Confessions of an Introvert

I am an introvert.

I am not ashamed, but I am realistic. I have four kids and I homeschool. Sometimes I secretly long for the early mornings spent shopping at the Russian supermarket where I would drive for thirty minutes, shop for an hour, check out for thirty minutes, and drive back home all in complete silence. Upon arriving home, no one would be up yet so I would grab a cup of coffee and sit. Silently. Alone.

It's different now. The kids have grown out of naps and early bedtime. My son plays baseball and football. There are team meetings and parent planning sessions. My girls have ballet, babysitting jobs, and social calendars. I lead a small group at Bible Study and teach two classes at homeschool co-op. My social sphere has never been so big and I have never done so much talking to so many people in an average week. Sometimes it's exhausting.

My husband is an extrovert. He's everyone's favorite at a party. He's easy to talk to, always asks the right questions, and never tires of new surroundings. I am happy to hang on his arm, nod and smile, and eat my food. But he can't always be there. I have to improvise. For the sake of our family, I have to change my title, even for an evening.

Some of you reading this may be surprised. You may think to yourself, "But she has people over all the time. She is always throwing holiday parties and having get-togethers. What do you mean an introvert!?"

It's true I assure you. I recharge in stillness. I feel energized by total isolation.

I just heard someone say today, "People need people." We do. Even I need people. It's just that I need people in small doses, one-on-one sitting across kitchen tables, at a coffee shop, or in my living room. I need people to volunteer to pick my kids up from youth group, to bring me a coffee now and then, and to ask me for help so I can return the favor. I need people to make me laugh, to play games with, and to tell me I'm not a crazy person to think that wearing heels at eleven isn't ok. I need people to want to be with me and to give me the freedom to say, "not tonight."

I confess, sitting quietly in my room with a book and some chocolates sounds pretty good. But then again, sitting with you and a book and some chocolates sounds even better. Maybe I'm something of a people-person. Maybe I'm just a person and that's half anyway. And no matter what, when you leave my place, I'm always glad you came.