Last winter, my sister shared a story that resonated with me deeply. It described the life of an ambivert—someone who is neither strictly an introvert nor an extrovert, but rather exists somewhere in the middle. Some days, I thrive in social settings, engaging in lively conversations, while on other days, I find myself drained and yearning for solitude to recharge.
At first glance, this might seem straightforward: you enjoy social interactions but sometimes need a break. You appreciate affection and dialogue, yet there are moments when you simply need to recharge as you feel your energy dwindling. However, this balance can be particularly challenging when you’re surrounded by extroverted family and friends, and especially when your children thrive on social stimulation.
My kids are full of energy and always want to play with their friends, eagerly participating in every activity. Often, I have to coax them away from gatherings because they never want the fun to end. After a weekend packed with social events, they are usually buzzing with excitement but can also experience a “fun hangover,” which ranges from hyperactivity to cranky exhaustion. Meanwhile, I’m left with just enough energy to hold a glass of wine and escape into a quiet corner with a good book.
The tricky part of being an ambivert is the unpredictability of when I’ll hit my limit. There’s no warning sign for when the switch from extrovert to introvert will flip, but when that urge to withdraw hits, it’s impossible to maintain the extroverted facade. It can strike during family gatherings or festive parties, and although I sense it coming, I often feel powerless to resist the urge to retreat.
It’s not that I dislike the people around me; it’s simply that my social battery has run out, and I need to recharge. This process is essential for me to come back ready to engage as the extrovert I can be half the time. It’s an intricate dance, for sure.
One of my very extroverted friends once told me that she draws her energy from physical touch and engaging conversations. The hustle and bustle of a party invigorates her, and it’s clear how much joy she derives from it. I sometimes wish I could embody that enthusiasm; it could certainly make life easier with my three lively kids. But I’ve come to accept that I can’t be “on” all the time. My limits are real, and I’ve learned to respect them.
I know that I might appear standoffish or moody to others, but in reality, I’m just experiencing a natural shutdown. It’s not due to anything anyone has done; it’s just my body and mind signaling that they’re done for the day.
In college, I often felt out of sync with my peers. I could get pumped for a night out, excitedly preparing with my friends, only to find myself wanting to retreat after the pre-party fun. I questioned my social abilities because I couldn’t keep up with the energy levels of my friends. Sometimes, I could party all night, only to spend the next day hiding away, binge-watching shows. Many times, I’d hear concerns from friends wondering if I was upset. I wasn’t; I just needed my own space to recharge.
Fast forward twenty years, and as a mom, I’ve gained valuable insights into my own needs. I can now recognize when my time is up, and I’ve learned to communicate this to my family. My kids understand when I say I need some quiet time, and perhaps they appreciate that I can articulate it. They’ve learned to accept my quirks, which helps me be the best version of myself.
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In conclusion, embracing my ambivert nature has been a journey of self-discovery. Balancing social interactions and solitude is a delicate act, but with the support of my family, I can navigate it with grace.