankfully, you know me better.

As the world attempts to re-enter something we’ve taken for granted for so long (normality), I have realized that without you, I can’t function properly. So, because we are part of the same being, let me hug you as I welcome you back into my life.

Hello again, Introversion, my dear friend.

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Simon Whaley is an introvert who recharges his mental batteries by exploring the Shropshire Hills, where he lives and is inspired to write. For more information about Simon visit his website at www.simonwhaley.co.uk