As introverts, we have a āsocial batteryā that can be depleted quite quickly when around too many people or juggling what perspective to entertain. While thereās a difference in how low self-monitoring introvert and high self-monitoring introverts behave in this way, social interaction is still stressful for both.
As a high self-monitoring introvert, I can usually bend over backwards and spin on my head depending on the person. However, there was one time when this was impossible for me.
Sitting down in my seat, the āchurchā service began (quote-on-quote because itās not a church, itās a different word still meaning a religious meeting). I hadnāt attended since I gave a part on stage about a year ago (not a big deal, just a lilā thing) and while Iām not anxious in social settings anymore, the room felt enclosed and stuffy. It always feels this way when going there, I suppose itās because of all the people in the room. Funny enough, my eyes flit to every bright winter in the room as if they have a similar aura to me, though thereās only two. In addition, my eyes flit to an elderly couple whoās seated a few rows behind and to the left of me; a lady slightly heavy-set with red turned grey hair, and a slender man with a well-structured face about a foot or so taller than his wife. I donāt know why I would gravitate toward them, except that I had been to their house 2 yrs ago.
Once the meeting started, I stared down at the material to see what paragraph my comment was, my eyes continuing to glance toward the elderly couple. At one point, I end up catching the ladyās eyes, and she whispers something to her husband. I make sure to keep my eyes peeled ahead from then on.
After the meeting, I stick around walking among the people, I mustāve given a good comment for both the conductor and an elderly man who had lost his wife to congratulate me on it. Finally, there were less people, and so I walk over to the other side where the elder couple, whom I had glanced it before, was. In the meantime, I ended up getting a girlās phone number who might do a thing called ācart witnessingā with me (months later I still havenāt gotten any word, oh well). She was Hispanic who was quite small, almost half as tall as me, and stood rather close to me, like not 5 inches. Boy donāt people know how to give a person space? Anyhow, I was about to get her number before someone started talking to her.
Once I was left alone, the elderly couple went right up to me, congratulating me for my comment, which I thought was no big deal to have made. Which then, the lady sits down, at that point I can tell her orange-red hair I saw from 2 years ago had changed to a stark white with some grey. After telling me she had been in the nursing home, she asked how my mom was. This perplexed me, because what I had told her back then when she asked where my mom was, is, āI donāt have one,ā in which my dad had ācorrectedā (itās not really a correction) me saying sheās elsewhere. So when this elderly lady then asks, āare you still taking care of her?ā Iām like what? Heck no! Ok, I didnāt say that, but I did decide to let her know part of the story which begins with, āsheās a domestic abuser.ā I figured that some people only catch onto certain details and latch on, and that detail is quite easy to latch onto, no matter how frank I unfortunately had to give it.
After giving a short explanation, it was fortunate her mind adjusted and asked, āAre you safe? Howās your dad?ā In which I said my dad is a tough guy š which is true, and it gets her mind off of being a busy-body.
Once we finally got the same understanding of things, in which she now knows that I donāt take care of my mom, I started thinking of repercussions. What could happen since she said I did? Well, I suppose not anything, since she doesnāt know my mom nor anyone who could know my mom. Also, it makes me look like a good person I suppose, to any family she tells or whatever. Often times, saying oneās parent is a domestic abuser often paints the picture that the daughter is a victim, which fortunately Iām not. Funny thing, I was walking with someone and she was talking about trauma and wondering how it impacts how much someone flinches easily. And when talking she says something like, āI bet you have trauma from your mom leaving you.ā Ouch you might say, however I expect responses like this from extroverts, and so all I thought was, āIād have trauma if my mom stayed.ā
Now, I donāt mind that she said this, since it could have very well been true had I been a different person. In foresight though, thinking back to the elderly lady, I see the same pattern in assuming rather than communicating.
What of it?
All this might make you think of the title of this article and wonder, āwell that does seem stressful,ā and while it was to a point because of having to correct myself and wondering what reputation that gives me, that wasnāt the most stressful part.
After that topic, the elderly lady starts talking of the squash casserole I made from 2 years earlier. Noting how delicious it was, and how she never liked veggies and wasnāt looking forward to eating it that day, but that it was the best she ever had. This was the best thing Iāve heard all year. Because in the 2 days I had come by to give them food, while she had given feedback after she had my Potato Salad, I didnāt know what came of the casserole.
For the potato salad, she said it was the best she ever had too! And you know what, I never made it before that day in my life! Heck, I didnāt even have any š I only made Sweet Potato Salad after that which my dad liked, not really me, because adding relish was kinda weird. So, imagine my surprise at knowing she loved the Squash Casserole, a personal favorite of mine that I love cooking from our garden.
During this conversation, I kept smiling so much. I mean really smiling. It was the only social interaction Iād had in months, and I hadnāt spoken personally with anyone in over 2 years at that point. I donāt like it when I smile so much, I feel like my face gets all crinkly and weird, like the Mad Hatter or something. Not only that, but I could feel my face breaking out. Itās a hard feeling to describe, but pimples were starting to appear all over my face and I was feeling red.
The elderly couple seemed oblivious to my face, which Iām glad, and I said how happy I was that they loved the food. When they left, I remembered that I had to get the number of the Hispanic lady, so I walked over to her and asked. She gave me a foot of space while looking at my face, clearly perplexed, perhaps a bit disgusted- since she had such perfect skin and I could tell she liked to put make-up on and all that. I donāt care about what people think of me, though certainly I want clear skin, but I had just come from a stressful situation in which an extrovert like herself wouldnāt understand.
Leaving and driving back home, seeing a pair of grand White Willow Oaks in the distance and closing in, it always reminds me of the pair in my backyard. Standing perhaps 120 ft high, nearly 200 years old, and absolutely stunning.
The left oak is bushier and stockier, whereas the right is tall and slender. Together they create a seamless crown shape- as if they became one tree and together guarded the 15 acres we live on, since we have the best view of it.
Out of any trees in the world, I donāt think Iād love any others than these. But thatās beside the point of this article, itās only that thinking back on my love for these trees did the stress start fading away from my face. When looking in the mirror at home, some pimples fortunately disappeared, though I had a few that stayed.
Takeaway
Having had so much personal attention at one time after having not had any in a few years had put me over the edge. While Iām sure āpractice makes progressā, I donāt have any opportunities for that. So in the meantime, Iām going to go to the meetings physically less and instead enjoy the beautiful oaks I have š³
ā¦ ok not quite a courageous lesson there, but some other person can do differently than me by facing their stress head-on, how about that?