Help! I'm an Introvert and My Children Aren't!
Read Time: 4 Minutes
Words by Amy Clark
I’m staring at my son as he rattles on and on about the last superhero show he watched. I’m trying to engage in the conversation, but my brain is swimming, my stomach is clenching, and my ears are threatening to stop operations altogether. He’s been talking for the better part of the day, and I’m fairly certain that if I don’t get some quiet soon, my head is going to explode.
You see, I am an introvert.
Not only that, I’m a highly sensitive introvert. My brain processes information more deeply, I get overwhelmed by a lot of sensory information, I recharge through quiet alone time, and I cherish deep conversations with other quiet souls.
Two of my three children are extroverts. They love being social, they love being around other people, and my son could talk the ears off a field of corn. Don’t get me wrong, I love them with every fiber of my being. I just don’t want to be around them sometimes.
Does this sound terrible? I used to think it did. I used to think that because they are my children, I should always want to be around them, and if I didn’t, there must be something wrong with me. Did I not love them enough? What kind of parent doesn’t want her children to share their every thought with her, and always remain in close physical contact while doing so?
Turns out, a lot of us don’t. And it’s perfectly okay. Having different needs does not reflect on the amount of love we hold in our hearts.
But even after I accepted that I have different needs from those of my children, it was still hard for me to actually act on those needs. I played the martyr game really well, to be honest with you. Cue the hand placed dramatically but ever-so-delicately on my forehead, as I lamented the fact that I was feeling overwhelmed, if only someone would come and rescue me so I could have just a few moments of peace and quiet, and maybe a cool washcloth, if that’s not too much to ask for.
Imagine my consternation when my husband interrupted my lamentations with his matter-of-fact statement: “Why don’t you just go in our room and shut the door, then?”
Oh, yeah. Huh. Guess I could do that.
”Oh, but no,” I argued. “The kids might need me. You know as soon as I shut that door, someone is going to holler for me.”
My husband gave me that look, the one that says that one of us is being an imbecile (and you and I both know who the guilty party was this time. But we’re not telling him that).
”Then I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Oh. Okay. Then I guess I’ll go do it??? I hovered outside the bedroom door, feeling like this must be a trap and surely listening to my own needs can’t possibly be this easy.
And really, it isn’t quite that easy, or at least it wasn’t for me. I had to do some training with my family, when they were used to me being at their every beck-and-call. It took persistence on my part, and lots of loud frustrated sighs, usually pointed in the direction of my most recent interruption. But by far the biggest resistance to this new plan of honoring my introverted needs wasn’t found with my kids, or my husband. Once I explained the situation to him, he was totally on board, and very helpful. He’s actually an introvert, too, so he understood my overwhelm immediately. The resistance was actually ME. I was fighting myself the whole time.
Don’t you hate it when that happens?
You see, there was a little part of me that liked being needed so much. It reminded me that I had an important role in their life. No one but mommy would do. And, I had absorbed a lot of societal beliefs, namely that my job was to be available for my family whenever they wanted or needed something, and that my own needs always had to come second. Or third. Or not at all. After all, that’s what love means, right?
It took my husband’s simple statement, and his true belief that of course I was allowed to take care of myself, for me to finally start to relax into that belief myself. But once I did, I started respecting my needs, instead of apologizing for them or pushing them away. I started going into my room and shutting the door whenever I needed to (the upside to it taking me so long to get to this point is that my kids are all old enough to fend for themselves for short periods of time), or announcing to my husband that he’s on kid-duty because I’m going on a long walk. And slowly, as my nervous system began to trust that I was on its side, I began having more fun with my kids. I began listening more attentively to them. I became more present with them. I no longer felt the need to run from my life. I learned that I can treat my family more lovingly when I am also treating myself more lovingly.
It’s not a perfect system. I struggle sometimes to find the balance between my kids’ needs for time with me, and my need to be alone. Occasionally my husband still has to give me the “imbecile” look, when I revert back to my old beliefs of martyrdom. There are days when everyone is home and it feels like every time I turn around I’m tripping over a human being. But at this very moment, I’m writing this on my laptop, sitting in bed with the covers up. The door is locked, rain is falling softly outside the window, and my introverted brain is pretty happy. And the best part is, this is no longer a rare moment for me. Even with my crazy, slightly extroverted household.
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About the Author:
Amy Clark is a wife, mother, writer, and photographer. She writes about life and wellness on her blog, Hopeful Hearts and Coffee Cups. She is also the creator of The Be A Finder Project, dedicated to busting the myths around mental health, sharing the stories of people who have experienced struggles with their own mental health, and teaching others how to help.
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