Hi, I’m Nick. I’m an introvert, and I’m caught smack in the middle of my least favorite time of the year.
No, I’m not the Grinch, I’m not a Scrooge. I’m just your average introvert, and I wish to hell that Christmas would just shut up.
“Introvert” isn’t the same thing as shy or socially awkward or loner. We just find social settings (large ones, at least) draining of emotional/social energy and quiet (solitude or very small gatherings) energizing. The other guys, the Extroverts, have the opposite reaction: they charge up with the stimulation of a group and grow restless and listless when under-stimulated.
We live in an extrovert world, like it or not. Social conventions and social expectations require a certain degree of extrovert behavior, so even the most extreme of introverts (that’s me you see raising my hand) can put on their social suit and bring it when they need to, just as an extrovert can sit alone for a while without losing their mind.
But that obligatory socializing leaves an introvert exhausted and ready for some time away from the crowd, the party, the noise, the stimulation.
Maybe you’ve noticed – there’s a lot of extra crowds, parties, noise and stimulation this time of year. To us introverts, instead of peace on earth and goodwill towards men, a tsunami of festivities can lead to no peace in our home and an increased will to drink.
Being an introvert is like commuting in an electric car. As long as there are enough opportunities to hook up to a charging station, things are fine. You can get one big charge up overnight, or several smaller ones along your trip, but go too long between a recharge and suddenly you find you just…can’t…go…anymore.
Introverts in an extrovert world learn to sneak in their recharge when they can. I used to recharge on the train to and from work every day. I put on my most obvious “leave me alone” body language – earbuds in, head down, book open.
In college I’d take two or three hour long walks at night or take a book and sit in the most obscure basement library stacks I could find. I’ve spent lunch breaks sitting in my car alone, parked around the corner after lying to non-comprehending extrovert coworkers that I was running errands.
There’s an achievable balance, a point where I can fulfill all my social and professional obligations, but refill enough emotional energy that I avoid a full blown panic attack because I just can’t get away.
And then Christmas shows up, and that balance gets challenged.
The holidays mean added social commitments (drains) in the form of office pot-lucks, white elephant parties, family gatherings, playdates, neighborhood block parties, etc.
The whole damn secular side of the holiday is based around a home invasion, for crying out loud. What’s more disrupting of your inner sanctum, your place of refuge and recharge, than someone sliding down the chimney at night and swiping your cookies in exchange for lumps of fossil fuel or unneeded consumerist goods?
My recharging moments get filled with ever more relentless noise. Christmas carols play everywhere. Despite our best efforts to keep gifts simple, piles start the spring up: piles of packages, piles of crafts, piles of cookie baking supplies.
Singing holiday toys that I manage to entomb in the garage for 11 months out of the year are brought out. My kids love these things, so I am treated to an endless loop of mechanical Snoopy in a Santa hat playing Have A Holly, Jolly Christmas on his little plastic piano until I’m praying someone will drop a Baby Grand on my head and put me out of my auditory misery.
In the name of community and tradition, plates of fudge and cookies are dropped off. Niceties are exchanged. I put on pants and socialize with the neighbors, because that’s what people do.
Advertisements and appeals fill store windows and online sanctuaries. Emotional tugs pull in confusing directions: think of the veterans, think of the children, think of the homeless, think of the farmers. Lead a cruelty-free Christmas, donate to Heifer International, examine your charities carefully. Buy new Toys for Tots, give experiences, don’t forget a gift for the mailman, don’t buy things at all. Donate to Wikipedia, don’t shop at Walmart, shop local, avoid the crowds – shop online! Drain, drain, drain. It’s death by a thousand cuts at this time of year.
People I rarely trade words with suddenly corner me at the coffee machine (which is literally in a corner, here at the office) and demand to know what I’m doing this December.
“Oh, I’m hiding in our hall closet and setting up a webserver to serve as a development environment for my wife’s blog and hoping that I can make it through the obligatory family events without having to mediate a political dispute!” seems too honest, so I tell them what they expect to hear: “Got a few parties to go to and then getting together with the family.”
My peaceful home, my refuge, is filled with a shining bright Christmas tree and there’s an electric train that would clack in a celebratory circle around it, if I didn’t constantly trip over the track and derail it. (The doctor says my ankle should be fine in about four weeks.)
My wonderfully bright and inquisitive and noisy children are home from school a lot more and so are their friends who are cutting out snowflakes so there’s a lot of pieces of paper in the middle of the floor and there are the scissors I just stepped on. (The doctor says I’m lucky and the nerve wasn’t severed, so I should regain feeling in my big toe within a year or two.)
The kids want hot cocoa and there’s an argument about who chose the last show on Netfix that I need to adjudicate. And they are all so cute and wonderful that I can’t deny them this joy but sometimes I’d really like them to just stop, just for a minute.
It is the rare Christmas where there aren’t at least two, and sometimes as many as four, family get-togethers in the span between December 23rd and 26th. You’ve got the immediate family thing, the medium-family thing, the big-whole-family thing with the cousins and the aunts and the uncles and the grandparents.
The logistics approach the complexity of the Normandy landings. I explain what “business intelligence” is to people who really don’t give a shit eight or ten times, bluff my way past my minimal awareness of and interest in the performance of the Seattle Seahawks, San Francisco 49ers, and Stanford Cardinals this year, and try not to drink inappropriately.
I can do all this, of course, but it takes effort. It’s like rubbing your tummy and patting your head, but with eggnog.
I hate eggnog.
Welcome to the Introvert’s Christmas.
When I was a child, I’d always adjourn to my room as soon as Christmas gift time was over. My parents always thought it was because I was eager to read the books I’d gotten or play with new toys. Over time I’ve realized it was more than that – it was a desire to be alone and move into the quiet of my space, an escape perhaps aided by a new book or a new toy, away from the aunts and the grandmothers and the uncles and the cousins and the awkward conversations about football and the teasing, invasive questions of relatives.
Now it is a lot harder to sneak away or sit nose-in-a-book. I’m expected to be an adult, to converse and opine, to shake hands and to hug.
Honestly, I drink a lot more during the holidays. It deadens the sensory stimulation of omnipresent carols, blinking lights, loosens my tongue and makes me willing to just babble, if necessary, to fill the spaces. We’ve been known to stash a couple of bottles of wine or whisky up in the master bathroom…they’ve rarely ever been used, but somehow the knowledge that they are there means I’ve got a refuge inside my refuge, a place I know I could go to escape when my usual place of escape has been overrun.
I walk a lot, sometimes alone, in the beautiful cool space of December air. I drink in the quiet of a snow day or the hiss of rain or the roar of wind and let it fill my mind and push out the exhaustion of parties and questions and stupid politics.
Sometimes I take preposterous and frequent bathroom breaks. Smartphones have been a godsend for introverts, I’ve got half the Western Canon loaded up on my iPhone and can sit in the bathroom of a stranger’s house reading Moby Dick for five minutes until I’m ready to meet-and-greet with the next potential friend.
Actually, who am I kidding? I make one friend a decade, so I’ve got at least five years left before I need to start remembering new people’s names.
I’m not ungrateful. I love to play host and have a good conversation with a couple of dear friends. I adore my children and the sound of their happy playing is soul-filling and hopeful. I can’t Grinch-out and decide that we are going no-tree and no-presents when they beg me to stay up late to hang garlands across our living room. I love the joy of giving presents, of thinking about my friends and family and figuring out how to bring them joy.
What I am is just exhausted.
As a grown man, I’ve wept in my closet, behind a locked bedroom door, because I had no more energy to put on my social face and make conversation. That’s what happens when an introvert’s battery runs out.
So please, don’t tell me to have a little Christmas spirit. If I look like I want some quiet time, if I have a book anywhere near me, if I’m staring at a glass of whisky, if I just up and disappear for ten minutes or an hour, understand that what you see is me looking for the one thing I really want for Christmas this year: true peace, simple quiet.
No blinking lights required.
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Wow, I totally relate, to the T! Thank you for expressing what I feel! 🙂
Thanks for all the kind comments, everyone! I’ve written plenty of stuff before, but it has always been of the “here’s why plants don’t grow well behind windows” or “here is the procedure for rebooting the server farm” sort. This is the first time any of my writing seems to have actually touched someone’s life in the way some of the comments and emails I’ve received have made it clear this post has. Thank you, and may you all have the RIGHT sort of holiday season for you: quiet, social, or somewhere in between.
You are not alone my friend!
For years I worked as an occupational therapist…which required me to come out of my somewhat quiet demeanor and really talk to people. I always found that I needed 5 min at least to go sit in my car somewhere during my lunch honor. Weird, that 5 min could make such a difference. And for years I would have to fight for that little bit of time because they wanted us to work through our lunch times…exhausting. Thanks for helping me understand myself and perhaps have the opportunity to give someone else a break!
I spend 3-4 weeks about 3 times a year at the home of my son, his wife and their two kids (now 4 and 7), all of whom I totally adore. I could never understand before why I felt so drained after these visits. Could it be, I asked myself, that the house is simply so tiny (and I sleep in the kids’ playroom) that there is no escape?
YES! Your blog made me realize exactly where I stand. I am an actress — have been for many years (mostly amateur but some pro) and also a former pro singer, and I’m very much at ease on stage. But as Kat says, the crush of people afterwards is uncomfortable. In a social situation, I will gravitate toward those I know rather than go out of my way to talk to new people. My husband is even more introverted than I, so we have little social interaction (although we are both good at it, seemingly). We are not party-givers or -goers. Of course when we do give a party, it’s always very close friends, so that’s OK. But even then, the joy of taking off the dress-up clothes and putting on my jammies far outweighs the joy of giving that party.
I’ve realized I would prefer to read than watch TV or movies, because reading is calming and quiet (even when the murder mystery is frantic).
I no longer drink (haven’t since 1995) but I certainly comprehend the desire to do so in social situations. It does indeed “deaden the sensory stimulation.” And without it, I am much more affected by the “noise — all the noise — all the noise – noise – noise -noise!” the Grinch speaks of.
My birthday is Christmas Eve, and I love decorating for Christmas and riding around looking at the lights and hearing Christmas music. And I always feel a terrific let down when it’s all over. And a secret sense of relief.
Yep. That’s me and luckily part of my family is also on the introvert side. It works since each type has someone to hang with or not hang with. Thanks for sharing.
I am a profound introvert and this fits me exactly. I’m not shy, not socially awkward – just find it emotionally taxing to pretend I am something I am not. I have an ex-wife who never could figure this part of my character out. I’m now with another introvert raising her introverted son. Life is great.
Life is challenging for those of us who don’t seek the spotlight or want to be the center of attention. I’ve spent almost all of my adult life learning how to fit into the cacophony of this extroverted world and think I have finally found my balance. I, too, no longer rely on drink to get me through social situations but still struggle with the noise and the mindless small talk of these settings. I’d just as soon poke my eye with a stick than mindlessly chatter just to fill the social void. It’s gotten to the point where I keep a short list of socially appropriate topics to chat about at parties (weather, grandkids, work, sports (go Seahawks!)) but even having these conversations is tortuous. I can go on but I think you get the point.
The key is ‘Know Thyself’ and then figure out coping strategies to contend with the necessary social engagements we all go through. This takes a lot of practice and pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone. The real trick I’ve learned to listen to my instincts and pace myself.
This is me, also. Growing up in a large family was tortuous during the holidays. My mother still gives me a hard time when I stay behind from the Christmas Eve round of bar hopping or whatever activity my siblings have cooked up. Those alone-time opporuntities were sometimes difficult to find. As I have gotten older, I have become more selective about what I do – and more protective of my need for quiet time. And my dogs totally understand.
I, too, am an introvert. My holiday melancholy starts before Thanksgiving and doesn’t lift until after the New Year. Three extrovert holidays in a row: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. For Thanksgiving, I have to come up with excuses why I just want to have a meal at home with my wife and 2 grown children, and not with friends and their families. For the month long Christmas season, I dread the inevitable invitations to parties, potlucks, holiday drinks, and other social events. I avoid them all if I can, and feel really guilty about it. Guilt has been a part of my holiday seasons for as long as I can remember, and that just deepens my depression. And now, a fellow at work whose parents are Canadian invited me to a Boxing Day (Dec. 26) celebration at his house. Yet another holiday to dread.
I fall pretty much in the middle of the introvert/extrovert scale, so I can’t relate much, but I AM extremely shy, and I agree that being an introvert is nothing like being shy. When I’m in a group of people I don’t know well, I can be standing there WANTING to talk and socialize but it’s like there’s a brick wall in front of me and I just can’t. It can be very painful.
I have one extremely extroverted daughter and one very introverted son. It makes life rather interesting at times.
Oh, gosh, yes, yes YES! I’ve had company for the past week, only to be capped off by my extended family’s party on the 24th (last night). I was social and engaging, as always, but my battery is dead. I am spending this beautiful Christmas day alone, in my pajamas on my sofa. “No, you can’t spend Christmas alone! Come eat with us!” my friends and family say with looks of pity. As a hardcore introvert, I cannot seem to explain to others that I NEED this day of recharging, buried under a blanket with hot cocoa reading a favorite book. Yes, all day, doing nothing but that. Introverts are not reclusive nor shy; we enjoy being with others and can be as socially engaging as the next person. But we need to recharge in order to do it again. The dread we feel prior to events is anticipatory of the extreme exhaustion we know we will feel and time we will need alone to recharge; the dread is not a dislike of engagement with others. We actually quite like that part. Thanks for explaining it so well.
Excellent blog!
Oh how I wish I had come across this when you wrote it!! I did get the book ‘Quiet’ which has helped. Yes, I do what I call “turtling” from TDay (which I like because I like to cook) to the day after Christmas. It’s as though an anvil has lifted from my shoulders now that it’s over! Baking for Christmas is fine but all the hoopla is so draining… Workplace cheeriness, disbelief that I will be alone (I’m lucky that way), etc. By Dec 20 glimmers of being in the mood to buy gifts appear so I manage to do that. People who think I’m gregarious are surprised to learn otherwise, but those who look below the surface understand. Most excellent piece Nick; thank you. Oh, and I was cruising thru due to the FB post wondering how the blog site is doing. So far, so good-you both do a great job :).
Here’s to a wonderful New Year for you both :). Thank you!!
It is a pleasure to read posts like yours. I’ve always known I was a ‘loner’, but it was only recently that I have explored what being an introvert is like for other people. Who knew there were so many people out there who feel and act the same way as I do and guess what – we aren’t nearly as ‘abnormal’ as the extroverted world seems to think we are!
Lunch breaks in the car. Totally me! I have to switch between 3 different parking lots so people don’t notice, but it’s necessary for my sanity.
I felt like crying while reading this. The knowledge that someone understands what it’s like to be drained of all energy is such a relief. I love Christmas and holidays. I decorate, cook food, make mulled wine, all that jazz. But at the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I get tired of explaining to not-so-close family that “Yes, I’m a graphic designer. No, you’ve probably never seen my work. It’s fine, I don’t mind answering questions but HTML is only that interesting to me, haha….ugh.”
It’s just one big blur in the end because I have to sit through hours of it and then Mom gets mad at me for running off every once in awhile. I don’t even have the luxury of drinking a bit because once your nosy Aunt sees you downing a cocktail, there are jokes and “concerned” questions.
This Christmas was particularly stressful for me. I had to finish designing billboards on Christmas Eve, Mom was demanding that I finish painting 20 ornaments (each takes approximately 4 hours to do, so it’s not easy especially when she plans to just give half of them away to people who wouldn’t appreciate art if it hit them in the face and yelled “Tag!”), and I spent 14 hours baking and assembling cookies and then helped host a cookie exchange for said cookies, another 4 hour endeavor (all of which I did on no sleep).
The holidays are over now and I love the days when my family is out at work/school. I get to stay home, work on my designs, cook and tend to my chickens. Hopefully, it’ll be enough of a recharge before I’m obligated to attend a graduation party for my least favorite cousin in the cousin (made even worse by the fact that she bullied me when I used to babysit her). Ugh, I need my chai and a book.
I often wear earplugs. Hide’ em with my hair so no one knows. That keeps me from having to process everything everyone says and does. I can still hear important messages and interact when I want to, but others can’t impose their soundworlds on me.
As for participating in over-the-top obligatory activities: I have learned to move slowly. Others can run their races. Aah, peace.
Wow, this hits home so perfectly. As I was reading this, I could feel my stress levels go up — as I can relate to all of the situations you described. Sometimes all I want for Christmas is for people and relatives to stop making small talk with me or teasing and hugging me… Just let me go outside and walk the dogs without any questions asked! Often after family dinners, I beeline towards the kitchen to do the dishes, just so I can get out of participating in the after-dinner chatting, and give me a few minutes to recharge and collect myself. My mother-in-law is convinced I am anal about doing the dishes, but in reality I just need some time to myself!
I don’t know whether it’s just me or if everyone else encountering problems with your website.
It looks like some of the text on your content are running off the
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with my browser because I’ve had this happen previously.
Appreciate it