I have always defined myself as an extrovert.
When people first meet me, I think they’d describe me as friendly, upbeat, and talkative. Talkative might be an understatement. I will talk your fucking ear off if you get me going, especially if its something I am interested in, and you can bet that it will be a one way ticket straight to Tangent Town. I am conscious of the fact that sometimes I interrupt, because I know if I have something to say and don’t say it, the thought will vanish forever. I know it drove some people straight up the wall. I know that I can be Very Annoying sometimes.
For me, talking can be a form of stimming, sometimes masking, and sometimes just plain old processing. Sometimes I need to talk about something for a long time and go on quite the journey to get to where I need to be with it. I also think my hyperactivity comes out through talking sometimes. It wasn’t acceptable for young girls to run around and act a fool, so it all came out verbally instead. It wasn’t uncommon for girls my age to be referred to as a “chatterbox”.
Little Me
When I was young, I wanted to be alone a lot more than I do in my adult life. An oft-repeated story about me is that when I was four or five years old, I had a huge birthday party, and at one point I grabbed some of my new toys, announced that everyone could go home now, and went off by myself. This was in part because my friend’s asshole brother spit on my Rainbow Brite cake**, under the guise of “helping me” blow out my candles.
**I see you, Little Kari. And for the record, you weren’t wrong. That kid was a total douche. A dumb boy wrecking your Rainbow Brite cake was good enough reason to tell everyone to fuck off.
I felt this way a lot as a kid. I would enjoy good times with friends and family, but then I would want to read a book or color or play with my toys by myself. I was seldom allowed to do so. I was forced to go play with others, even when I did not want to, and I wasn’t allowed to be in my room when company was over, as that was considered “rude”. In my very social (but severely lacking in boundaries) family, I had to learn how to bring out the biggest parts of my personality. I learned how to mask and cope, and now it’s left me wondering how much of my extroversion is my actual personality and how much was coping. I remember losing myself in books for hours and hours, all by myself in my room, any chance I got.
By the time I was a teenager, I had experienced some significant trauma. I also knew I had a tendency to screw up and slack off if left to my own devices. I never wanted to do things alone, and had people around me all the time. I was often clingy and dependent with my friends and romantic partners.
I kept myself busy. Too busy.
The Quieter Me
Since getting diagnosed and medicated, I am much more quiet. I talk less than I used to. I think more before I respond. I can get to the end of telling a story faster. My husband is still getting used to the fact that I will sit quietly for several hours and not say much of anything, and it doesn’t mean I am mad or upset. I asked him if I was less loud and chatty, and he said “yes” without hesitating. I also know when I start talking too much, and since I’m super aware of it now, I can make myself stop chatting on without effort.
I don’t answer texts or emails lightning fast anymore. I used to respond to everything immediately, in part because I was terrified I would forget to answer and everyone would hate me. Now that my RSD isn’t so crippling anymore, my brain doesn’t go NO ONE WILL EVER BE FRIENDS WITH YOU EVER AGAIN IF YOU DON’T ANSWER THIS TEXT RIGHT NOW, so the urgent need to respond has dissipated.
The problem with that is that although medication is helpful, I absolutely still have ADHD, so sometimes I just forget to respond to a text or a casual email. Oops.
Sometimes I just don’t plain old don’t feel like talking or texting. Sometimes I just don’t want to get into a conversation, or I am busy with other things. I try to put my do not disturb on more often, especially if I’m writing or painting. I don’t like losing my focus, and the phone is a constant distraction. I find myself doing that thing of sending a heart or a HA HA or exclamation points when I get a text instead of typing out a response right away. At least the person who texted me knows I saw it?
I also - like most millennials - am allergic to the phone, unless its the small handful of people who were inducted into the I Will Talk To You On The Phone category. I also am off Twitter, and I just deactivated Facebook, and my desire to post incessantly on social media is less than zero.
Honestly, these days, sometimes I want to chuck my iPhone into the East River.
Learning to Sustainably Socialize
I used to be a social butterfly, flitting from thing to thing. There were weeks that I’d go out 3-4 nights after work, more if I was doing a show. Inevitably, after all the obligations were done, I would crash. Hard. My mood would plummet, my anxiety would be at an 11, and I would struggle with down time due to what I thought was simple boredom.
I truly thought that the busier and more social I was, the better my mental health was. The truth is that I was caught in a cycle of intensity. Sure, it gave me the dopamine I needed, but it would lead to overwhelm in the end. I would wind up cancelling plans and shutting down for a period of time, and would inevitably wind up in a depression for a week or two before going right back to my old ways.
I’m pretty sure that just about everyone struggled a bit with their social lives coming back after the first couple of years of the pandemic. Even before the pandemic, I was beginning to deeply resent being asked to do anything, especially on a weekend after commuting five days a week. When I started to really go back out into the world, I felt like a baby deer learning how to walk.
I had to implement strategies around socializing. If I go out one night, I try not to make plans the next day. I need a period of solitude and recharge before I can socialize again. I thought at first this was a “new” thing, but the truth is that I have always been this way. I was just never able to give myself space and down time, because both of those things used to make me anxious. That anxiety was 100% because of my ADHD symptoms.
Now that my anxiety is under control, and as I am learning to trust myself, I am really enjoying having time alone. I crave periods of solitude now, and I no longer try to schedule the hell out of my down time. If I have the house to myself and I want to spend time playing video games because I had a crazy week, I do just that without guilt. I can sit quietly on the couch with my cats, play with my paints, or just loaf around watching TV. It’s honestly really nice.
Do I still define myself as an extrovert?
No. I think I am an ambivert.
I came across this article when researching this topic:
In situations where there are more than three people, I find myself instinctively wanting to retreat to a quiet corner. The mix of multiple conversations becomes overwhelming, and my mind struggles to navigate the noise, deciphering when to interject and how much to listen. Being in these larger groups leaves me feeling drained. But in smaller groups, with just one or two people, things feel more natural and relaxed. In these settings, I can have a meaningful conversation without feeling lost.
I definitely tend to feel more comfortable and have a better time in a smaller group than I do at a big party, and that has always been true. Crowded, loud spaces are even more difficult for me now that I am older, and I do have some auditory processing issues, especially if I am feeling overwhelmed or self-conscious. Even in my younger party days, a crowded bar or nightclub made it almost impossible for me to follow a conversation.
I don’t miss being a smoker, but what I do miss is that smoking cigarettes gave me a way to take a break from all the noise and craziness inside a loud party or bar. It gave me five minutes to step away, get some fresh air, and chat in a smaller group. I make sure I build breaks into social events now so that I don’t get anxious or overwhelmed, even if that means hiding out in the restroom and taking some deep breaths.
I am rebuilding my social stamina, one day at a time. Right now, I don’t make plans more than once a week, unless there is something I really want to do. I have fully accepted that with a few exceptions, I do not want to see the inside of a subway car on Saturday or Sunday, but I can be down for a local neighborhood hang. I have accepted that I have limits on my energy, and that sometimes I just don’t know what my energy level is going to be on any particular day. If I have some loose plans with a friend, and I know the day before that there is just no way I can force myself to do something, I will be upfront about it. This keeps me from flaking last second and feeling guilty. And if I am not feeling well - even a little - I ain’t going. It’s not worth it to push myself and wind up full blown sick if it can be avoided, not to mention that I don’t want to get anyone else sick.
The more I learn about and understand myself, the better I feel. I think I spent a lot of my life ignoring or suppressing my needs out of fear and a need for acceptance. This is something I’ll be writing about more in the future, as I am realizing just how much I denied what turned out to be fundamental parts of myself. I am learning to embrace the complexities and contradictions inherent in being neurodivergent. It’s not so bad on the quiet side of life.