No really, I am. Certifiably. On a studied and measured personality test (Myers Briggs Mom? Help me out.) I scored one petite little baby step over the dividing line between Introverted and Extroverted. And I scored Extroverted, but just barely, which I guess I believe because I like performing, and getting attention pretty much rocks my world.
But extend a social invitation to me of any sort, and I immediately search for a reason to instead go to my happy place, which is in front of a fireplace that I don’t have, cuddled up with a book, and Jeremy, and Hufflepuff, and my blankee, and perhaps Dr. Pepper is invited to the “party” too.
|My happy place looks a lot like this + Fireplace + Oscar Wilde + Caffeine.|
I look for excuses–any!–in my brain not to come to whatever excellent social function I’ve been invited to. You could invite me to the moon,for heaven’s sake, and I would still have to think about it, debate internally, decide how long it would take me to do my hair, and then maybe still not come.
It has nothing to do with you, so don’t worry. I find that I genuinely like all my friends, and I always feel happy after a social event. But the sad fact is that I also feel proud of myself after going to a party, even though I left at 10:00 PM, because it was something of an internal tug-of-war just getting myself there in the first place.
People don’t believe that I am an introvert because I mask my introversion with extreme extroversion. I’ve been accused of being “bubbly” before, which hurt my feelings because I am also sensitive. People assume that just because I have a reasonable degree of social confidence means I’m an extrovert. But I promise I need week of recovery after a party and a full month of recuperation after a vacation, even if it’s with my dearest friends and family.
I’m in the middle of a recuperation mode right now, friends. But I do want to see you and hang out with you. Just give me a minute to look like this: