Many people perceive me as an extrovert. When we meet at social gatherings, my lively and humorous demeanor often leads them to believe that I thrive in those environments. However, upon further observation, they may notice that I tend to withdraw when conversations become trivial, seeking more engaging topics to discuss.
As an ambivert, I embody traits of both introverts and extroverts. In my youth, I leaned more towards extroversion, but I also cherished my alone time. My family is predominantly composed of sociable, talkative individuals, which has often left them perplexed by my more reserved tendencies. They sometimes label me as antisocial, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’ve come to realize that if I remain in superficial conversations for too long, I become restless and irritable. This can lead to me snapping at those around me, as I feel my time is being squandered. Picture a family gathering filled with lengthy discussions about mundane topics; it’s a torturous scenario for me. I often find myself at a loss for words, and if you were to ask my family, they might describe me as aloof or quiet. I’ve ceased trying to explain my nature to them. They care for me deeply, but they may never truly grasp who I am.
If only I had recognized my ambivert qualities earlier in life. As a child, I frequently felt conflicted. The anticipation of social events would often fill me with anxiety. Despite being involved in sports and school plays, I would feel nauseous and frustrated even before those events, even though I had willingly signed up for them. Once I was in the spotlight, I felt relief, but I was also glad when it was over.
Throughout my youth, I labeled myself as outgoing or a “people person,” terms that others used to describe me. However, deep down, I felt like a fraud. The act of being “on” drained me, yet I continued to convince myself I was an extrovert for years.
Take my mother, for instance. She epitomizes extroversion—able to socialize with anyone and eager to be out every single day if possible. As a teenager, she often questioned why I had so few friends or why I preferred solitary activities like reading. In reality, I had two close friends: one introvert and one extrovert. They didn’t interact much, but they each reflected different aspects of my personality. My introverted friend nurtured my love for reading, while my extroverted friend encouraged me to engage socially.
This pattern persisted through college, where I cultivated friendships that balanced both sides of my personality. If I craved a quiet space to chat or simply sit in silence, I could find that. Conversely, if I wanted to go out dancing, that option was available too. By the time I reached my twenties, I began to question whether my ambivert nature was abnormal. Wasn’t it more desirable to be solely outgoing? After all, extroverts seemed to thrive in vibrant environments, but I soon realized I needed my moments of solitude. Living with roommates often complicated this need, especially when I shared space with those who preferred a loud atmosphere. My senior year, I finally enjoyed the bliss of a single room, which was a welcome escape.
It wasn’t until my late twenties that I encountered the term “introvert.” Initially, I dismissed it because it was associated with shyness, a quality I didn’t possess. However, I later learned that introversion encompassed various traits. Many introverts dislike small talk, feel isolated in crowded spaces, and require time alone to recharge. This resonated with me, and I began to understand why socializing often left me feeling utterly drained.
Upon visiting home, I craved tranquility, but my mother had a different agenda, filled with constant chatter and the noise of daily activities. The chaotic environment I had sought to escape became overwhelming during family visits, especially during holidays. I often tried to find a quiet corner of the house, only to be drawn back into the fray of conversations that failed to hold my interest.
Though I struggled to comprehend my behavior, I continued to identify as an introvert. The concept of “ambivert” emerged in my awareness only recently, highlighting individuals who embody characteristics of both introversion and extroversion. I felt a sense of relief knowing that I wasn’t alone and that it was completely normal to oscillate between the two. When I explain my ambivert identity to others, they often mistake me for an extrovert, likely because they’ve only seen me in my more outgoing moments. Ambiverts navigate between both worlds, but it’s not always a balanced distribution. For me, I lean more towards introversion, cherishing my time alone while realizing that I can forgo socializing for long periods.
As I’ve matured, my social interactions have significantly decreased. I have a few close friends but spend most of my time in solitude. While I’m not sure if this is my ideal situation, I find comfort in my own space and thoughts. My family has come to terms with the fact that I may never embody the extroverted spirit they value, and they’ve accepted me for who I am.
In summary, navigating the complexities of being an ambivert has been a journey of self-acceptance. Understanding my unique blend of introverted and extroverted traits has allowed me to embrace my true self, even if it means my family may never fully comprehend my nature.
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