It’s not you, it’s my introversion
When the world bounced back, I didn’t come with it. At least, the me I had been all my life didn’t come with it. All of my friends are now stuck with Post-Pandemic Victoria, who regenerated with a whole new set of care instructions.
Lockdown moved me up an introversion weight class.
I define introversion and extroversion by how you recharge, not by how you act. I am an introvert to the point where socialization can cause me physical sickness (I’ll get to that), but I love to see people, remember everyone I’ve ever met, and will generally make smalltalk in the grocery line – none of which is stereotypical introvert behavior. My friend calls me “an introvert who is mean to herself.”
One of my chosen careers is standup comedy – wherein I draw energy from a room full of strangers. That’s about as anti-introvert as it gets.
Yet I fling myself starfish wide and lay claim to the Hill of Introversion because the only thing that ever makes me feel better is sitting home, alone, in silence, reading a book while underneath my cat.
That’s the distinction that keeps me from identifying as an ambivert. I absolutely crave some social time after being home alone too long. But for me, it’s not a pendulum. I’m not constantly surfing a wave, trying to make up for too much Me Time or too much Them Time.
I am almost always desperate for more Me Time. Eight straight days of no socialization and low executive function would be perfect, but that doesn’t exist for me post-COVID. So I cobble together what recharge I can from pockets of 2-3 days of being a hermit.
I’m like a cellphone. As long as I can hold my charge, my screen will light up, and I can function brilliantly for you, even away from home. But if I don’t get plugged back in before I hit 0%, eventually my screen will go dark and I won’t be of use to anyone.
And just like your cellphone tends to stop functioning as well when it can charge only to 20% before being run back down to 0% every day, I stop functioning well. The my longer social obligations force me to pinball between 0% and 20% personal battery, the longer it takes for me to be left alone enough to reach 100% again.
The holidays and wedding season are brutal, and so is knowing that so many dear friends take it personally when I have to choose my mental health. I don’t want to cancel plans or stop taking calls. But if I don’t, my body will cancel for me, often at the most inconvenient time for everyone involved.
My paradise is many people’s idea of Purgatory: endless hours to fill with only the contents of my own head.
To my extroverts: You know how you feel after too many moments alone? How your brain starts to scream and your anxiety fizzles your blood, and you start to think about things you don’t like to think about? That’s how I feel if I do too many social things in a row.
I feel spent not after one social interaction, but when I fail to catch a break in between. If I have something social after work from Monday until Wednesday, on Thursday I’ll collapse. It doesn’t matter that I spent those days catching up with friends or even doing something socially subdued, like going to the movie theatre. What matters is in that span of days, I didn’t get any time to sit down and read with my cat.
I love being social, but it costs me. Usually my sanity or irritability fuse, but sometimes it has cost me my health.
In October 2021, I had a wedding to attend every weekend, and a full spate of Halloween-themed things I wanted to do on the weekdays in between. I spent the month doing my favorite things (corn mazes, haunted hayrides, Practical Magic screenings), catching up with dear friends I hadn’t seen in a long time, and performing bridesmaid duties.
Two of the three weddings were out of state, and I drove to them, 10-12 hours roundtrip. Some people find long drives soothing for the soul. I am anxious and have a tenuous mastery of motor vehicles and rational thought at any given time, so I’m not among them.
I was in my car alone, yes, but highway driving requires too much attention to be restorative for me. Alone but catless and book-less does not an introvert recharge make. So after the final wedding, I contracted a head cold I couldn’t shake for a fortnight.
It didn’t matter that I’d slept okay and stayed hydrated. I usually kick colds in three to five days, but this new malaise lingered, and I can’t blame that entirely on a post-COVID immune system. I had depleted my inner self to the point where my body got physically weakened.
Through the haze of Puffs and mucus came a realization: the pandemic did this to me. Not the cold, although sure, you could argue my immune system skipped leg day for two years. The pandemic disrupted my social patterns.
Before there was a vaccine, I had to wait up to eight days between seeing people so I wouldn’t risk their health. If I went grocery shopping, I had to wait more than a week to see my dad for dinner. And more than a week after that to meet my friend outside for coffee. Any pandemic trips I took, I had to quarantine after.
I got to recover after most uses of executive function. Never in all my life had I needed to space out social interactions. Never in all my life had I had so much time to sit at home, alone, under my cat with a book. I had finally achieved peace.
Then suddenly, the world was roaring back and there wasn’t room for my new routine. In 2021 we had a lot of moments to make up for, and so came a tidal wave of weddings and dinner parties and “see you just ‘cause” social engagements. We overcorrected. I couldn’t keep up.
By mid 2022, things have leveled out. I don’t have a wedding every weekend, but I feel myself stretching thin if I don’t take an evening for myself and stay in once a week. Or twice. Three times if I’m feeling frisky and reschedule a plan (not cancel – because I do want to see people and do things, when I’m up for it).
My extrovert friends are patient, and some of them even say they hope I feel better when I have to cancel plans. I tell them that I will feel better – but not because I had to cancel. I’m often bummed to miss the social event they had planned, I just know the consequences of going when my body tells me to stop.
I have, in total, one friend and one dad who can even begin to identify with my need to put a slab of blank space in the middle of my social calendar. If you have a friend that sounds like me, the best thing you can do is not make them feel guilty for missing an event, or putting their phone on Do Not Disturb mode.
If I ever cancel on you, it’s not you. It’s my introversion.